I entered her apartment, drew the curtains, and turned on the lights. Detective Sergeant Price and other officers would have thoroughly searched the apartment, searched it as only police know how to search. They had found no will.
Was it possible that Kim had managed to secrete the will so well that even seasoned investigators missed the hiding place?
I settled on the sofa. When I left Monday night, Kim had been in the living room, the will in her purse. If she decided to leave the envelope behind in her apartment, that decision had been made in the short span of time that I was in Chief Cobb’s office. She must have moved quickly.
I looked slowly around the living room at the beige walls decorated by travel posters and the shabby sofa and chairs. The police search would have unearthed the envelope had it been tucked beneath a cushion or slipped into a drawer.
Travel brochures lay askew on the table next to her chair. She’d looked at them, planning a wedding trip to the Riviera. The lure of foreign lands was vividly revealed in the posters of the Parthenon, the Cathedral at Chartres, Castle Hill in Nice.
Tucker had dallied with Kim to anger Mitch. Kim had responded to Tucker’s charms, chosen him over Mitch, the scion of the wealthy family. After Ellen’s death, perhaps Kim blamed Tucker’s defection on pressure from the family. When she offered Tucker the will, she wanted marriage in exchange.
I felt a sweep of sadness. So much sorrow and despair. Kim had likely smiled happily as she worked to frame the posters of exotic destinations. Monday night she must have felt that she was taking the first step toward the French Riviera and a new life as Mrs. Tucker Satterlee. I gazed at the travel posters. The Riviera…
Abruptly I was across the room. I unhooked the framed poster of Castle Hill in Nice. I turned the frame over. I moved the prongs holding the backing in place and slipped the cardboard free.
Susan Flynn’s monogrammed envelope lay against the slick white back of the poster.
I opened a window, loosened a screen, and then I was out into the night, carrying the envelope. Stars spangled the cold night sky. I zoomed from the apartment house to downtown, enjoying the sounds and sights of the holidays, carolers, car motors in store parking lots as last-minute shoppers drove up and down seeking a space, Salvation Army bells, partygoers calling out cheerful farewells, and the brilliant panorama of decorated yards and strands of bright lights on lampposts and strung across downtown streets.
It was time for Officer Loy’s last appearance. On the second floor of City Hall, I waited until the dispatcher turned to answer a call. “…please repeat the address. I can’t help you unless I have an address…” I swirled into being. If she looked up, she would see the familiar French blue uniform with a hand raised to punch the electronic keypad at the door to the police offices. I swiftly bent down, as if tying my shoe, and placed the envelope on the floor.
I disappeared, moved through the panel, opened the door from the inside. The dispatcher was absorbed in the call. I scooped up the envelope and closed the door.
The hallway was empty, though a mutter of voices and ringing phones sounded from the squad room. I walked down the central hallway to Chief Cobb’s office. As I’d expected, the frosted glass gleamed from light within. He had many tasks to accomplish with the arrest of Tucker Satterlee.
The small square envelope seemed oddly heavy in my hand. I would be relieved to deliver it to a safe haven.
Officer Loy once again disappeared. I put the envelope on the floor, slipped through the door and into the office. Chief Cobb sat behind his desk, several folders opened and spread out. His face was intent as he wrote briskly on a legal pad. His gray suit was more rumpled than ever. He’d discarded his necktie and his white shirt was open at the throat. With his left hand, he plucked M&M’s from a half-emptied sack.
I eased the hall door open, retrieved the envelope, and shut the panel.
The phone rang.
Without looking up, he punched the speakerphone. “Cobb.”
“Got the transcripts of the Satterlee tapes from the Butler house.” Detective Sergeant Price’s pleasant tenor sounded ebullient. “Do you want me to bring them to you?”
I picked up the envelope and moved close to the wall.
Cobb’s mouth spread in a satisfied smile. “I can wait until tomorrow. I was there. I didn’t think it would do any good to wire Leon. I thought for sure there would be a shot with no warning like the brick plant.” He paused, a frown tugging at his brows. “That’s probably what would have happened except for Peg Flynn showing up. My guess is that when Satterlee saw her car, he decided to come inside and see what was up. That changed everything.”
“Yeah.” There was an odd tone in Price’s voice. “You know, that was strange at the end, when a woman shouted for help.”
Cobb’s expression was uneasy. “Yeah. Strange.”
“Thing about it is,” Price ruminated, “the shout seemed to come from the stairs, from right beside Satterlee. Peg Flynn has a high sweet voice. The voice that called out was throaty, kind of husky. Kind of… unforgettable.”
Cobb scrambled in the M&M bag, grabbed a bunch, tossed them in his mouth.
“In fact”—Price was emphatic—“if I hadn’t seen what happened, I would have said Cain getting to Satterlee without being shot was impossible. Cain ducked past me like he was running downfield with the ball but he was a good ten feet from the stairs. How did he get there without being hit?”
“Crazy guy,” Cobb muttered.
Price’s laughter was wry and rueful. “Known as woman power, Chief.”
“I understand. But he’s a brave kid.”
“Brave and lucky. Or”—Price’s tone was thoughtful—“blessed. Satterlee fired into the wall. Why’d he shoot into
