Read Online Cat With a Fiddle (9781101578902) by Lydia Adamson - Free Book Online Page A

Northampton from Covington—one leads right into the highway, the other takes longer but is more scenic. And what if Polikoff had decided to take the back road, behind the school and through Cheltonham?”
    Again, I had no answer.
    â€œSounds like the man and his camel would be left high and dry, doesn’t it, Alice?”
    ***
    We were mostly silent on the drive back.
    Donaldson pulled up close to the gate and waited for me to leave the car. I had blown it with Good Soldier Ford. He obviously didn’t think much of me or my theories. I was terribly embarrassed at not having worked things out more convincingly, and my feelings were hurt, too. But I knew I’d get over all that. Logic might be on his side right now, but it was me someone had tried to kill, not him.
    I didn’t get out of the car just yet. Seeing me linger, he waited in silence.
    â€œOne other thing,” I said quietly, not knowing how he’d take what I was about to say. “In spite of today, I . . . I do have some experience . . . as a criminal investigator. Professionally, I mean.”
    He stared at me in puzzlement.
    Should I tell him about the cases I’d solved? Should I list my credentials, say that I had once been a paid consultant to an elite arm of the New York City Police Department? No. I decided not to try to prove to him that I was no fool in these matters.
    Instead I simply said, “I would like to offer you whatever help I can in what has been happening here.”
    â€œSure,” he said, “we’d really appreciate it.”
    His tone was so patronizing that I think it embarrassed even him. I wouldn’t have been surprised to receive a pat on the head. And to make sure I wouldn’t get one, I quickly got out of the car.
    I stood shivering on the cold path, watching him drive away. Dispirited as I was, I knew I had to organize my thoughts carefully and make a thoughtful move. I knew I had to go back to the beginning, so to speak. I had to look behind the stated reason for the Riverside Quartet’s decision to shut themselves away up here—and find the real one. That inquiry was going to begin with the man who made
all
the decisions for the quartet: Mathew Hazan.
    I was just about to turn into the gate when I heard the sound of a motor. Coming back up the drive was the clean, state-issued vehicle I’d come to know so well. Ford Donaldson had forgotten something, perhaps. Or maybe he was in the mood to laugh at me some more.
    He motioned me over to his rolled-down window.
    â€œLook, er . . . Alice . . . I don’t like to think you’re going away mad. I just wanted to apologize . . . if I offended you. And to say that I really would appreciate your help. Look, here’s a number where you can always reach me if you learn something else.” He pushed a white business card into my hand. I continued to stare daggers into his heart. “Seriously,” he said, “I want your help. Understand?”
    â€œOh, I think I do, Ford,” I said, my face a mask. “You need a punch line to the story when you tell it to the boys in the locker room. And don’t think they won’t appreciate it.” The man was cruel. I backed away swiftly and started in through the gate.
    â€œJust a minute!” he exploded.
    I froze where I stood.
    â€œPlease, just listen for a minute! Let me tell
you
something about this case for a change. Okay?”
    I turned and went back.
    â€œEverything about this murder points to some juiced-up local bad boy who went into this thing just looking to rip off some rich people and ended up way over his head. He probably thought that barn was empty—who knows? Gryder may have fallen asleep in that chair. He wakes up to find someone robbing the place, and the kid panics and kills him. That’s a sensible approach to the case, and so it’s the one we’ve got to pursue. Except