Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read with me .TXT) 📕

to speak, with no trace left of his earlier outburst. “Ah! The honeymoon couple! What can I get you to drink? Mrs. Stone, what is your fancy?”

He poured a generous measure of cognac and hurried across the floor to hand it to Gordon Sr. Then he stood grinning expectantly at Dehan.

She winked at him. “You know what, Reggie? Why don’t I come over there and show you how I mix a martini?”

He stammered something and she took his arm and led him away. I glanced at Gordon, who was still watching me. “Jr. not joining us tonight, Mr. Gordon?”

“I neither know nor care, Mr. Stone. He is a huge disappointment to me, so I try to avoid him.”

Bee sighed. “He had some business to attend to with the gardener chap, Armstrong. He said he’d join us a little later.”

I frowned at her. “Bobby Armstrong?”

She looked curious. “Yes, why?”

“I saw Armstrong arrive, but that was almost an hour ago. I thought I heard him talking to Ian just ten minutes ago.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps he’s finished then. No doubt he’ll join us presently.”

I glanced at Sally. She hadn’t turned around. Gordon was still watching me. Now he smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “That detective’s mind never stops whirring, does it, Mr. Stone?”

“Never.”

He leered. “You should be careful. They say that can be a terrible strain on a marriage. It can drive a partner into a lover’s arms.”

I smiled at him. Dehan approached with two martinis and handed me one. I took it and said, “There are lots of things that can do that, Gordon.” I sipped, winked at Dehan. “That’s perfect.” Then I turned back to Charles Sr., still smiling. “One of them is being an asshole.”

Bee spluttered and sprayed gin and tonic over her blue dress, and Pam’s shoulders began to shake as she tried to suppress her laughter. Before he could answer, I went on.

“I have been a homicide detective, in the Bronx, for over twenty-five years. You can imagine that during that time I have met and interrogated some very bad people, cruel and psychotic people. I have lost track of how many, but it must run into many hundreds. They all lied to me, and they all insulted me at one time or another. So I have grown over time to be insensitive to insults, however subtle, and damned good at knowing when people are lying to me.”

The major stammered for a moment, standing behind Pam’s chair, then blurted out, “It must be fascinating work!”

I made a ‘not so much’ face. “It’s not like the movies or the TV. Even the ones that aim to be realistic have to elaborate and glamorize things, because the vast majority of homicides are…” I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. “Tragically banal. Time of death is almost impossible to tell in the real world, DNA and fingerprints can take up to three months to get back from the lab, and,” I paused for effect, “ninety percent of murders are committed by a member of the family or a close friend. The motive is almost always sexual jealousy, anger or greed.” I gave a small, dry laugh. “Millions of people every year spend thousands of dollars protecting their homes and their children against outsiders who might break in through the window or the back door, when statistically the real threat already lives in the house.”

Right on cue, a gust of wind rattled the glass in the windows, a flash of lightning lit up the night and a clap of thunder smashed open the sky, then rolled away across the black ocean. When it had past, there was some nervous laughter and Bee said, “My goodness! With timing like that, you should be on the stage.”

Sally turned away from the window to stare at me, and Gordon said, “Are you telling me that my father was probably killed by somebody in his own household?”

Dehan went and stood beside the major, behind Pam’s chair. She answered for me.

“You’d be in a better position to know that, Mr. Gordon. We’ve only been here twenty-four hours and his death was almost forty years ago. You and the inspector were convinced it wasn’t suicide, so you must have had somebody in mind.”

The major swallowed hard, staring at his feet. Bee uncrossed her legs, then sighed and crossed them again, like she was losing patience with their limited range of positions. Pam was staring hard at her husband, and Sally went to the drinks salver and started mixing herself another drink.

Gordon said, “Is it really only twenty-four hours? It seems so much longer.”

Sally spoke suddenly in a loud voice: “Jealousy and greed?”

Rain rattled on the windows. She dropped ice in her glass, then spilled in the gin. The tonic fizzed loudly. The whole room waited. She turned to face Gordon. “Who in this household could possibly have felt jealousy, or greed?” Then she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “I think this murder, if it was murder, Mr. Stone, must fall in the ten percent of ‘other motives’. But most likely, you know, it was just suicide, like the police said. Is there not something to be said for leaving well enough alone?”

I gave her my sweetest smile. “We’re just here on our honeymoon, Mrs. Cameron.”

The dining room door opened and Brown stepped in. He surveyed the room and finally his eyes rested on Gordon Sr. “Should I serve dinner now, sir? Mr. Gordon Jr. is still in his study, it seems.”

Pam turned in her chair to look at him. “Have you called him?”

Brown came further into the room so she didn’t have to crane to see him. “Yes, madam. There is no answer.”

Pam looked at Gordon. Gordon shrugged and sipped his drink. “I’m starving. Serve it now as far as I’m