Marta Perry - How Secrets Die

That sounded like Jason. He’d focus on a task to the exclusion of everything else.

“I’m glad Jason found a mentor here. I really should thank Mr. Sheldon personally, then. Is he still living in town?” It would be as good an excuse as any to probe into what the man remembered of Jason’s time here.

Lina looked doubtful. “Yes, Russell Sheldon is quite a fixture in town. Everyone knows him. But I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to visit him.”

She paused, then seemed to realize she’d have to explain further if she expected Kate to drop the idea.

“The trouble is that Russell has been failing mentally for the past few years. He probably should have retired earlier than he did, to be honest, but he had such a good rapport with our older clients that we hated to see him go. They’d trusted him for years, and it wasn’t easy to convince them that they’d be quite safe in Bart’s hands.”

“Surely a short visit with him wouldn’t hurt...” Kate began, but Lina was already shaking her head.

“I understand the poor man is becoming increasingly erratic. Apparently the least disruption of his usual routine causes him to react very emotionally. In fact, his son has been trying to get him into an assisted living facility. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to cause Mr. Sheldon any distress, and I don’t imagine he even remembers Jason at this point.”

“I see.” Somehow she didn’t think she wanted to take Lina’s word for it, as helpful as she seemed. “I’ve hoped people who knew my brother during those last weeks might have noticed some indication of trouble. Anything that seemed out of his normal routine, any change in his attitude...”

There had to be something—something that had pushed Jason into his final act.

“I wish I could be of more help.” Lina spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “In retrospect I do think Jason seemed a bit more preoccupied than usual toward the end of the summer, but then he’d been sending out résumés and looking for a position, so that’s only natural.”

Kate nodded. In one of his phone calls, they’d talked about the possibility of Jason getting a job near her. He wouldn’t have wanted to move in with her again, but she’d wanted to be close enough to provide some support, at least.

She tried another tack. “I suppose you don’t know any of the friends he made here?”

“I’m afraid not. Jason didn’t seem like the social type. He was more serious than a lot of young men his age.” Lina’s smile seemed to freeze. “I’d be wary of anything Nikki has to say about your brother, by the way. From what I saw, he was usually trying to evade her attentions.”

“Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Well, you don’t need my advice. I’m sure a woman of your experience could see at once just how much you can rely on Nikki for the truth.” A smile warmed her rather restrained manner. “What was she doing when you came in? Filing her nails?”

Kate had to laugh. “Actually, I did spot her doing that earlier.”

“We’d get someone better, but there isn’t really all that much choice. The bright kids take off for college after graduation. At least Nikki knows how to operate the office equipment, and she’s better on the computer than Bart is.” Lina smiled. “Although that’s not saying much.”

“I sometimes think a five-year-old could teach me something new, despite my job.” In the interests of possibly getting more from the woman later, she should respond to any friendship cues.

Lina reached for her bag. “I won’t hold you up any longer, but if there’s anything I can do, please, let me know. Jason’s death must have been a terrible shock as well as a devastating loss.”

The woman’s sympathetic tone got to her, and for a moment Kate considered taking Lina into her confidence. But only for a moment. Her native caution reasserted itself. She didn’t intend to give too much away to anyone in this town, not until she had a better idea of where she stood.

* * *

MAC PULLED INTO his parking space in front of the police station the next day, fuming. The meeting he’d had with the district attorney had been an exercise in frustration. They both knew of the increasing presence of drugs in their community, and of illegal prescription meds in particular. But the problem wasn’t solved by talking about it—or at least, not by talking with a DA who was up for reelection this fall and wanted to be able to show voters he’d been actively involved in fighting drugs. All the DA wanted to do was give lip service to the problem.

Mac spared a passing thought to appreciate the crisp, clear weather that was so typical of fall in Pennsylvania. He didn’t have time to enjoy it today, unfortunately. He headed for the door of the solid redbrick building that had housed the station for the past century. The cement block addition along one side might not have the beauty of the original structure, but it gave much-needed space for police cars as well as the paramedics.

A glance at the clock on the bell tower of Town Hall informed him that the morning was nearly gone, eaten up by talk that led nowhere. Marge Bailey, their dispatcher/receptionist, gave him a sympathetic look as he came in out of the bright fall sunshine. Marge was fond of telling people how she used to babysit for Mac and his brother, and her motherliness with him was balanced by the crisp, no-nonsense way she dealt with police matters.

“No fun?”

He grimaced. “Maybe it’ll satisfy him for the moment, so I can get some work done. Did the state police crime stats come in yet?”

“On your computer.” She glanced toward his office door. “But first, you have a visitor.” Marge rolled her eyes. “Bart Gordon. All het up about something. I told him you were tied up in a meeting, and that if he had something to report, another officer could speak with him, but he insisted on waiting for you.”

“Right.” Bart was one of those people who always had a list of complaints, most of them not police business at all. Looked as if the last shreds of his morning were being swept away. Well, his job was to protect and serve the community, even when they wasted his time.

Mac strode into the office, tossing his cap onto the desk. “’Morning, Bart.”

Bart Gordon shot out of the visitor’s chair that took up too much space in Mac’s tiny office, already crowded with desk, chair and files, made to seem even smaller by the framed photos of various town dignitaries and events that covered most of one wall.

“It’s about time you’re getting back. I’ve been waiting.” Bart looked prosperous, self-satisfied and florid, as usual. He was enough older than Mac that their lives hadn’t really touched at any point.

“Didn’t Marge tell you I was at a meeting with the DA?” he asked blandly. “I’ll have to speak to her about it.”

Taken aback, Bart sat down again. “She mentioned it,” he said reluctantly.

“Well, what can I do for you?” Mac edged around his desk and sat in the creaky swivel chair he’d inherited from his predecessor.

Bart seemed to get up a head of steam again. “Are you aware that Jason Reilley’s sister is in town?” He made it sound like an accusation.

Now, what was there in Kate Beaumont’s presence to make Bart so hot under the collar?

“Yes, I’ve met her.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Is there a problem?”

“A problem? When a perfect stranger walks into my office and starts prying into my business?” Bart seemed to take a breath, maybe deciding that wasn’t the way he wanted to present himself. After a moment he leaned forward, an earnest expression on his ruddy face. “Now, Mac, you know I always have the best interest of Laurel Ridge at heart. Adverse publicity about a prominent business like ours can’t do anyone any good. I’m just trying to protect the reputation of our town.”