A Man of His Word by Kenneth L. Levinson

Author:Kenneth L. Levinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 978-1-60174-096-0
Publisher: Uncial Press

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It hit me in the middle of the night. That's when my mind tends to cause the most mischief. I was lost in a deep sleep, wandering in my dreams through a lavish tree house that vaguely resembled the Emerson mansion, when something jolted me wide awake.

At first, I lay in bed, my ears straining for sounds coming from downstairs. My sleep-fogged brain decided that someone had broken down my front door. After a few seconds, I realized I had heard no actual sounds. The light on the burglar alarm keypad showed there was no intruder, and I realized that what had wakened me was an idea, not a noise.

A distressing piece of information I had heard earlier in the evening.

It had taken hours to burrow its way into my conscious mind, but there it was.

I sat up in bed. A glance at the luminous dial on my clock radio told me it was 3:11 a.m.

Far too early to call her.

I went over it in my mind, telling myself I was making a big deal out of nothing.

What was it she had said when she left my car? A man had called her, wanting to buy her father's business. She was going to meet him the following night.

Perfectly innocuous.

Wasn't it?

But how did he know the business was for sale?

There had been nothing in the papers about her father's death, other than the simple obituary.

My mind was suddenly brimming with questions. Why would anybody want to buy a detective business, especially a one-man shop whose owner was dead?

No. Who had been murdered.

What assets were there to sell? Client lists? Files? Accounts receivable? Not likely. Deacon worked on retainer. He got his money up front. Certainly the desk and chairs had no value. Deacon didn't even have his own office space. He worked out of his home.

And why were they meeting at night? Why not during the light of day, when there would be people around? What if someone--for example, whoever had thrown her father's unconscious body off a tenth floor balcony--was testing Jana Deacon, trying to find out if she knew something incriminating? For example, had her father told her about the appointment he must have made to meet his murderer? Or were they looking for something they might have overlooked the first time?

I glared at the digital face of the clock radio. Three-seventeen. Only six minutes had gone by. I tried to force myself back to sleep, but it was useless. I told myself there would be plenty of time to warn her in the morning. But my brain wouldn't let it go. What if this would-be buyer had merely called to find out where she lived? He might be breaking into her house at that very moment, planning to commit yet another murder.

My thoughts bounced back and forth, like the eyes of the spectators at a tennis match. Should I call her? Should I leave her alone? Would she think I was completely crazy? Things always

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