Betty Pierre - Murder.Com

"Hello, Mr. Weber?"

"Hello, Mrs. Conners." What a pathetic-looking woman, he thought. No wonder Ryan stayed at the office all the time. Who'd want to go home to her and those two filthy children? "I'm very sorry about your husband, Mrs. Conners, but there's nothing I can do. The company lawyer is handling all the financial papers. You'll have to talk to him for any guidance."

Her sunken eyes stared at him. "That's not what I'm here about, Mr. Weber."

He frowned. "What is it then?"

"My husband left me a letter. Told me to talk to you about anything I needed and you'd see to it that I would be well taken care of." Her voice darkened. "If anything happened to him."

His chest tightened as he narrowed his gaze on the woman. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"You see, I know what the two of you were doing. My husband described it all in his letter. He said if you didn't honor my request, I should go to the police."

Ken glared at her. "I'd like to see that letter. Why don't you come inside and we'll discuss this further."

"No. My husband also warned me not to be alone with you at any time. You frightened him, Mr. Weber. And Ryan didn't scare easily. I have a copy of the letter for you. But don't underestimate me either. I have the original in a sealed envelope in the hands of a lawyer. If anything should happen to me or my daughters, it will be opened." She handed him a long white envelope, picked up one of the young girls and balanced her on her hip, then took the hand of the other and walked away. Suddenly, she stopped and turned around. "I'll let you know what I need."

Tapping the envelope on his hand, Ken watched her until she disappeared around the corner. He'd definitely miscalculated the shrewdness of Ryan Conners. And now his wife.

Ken headed straight for his bedroom when he got inside the house, anxious to see what the police had confiscated. When he slid open the closet door, he hit the wall with his fist. "What the hell! They've taken all my goddamn suits."

He then walked through the house and out into the back yard, where he noticed they'd messed with the dead coals of the barbecue. "What'd they think I did? Burn something?"

Slumping down on one of the lounges, he stared into the pool. He'd made a big mistake in turning his family against him. But the pressure of their accusations and questions had almost sent him over the edge.

He went into his home office and sat down at his desk. He slit open the envelope. The letter consisted of five pages. When he finished, he sat back in his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "That son-of-a-bitch had balls, more than I ever gave him credit for," Ken muttered aloud, wadding the letter into a ball.

Chapter Twenty-five

A grim expression shadowed Detective Maxhimer's face as he left the local Goodwill store carrying a bundle under his arm. His hunch had paid off after hitting several charity outlet stores and coming away empty-handed. This one even had a record of a Mrs. S. Weber having donated several bags of clothes and miscellaneous items. Fortunately, the store had gotten behind schedule in sorting their items and several pouches stood untouched in the store's holding area.

Cliff went through several bags without success until he came to the last one. Mid-way through the sack, he found a neatly folded dark gray sports coat. It showed little wear and no damage. A seam tag bore the inscription: "Made especially for Ken Weber by Amos Jackson, Tailor." "Pay dirt," he mumbled. "You made your first mistake, Ken Weber."

Knowing there had been drastic advancements in DNA testing, he figured the results would be delivered within a few days. Meanwhile, he'd keep a man on Weber. He didn't trust him. Never had. Also, he worried about Mrs. Conners and those two pitiful little urchins. If Autumn knew anything, their lives might be in danger. Even though he'd questioned her several times, she seemed nonchalant about her husband and his work. However, that didn't mean she wasn't shrewd. He'd checked on her background. She and Ryan had met in college. Both carried high grade averages and had graduated with honors. They never belonged to any social clubs in college but a counselor remembered them as participants in rallies and marches against the establishment.

One classmate remembered them as loners, strange or weird. The woman's solitude worried him. If he could find a legal reason, he'd also have a man watching her and those two kids. Since the death of her husband, he'd made it a daily routine to cruise by her place and check for signs of activity.

Back at the station, Cliff wrapped the gray sports coat and sent it to the lab with priority instructions. Now, he'd play the waiting game.

*****

Angie stared out the kitchen window toward Marty's cottage as she waited for Tom to come out of the study. Marty had wanted to fix them dinner, but Angie refused her offer and insisted she go rest.

Her mind wandered over the events of the long day and she suddenly felt exhausted. Yet, Angie didn't want Tom to leave. She'd grown dependent on him for support through these trying times and needed him tonight. Then it struck her that he must be starving. It had been hours since either of them had eaten. One way to keep him with her a little longer would be to start preparing dinner. Immediately, she grabbed an apron from the drawer and opened the refrigerator. By the time Tom joined her in the kitchen, she had meat frying, a sauce cooking and spaghetti boiling.

"Hey, what's going on in here?" Tom asked, eyeing the stove.

"Well, I thought it time we had some nourishment. It's been a long day."

"You got that right," Tom said.

"Any news from the station?"

"A little. I talked with Cliff before he left to go home. He's making a few strides on his own, but nothing of importance at the moment," he lied, not wanting to load her down with more heavy stuff. "Can I set the table?"

"Sure." She pointed at the cabinet where the dishes were stacked.

Angie smiled to herself, noting that he did a darnn good job of putting the utensils where they belonged. She put the spaghetti and sauce into bowls and placed them on the table.

After dinner, Tom pushed back his plate and patted his stomach. "You don't know how nice it is to eat something besides fast food and frozen entrees."

She laughed. "I can tell you enjoy a home-cooked meal, even though it's nothing special."

"I loved every bite. And to show my appreciation, I'll do the clean up."

"We'll do it together."

As they worked, Tom reached around her to get the dishcloth when she accidentally turned into his arms. He caught her from stumbling and their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat. Tom backed away clumsily, releasing her arm.

"Uh, sorry. I wanted to wipe off the table. I sort of made a mess."

He quickly ran the cloth across the table. Angie stood frozen to the spot, staring at him. The electricity she'd felt between them kept sparking inside her.

Tom turned around, one hand full of bread crumbs, the other clinging to the dishcloth, and looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Am I not doing this right?"

Feeling her face grow warm, she shoved loose wisps of hair behind her ears and quickly turned toward the sink. "No, you're doing fine." What's the matter with me, she thought. Bud's only been gone a couple of months and you're feeling like a giddy young girl on her first date. Get hold of yourself. This man's a good friend and you need him. Don't push him away with your silliness.

Tom put the last plate into the dishwasher and closed the door. "Thanks, Angie, I really enjoyed the dinner. I'm going to get out of here and let you rest. You know how to reach me."

She started to protest but felt it best not to push her luck. "Glad you stayed. I'll talk with you tomorrow after I get Sandy back here. I hope she'll settle down and be her old self again."