The Fine Art of Murder by Emily Barnes Read Free Book Online Page B

asked.
    “I would if Randolph would have let me install a surveillance system in the place.”
    “You mean there isn’t one?” I asked, surprised. “That’s insane, considering all the artwork and antiques they have.”
    “Oh, there’s a system all right, but it’s ancient. Old man Marshall was the last Pierce to live full-time in the mansion. Just him, a nurse, a housekeeper, and some old coot—”
    “—Bradley. He was Marshall’s butler for years—very protective.”
    Nathan nodded. “Sure, I remember him. Anyway, after the old man died—”
    “—under mysterious circumstances,” I interjected.
    “There was never proof of any wrongdoing, but it was strange,” he agreed.
    “And the bulk of his estate went to Junior,” I said. “With one stipulation.”
    Nathan glanced over at me. “I never heard anything about that.”
    “Lizzie told me. A lawyer friend of hers drew up the original will. And since attorney–client privilege doesn’t cover this . . .”
    “So . . . tell me.”
    “It stipulated that on the centennial of the groundbreaking of the estate, which is this year, it would be transferred back to the town of Edina. Did you know it was originally named Buckhorn manor?”
    “After all those poisonous plants around here?” Nathan asked.
    I nodded. “They used to make paint out of them.”
    “Seems fitting somehow. Marshall Senior seemed to poison everything he touched, all the time adding more to his daddy’s wealth. It’s never enough with those kinds of people. Everyone in town has a relative who was affected by his ruthlessness.”
    “Did you ever have a conversation with the man?” I asked Nathan. “To hear him talk, he was a benevolent industrialistwho was only trying to push the United States into the modern age. Never mind that he profited from the Depression and the war. There was even a rumor that he purchased stolen art from the Nazis. Nothing was beneath him.”
    “Yeah, the old man was a real piece of work,” Nathan said. “And no one’s lived in the manse ever since. From what I’ve heard, anything of value was cleared out and stored long ago.”
    “And now Randolph’s in town, renovating Buckhorn, getting it ready to be turned into a museum, I suppose.”
    Nathan parked in front of the huge building. “Once everything’s back in place, he’ll realize he needs top-of-the-line security. Especially after what happened here tonight.”
    We sat in the car for a few minutes and checked out the scene. Three squad cars were parked at odd angles across the gravel driveway that fanned out in front of the building, two with their lights flashing. An ambulance had been backed up as far as it could go to the front door. I could see an EMT leaning against the side of the ambulance smoking a cigarette. Yellow police tape had been wrapped around one of the tall white columns flanking the hand-carved door. Then it had been stretched and wrapped tightly around the opposite column. Two more strips of tape formed a large X across the entrance. Without another word between us, we got out of the car and walked up the long driveway.

Chapter Eight
    My old take-charge attitude kicked in. “You occupy him while I go inside,” I told Nathan, pointing to the EMT.
    “Whatever you say, Chief,” he joked. “If you need me, just holler.”
    The EMT looked at me with mild interest and nodded. Hopefully giving the impression that I belonged there, I ducked under the police tape.
    “Nathan Walker—Walker Security. Can I ask you a few questions?” I heard Nathan say to the man as I opened the front door.
    I was inside before the EMT had a chance to answer.
    Dusty, paint-spattered tarps covered the floor in the foyer. A small chandelier draped with a sheet had been turned on and gave the room an eerie appearance. It felt as though I was standing inside a large skeleton as I looked at the scaffolds surrounding me. Walls were spotted with gray plaster; in some spots, drywall was