Fatal Connections by Debbi Mack

Author:Debbi Mack [Mack, Debbi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Debbi Mack

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“Just a few more questions,” I said to Minetti. “When the police spoke to you about the Harcourts’ murders, did they cover any topics that I didn’t?”

Minetti frowned, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think so. Other than establishing where I was and what I was doing around the time of their . . . deaths.”

“Which was?”

Minetti’s frown deepened, as if he thought I would accuse him. “I was asleep. This was last weekend, right? I was definitely asleep. We stay open late on weekends, so Fridays and Saturdays, I’m usually here until at least midnight, sometimes later. Last weekend, I ended up working until well past two.”

I nodded. “I assume you stopped working for the Harcourts after you took over here?”

He nodded. “As their personal cook, yeah. But I catered their events now and then.”

“What was the largest event you catered for them?” I was really starting to wonder.

“A fundraiser. Maybe five, six hundred people. It was quite the—”

The crash of breaking dishes in the kitchen interrupted him and jolted me. With a nervous glance at the door, Minetti said, “You’ll have to excuse me.”

We rose together.

“I won’t keep you,” I said.

While I never had a chance to really get to know Ron and Marian Harcourt, my research revealed that their activities extended to more than just travel.

Before I drove back home, I checked my phone. Gallagher Bern. This was his second call and he hadn’t left a message. I didn’t give it much more thought, until I was at home reviewing my notes. Ah, yes. The Harcourts’ lawyer, Aaron Gallagher of Gallagher and Bernson. The caller ID had cut off part of the name. The card Ryan Douglas had given me was still in my shoulder bag. I fished it out and checked it. His direct line matched the number on my caller ID. Why would he want to talk to me? None of the other Harcourt retinue had gone out of their way to do that. This time, I called the number back. After a few rings, a man said, “Yes.”

“Aaron Gallagher?” I said.

Before I could even identify myself, he said, “Thank you for calling. I need to speak to you, but I can’t right now.”

Gallagher’s words came out in short, sharp bursts.

“This is Erica Jensen,” I said, just to be completely clear. “Would you like to set up a better time?”

“Call you back in an hour or so?”

“Sure.”

I wondered which client was being charged for these calls. In the meantime, I updated my flowchart to the extent that I could and tried to connect things. And I wondered if by now, Amy would feel any more inclined to discuss her non-attendance at the memorial service. I also realized I should have shown Minetti the photos I took at the service to see if he recognized anyone in particular. Maybe asked him a bit more about the church. Damn! Maybe Gallagher could help with that.

While I waited for the lawyer to call back, I took another look at the Harcourts’ social media presence.

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