Read Online A Murder of Magpies by Judith Flanders - Free Book Online Page A

they’re comfortable? Maybe make them mugs of cocoa while they’re tearing my place apart?”
    â€œDon’t be silly and don’t be histrionic.” Maybe she’s not so good if there’s real trouble. She’ll solve my problems, but I’d love a bit of sympathy along the way as well. She went on, disregarding my look of scorn. “The old man upstairs, he really has to be warned, and the police need to know that he’s up there. Did you mention him to your inspector?”
    â€œNo, Mother, there were more important things to discuss.”
    â€œWhat is more important than making sure an old man isn’t frightened out of his wits?”
    â€œMaking sure that I’m not! For God’s sake, I’m petrified.”
    â€œWell, you’re young, you’re strong, and you’re forewarned. He’s none of those things. So do it first thing when you get home this evening. Then go through everything, make sure there’s nothing locked, nothing hidden. Why deal with damage as well as trespass?”
    â€œWhy not just hang a sign outside? Come on in and take what you want.”
    â€œSam, are you trying to miss the point? It’s clear that whoever it is is not trying to steal the manuscript to prevent publication. If that were the case, they would have moved on Kit earlier, or at the typist, and dealt with it when there was only one copy. And they would be looking further afield for the notes and invoices and so on when they didn’t find them at Kit’s. What they want is to see the book, to see what the problem is, and how they can protect themselves.”
    She was right. I hadn’t thought it through, just thought how silly they were being not to know that a manuscript wasn’t a single thing that could be taken and destroyed. And they obviously weren’t silly.
    â€œBut if it’s a fishing operation, then maybe it’s not the mafia.” My mother raised an eyebrow at the slightly dramatic word, but what else should I call them? “I mean, Alemán’s family and Vernet also want to stop publication, one for family pride, one for trade reputation. Kit thinks the French police will, too, even if they haven’t been connected to the money laundering, because they won’t want it coming out that the inquest was rigged, even if not by them.”
    â€œWell, the police know how to hack into a computer. Certainly a computer with as little security as most publishers have. Would Alemán’s family? Who are they?”
    â€œHis father is a dentist, I think,” I said, dredging up the information from Kit’s manuscript. “Small town, prosperous. Not the kind to have underworld connections.”
    My mother was more skeptical. Being a tax lawyer makes you very cynical. “No one with a bit of cash is too far away from underworld connections.”
    â€œFor goodness’ sake, Mother. When was the last time you went to have a tooth filled, and while you were at it arranged a little bit of B and E?”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean. All an upstanding citizen has to do is go to a detective agency, preferably one where the owner is an ex-policeman who is well below retirement age. There’s usually a reason he’s not in the force.”
    The first guest arrived, cutting short her exposition on How to Become a Criminal in Three Easy Steps. I was pleased, because by the time we spoke again, I could pretend that I’d known it all along. I was also sobered. My mother was much more devious than I’d ever imagined.
    *   *   *
    Dinner was a pleasant break. As I’d guessed, “that nice judge” was a senior high court judge. The rest of the guests were a good mix. As well as the promised actors, there was the couple who were my mother’s oldest friends, a lawyer from New York who was here for a few months on a case, a medical researcher and her husband, the