“This is Chief Cobb. If you have a minute, Miss Flynn, I have a few questions.” Cobb pulled a tablet close, picked up a pen. “When did you tell Dave Lewis that Susan Flynn was unlikely to provide a loan for his new clinic?”
She drew in a sharp breath, said hurriedly, “That isn’t accurate. Susan had asked for a business plan. She hadn’t turned Dave down.”
“When did you tell him?” Cobb was patient but inexorable.
“Saturday afternoon.” Her voice was faint.
“After dinner, Lewis learned you weren’t going to inherit. That night someone made sure Susan Flynn didn’t sign her new will.”
“Chief, that’s terrible. Dave wouldn’t hurt Susan. Besides”—there was a rush of relief in her voice—“he and I went for a drive after Susan went upstairs and Dave insisted I talk to her, smooth everything over, get her to agree to the loan. Don’t you see? He wouldn’t urge me to talk to her if she wasn’t going to be all right.”
Cobb looked at Price, whose expression was sardonic.
“I see. But now he won’t have to worry about money, will he? Since you are going to inherit.”
Price mouthed, “New will?”
The chief waved a hand in dismissal.
Peg was slow in answering. “Actually”—her tone was stiff—“Dave knows I don’t intend to use any of that money for myself. I tried to give it to Keith, but Wade Farrell said I’d have to pay too much in taxes, so I’m going to set it up where every penny of my inheritance is used for Keith. I told Dave that yesterday.”
“How did he respond?”
After an appreciable pause, she said reluctantly, “He doesn’t approve.”
“I see. Thanks very much, Miss Flynn.” He clicked off the phone.
Price gave a bark of dark laughter. “If Lewis is your man, he has to be pretty frosted to know he committed a murder and the money still won’t get to him.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Women change their minds. For now she looks innocent as a daisy. I’d take everything”— he spoke with emphasis—“that she says with a bucketload of salt. I’m not as impressed with her generosity as the lawyer. For sure, if she spiked the cocoa, she’d now pretend no interest in the money. So far, she hasn’t signed anything. It’s all words.”
I heard the chief’s dark analysis with a chill. I thought I’d judged Peg well. She was sweet and kind to Keith. Her response Monday afternoon when she tried to renounce her share had seemed utterly sincere.
A dark little voice whispered to me:
“Same thing with the boyfriend.” The chief’s eyes were cold. “If he doctored the cocoa, of course he’d urge Peg to talk again to Susan. Now that the old will is still in place, you can bet he’ll try to persuade Peg to keep the money, which may have been her intent all along.”
Price grinned. “You suspicious old man, you. In any event, Cain may get an earful from her now.” Price stood with a bounce. He walked to the door, then looked back. “Hey, Sam, these tips you’re getting?”
The chief leaned back in his chair, his expression abruptly remote. “Yeah?”
“Could the horse’s mouth be a sorrel filly?” Price’s tone was light, but his eyes were hopeful.
Chief Cobb said carefully, “I haven’t seen anyone.”
Price hesitated. “If you do, maybe she’ll come by, say hello.”
I appreciated his admiration, but his hopes were doomed to disappointment.
The door closed.
“A sorrel filly? Redder hair than that. Unless I’m totally nuts.” Cobb rubbed tired eyes. “Maybe I am nuts.” He reached out for his phone. His hand fell. Finally, his face folded in a tight frown and he yanked up the receiver, punched a number. “Sam Cobb. Is Doc free?…I’ll hold.” He punched the speakerphone, turned his chair to look, eyes questioning, toward the blackboard.
“Speaking.” The contralto voice was brisk and firm, but genial.
“Hey, Janie. If you’ve got a minute, can I run something by you?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
Cobb’s face turned a dull reddish color. “I wanted to talk to you about one of my officers. Good guy, but I think maybe he’s under a strain. Now, this is between us, but he gets these messages. It’s the blackboard.” Cobb ran a finger around his collar as if it were too tight. “He sees the chalk in the air and nobody’s holding it, but there are words being written and in a minute there’s a message and it has to do with a tough case.”
“Does he hear voices?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that.” He stared at the smudged blackboard. “At least, he hasn’t heard voices yet. The message was on the blackboard and signed by an officer who had a previous connection to the department.”
I smiled, pleased for Officer M. Loy to have even that grudging recognition.
“Would he have some special reason to remember this officer?”
“Oh yes.” The chief’s response was fervent. “Is it possible he’s getting some tips, say over the phone, and he writes them on the blackboard and doesn’t remember doing it?”
