Monument to the Dead by Sheila Connolly Read Free Book Online Page B

nodded once. “So Freddy had local social connections. That’s about what I figured.
     It’s a pretty thin file.”
    “Then why did you even bring him up?” Marty demanded.
    “Because he’s part of your crowd, and I’m getting leery of anything that involves
     the greater Philadelphia cultural community. I wouldn’t have given him another thought
     if it hadn’t been for Adeline’s death, which is remarkably similar.”
    “Similar in that there’s nothing suspicious about either one?” I asked. “That’s an
     odd reason to look at anything.”
    James looked at me in turn. “I was prepared to write off these two deaths as a coincidence.
     As you’ve pointed out, they were both far from young, and there’s no damning evidence,
     apart from elevated levels of a legally prescribed medicine. Look, I don’t mean to
     be an alarmist. I’m trying to be thorough. Two elderly people die, months apart, from
     an overdose. Nothing extraordinary there. Then I find that both had various ties to
     local cultural institutions, and that Martha here knew both of them. And then Adeline
     ties into the Society. Can you blame me for wondering, at least off the record? And
     when I go looking for additional information, I find that since everything looked
     so simple, nobody bothered to do a thorough investigation of either of them, and now
     there’s no way to retrieve evidence. Dead ends, both, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
    “Do your bosses know about this?” I asked.
    “No, and I wasn’t planning to say anything to them—I was just satisfying my own curiosity.”
    “But you said there was a new death?” I prodded gently.
    “Yes. Benton Snyder was found dead this morning.”
    Shelby gasped, and Marty paled. “Benton?” Shelby said. “But he’s a neighbor! I saw
     him just last week, when he was weeding his window boxes. What happened?”
    “Found dead in his bed, no signs of forced entry, no struggle. Marty, did you know
     him?”
    “Sure. We used to play bridge together, but I haven’t seen him lately. But Jimmy,
     why do you think his death is suspicious?”
    “I asked the coroner to check to see if there were elevated levels of any of the prescription
     medications we found in his medicine cabinet. The coroner’s a good guy, so he did
     that quickly and then called me. Same prescription.” He turned to Marty. “At the risk
     of repeating myself, was Benton ever a Society board member?”
    “No, but I think he was on the board of the Art Museum some years back. He had more
     money than Freddy—or me, for that matter. Decent guy, though, and a wicked bridge
     player. He could look you in the eye and finesse your face cards like nobody’s business.”
    “And you think these three deaths are connected?” I asked.
    “Either they’re an extraordinary coincidence, or there’s a fairly subtle serial killer
     running around.”

CHAPTER 6
    We all stared at each other, James’s last words hanging between us like a physical entity. It seemed absurd: a serial killer preying on the
     elderly Philadelphia cultural elite? Besides, I didn’t want to see anybody else die
     before their time, elite or not. It wasn’t their fault that they’d been born to long-established
     families and raised in a privileged environment and grown old with their peers. I
     sneaked a glance at Marty: she fit the description, except for her age. And to give
     that community its due, the elite had largely used their money generously, supporting
     good causes and institutions—like the Society—that might otherwise have floundered.
     What’s more, they gave of their time and connections.
    I was the first to break the silence. “Shelby, show James what you’ve been working
     on.”
    “Does this mean I’m a consultant for the FBI now?” she asked him directly, dimpling.
    “If you like,” he said with good humor. “What is it?”
    Shelby handed James copies of the board member spreadsheets. “At Nell’s