The Chosen

might happen to have on hand would be much appreciated.”

Vera smiled at the stereotype. Mulligan cast a glance to the small walnut bar behind the desk. Country bumpkin cop, figures a little nip on duty cain’t do no harm. Vera poured him a snifter of the new Remy. “You were saying something about an elected post.”

Mulligan’s brow rose at the first sip. “Ooo-eee, that’s shore got a kick… Er, uh, yes, Miss Vera, and what I mean is that sometimes we gotta check things out that’re surely nothin’, on account of that’s what the folks who vote want, ya see?”

“Not really,” Vera said.

Mulligan seemed at once uncomfortable, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t taken off the winter jacket. “’sa free country and all, sure, but it don’t make a lot of common sense to build a place like this up here, in Waynesville.”

Now Vera found herself reciting Feldspar’s own business sentiments, almost reflexively. “Actually, it makes quite a bit of sense if you examine our marketing designs. The Inn caters to a very select clientele. There are a lot of very rich business people in this country who enjoy coming to a remote, exclusive facility such as ours, a place where they can enjoy total privacy and serene surroundings, a place where they can get away from it all for a little while.”

Did Mulligan smirk? He didn’t seem to buy this explanation. “Very rich business people, yes,” he said. “And what sort of businesses might these very rich people be involved in?”

Vera didn’t quite know how to answer the question, nor did she know how to interpret it. “Well, I’m not actually sure. Our clients’ business interests are a matter of confidentiality. I don’t see what difference it makes, though.”

“Let’s just say it makes a whole lotta difference if your clients’ business interests aren’t exactly legal.”

What did that mean? Vera peered at him.

“And did you know that Magwyth Enterprises is a holding company?” Mulligan added before she could even reply to his first implication.

Vera hesitated, thinking, then said, “So?”

“Well, I, uh, saw fit ta run a little tad of a check on this holding company of yours, and there don’t seem ta be a whole lot of info on ’em. Shore, they got theirselfs a little listing in the U.S. Department of Small Enterprises Directory, but that’s about all. Cain’t check I.R.S. without a subpoena.”

“Why on earth would you want to subpoena our tax records?”

Mulligan downed the last dram of his Remy. At seventy bucks a shot, it proved a nifty little free pick-me-up. “Well, don’t you think somethin’s a bit off here? And this boss of yours, this Feldspar fella. You know he wired several million dollars into that little bank of ours in town? What’cha think of that?”

Again, Vera hesitated. “Chief Mulligan, it sounds to me like you’re accusing Mr. Feldspar of using The Inn to launder money and to serve as a resort for white-collar criminals.”

“Oh, no, miss, not at all. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just a bit…mussed is all.”

A bit mussed? Vera thought. Bullshit. You came in here to plant seeds, and now that you have, you’ll probably thank me for my time and leave. This was irredeemable. What right did Mulligan have to imply such things? Moreover, what were his grounds?

Vera brought a finger to her lip. Maybe he’s got grounds that I don’t know about.