Friend of the Devil

toward the L-shaped sofa with the table of magazines. Annie and Ginger looked at each other, then sat. Annie picked up Hello and Ginger went for Practical Mechanics.

They hadn’t got very far when the receptionist called out. “She says she can see you in ten minutes, if you’d care to wait?”

“Of course,” said Annie. “Thank you.”

8 4 P E T E R

R O B I N S O N

“Probably just sitting twiddling her thumbs making us wait,” said Ginger.

“Or twiddling something else,” Annie added.

Ginger laughed, a deep guffaw. The receptionist glared at her, then went back to her computer. The time passed quickly enough, and Annie was just about to find out the secrets of the latest megastar divorce settlement when the receptionist’s phone buzzed and she directed them toward the first office at the top of the stairs.

Constance Wells appeared lost behind the huge desk. She was a petite woman with wispy dark curls, probably somewhere in her mid-thirties, Annie guessed. Filing cabinets and bookcases rested against the walls, and her window looked out over the square. A framed illustration of a scene from Hansel and Gretel hung on one wall. Annie admired the delicate colors and f luid lines. It was quality work. A couple of hard-backed chairs had been placed before the desk. “Please,”

she said, gesturing. “Sit down. How can I help you?”

“Karen Drew,” Annie said.

Constance Wells blinked once. “Yes?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh, I . . .”

“I’m sorry to be so abrupt,” said Annie, “but it’s why we’re here.

Karen Drew’s death. Murder, rather. It raises a few questions.”

Constance put her hand to her chest. “I do apologize,” she said.

“You took me quite by surprise. I’m not used to such things. Murder, you said?”

“Yes. Karen was murdered yesterday morning on the coast not far from Mapston Hall. Someone took her for a walk and didn’t bring her back.”

“But . . . who?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Annie. “So far we’re not having a lot of luck.”

“Well, I don’t see how I can help you.”

Annie turned to Ginger. “That’s what everyone says, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ginger. “Quite frankly, I’m getting sick of it, myself.”

“I can’t help that,” said Constance Wells. “It happens to be true.”

F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L

8 5

“We understand that you’re her solicitor and that, among other things, you handled the sale of her house.”

“Yes.”

“An address would help, for a start.”

Constance Wells managed a tight smile. “I think I can help you with that,” she said, walking over to a cabinet. She was wearing a green pastel skirt and matching jacket over a white blouse with a ruff led front. She opened a drawer, extracted a file and gave them an address. “I can’t really see how that will help you, though,” she said, sitting down again.

“It’s a start. Can you tell us anything else about her?”

“As Ms. Drew’s solicitor,” Constance said, “all communications between us are strictly privileged.”

“Ms. Wells, you don’t seem to understand. Karen Drew is dead.

Someone slit her throat from ear to ear.”

Constance Wells turned pale. “Oh . . . you . . .”

“I’m sorry if I shocked you,” said Annie. “But believe me, it nearly shocked me right out of my breakfast.” She hadn’t had any breakfast yesterday, she remembered, having f lown from Eric’s f lat like a bat out of hell, but Constance Wells wasn’t to know that.

“Yes, well . . . I . . . look, I really can’t help you. I’m bound by . . . I only acted for Karen in her business affairs, the house sale, but I . . . I think you should . . . would you excuse me for a moment?”

She got up and dashed out of the office. Annie and Ginger stared at each other.

“What’s with her?” Ginger said. “Off to be sick? Taken short?”

“No idea,” said Annie. “Interesting reaction, though.”

“Very. What do we do?”

“We wait.”