The Safe Room by B. A. Shapiro

Author:B. A. Shapiro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kiah’s office was two small parlors separated by a sliding pocket door that didn’t exist anymore, its rich Victorian detail barely discernible beneath the years of neglect and bad paint jobs. The original owner of the turn-of-the-century house, an elderly Italian woman who had never lived anywhere else, had sold it to Kiah for a dollar to avoid taxes; ten years later it wasn’t clear which one of them had gotten the better of the deal.

I dropped into the worn brown-and-orange couch in the bay window and stared at Detective Blais. “I what?”

Kiah had followed me in and stood at the end of the couch. She placed a hand on my shoulder.

“That can’t be right,” I said, both horrified and thrilled by the policewoman’s claim. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what the lawyer told us.”

“What lawyer?” Kiah asked.

“Jan Rosenthal,” Blais said calmly. “Her grandmother’s lawyer.”

“But no one’s even seen the will yet.” I glanced up at Kiah, then over at Raymond Langley. “How could you know who’s inherited what?”

“We got a subpoena,” Langley said helpfully, leaning forward in his chair. Blais shot him a look, and he sat back and pressed his lips together.

I pushed my palms into the nubby fabric of the couch. It was ugly and scratchy and had obviously been someone’s yard-sale cast off, but in the world of urban drug rehab, a couch is a couch. I continued to push into the cushion until I could feel the nubs branding my hands. Could Gram have really left Harden House to me?

“But Gram was planning to give the house to the Lexington Historical Society,” I said. “She just told us last week.”

Detective Blais flashed her pointy teeth. “Apparently, your grandmother died before she had time to change her will.”

“But then it would’ve gone to my cousin Beth. The eldest child of the eldest child always inherits Harden House.” I looked at Kiah, as if for confirmation. “Aunt Rhoda, her mother, is dead.”

“Michael Ennen is the contractor renovating your grandmother’s house?” Blais asked. “He told us that was why he was there Monday afternoon.”

“Michael Ennen?” This was getting more confusing by the moment. “What does he have to do with this?”

“There were a number of smaller bequests.”

“Still pretty generous,” Langley offered, and Blais silenced him with another glance. He cleared his throat and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Bequests?” I repeated. “Gram left money to Michael?”

Kiah leaned over and whispered in my ear, “To Trina too.”

“Although the largest bequest, the house, was to you, Ms. Seymour,” Blais said.

“Just what do you want here, officers?” Kiah asked, drawing out the word “officers,” knowing full well they were detectives. “Exactly what are you implying?”

“Oh, we’re not implying anything, Ma’am,” Blais said, stressing the “ma’am” in a way that made it as insulting as Kiah’s “officers.” “We just stopped by to establish exactly where everyone was on that day.”

Again, I felt as if everything was off-kilter: unexpected inheritances, alibis, murder. This was someone else’s life, not mine. “Are you saying that you think I could have possibly—”

Kiah squeezed my shoulder to silence me.

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