Read Online Privy to the Dead by Sheila Connolly - Free Book Online Page A

during the day; there were also plenty of well-placed lights for dark nights.
    Dinner. I was still getting used to the idea of cooking regularly. James had proved to be a fair cook—after all, he had survived on his own for years, and from the look of his physique (and I did look!) he hadn’t relied on junk food. I was more haphazard, making—or not making—whatever I fancied from night to night. It had always seemed extravagant to get takeout all the time, and I did enough of that for lunches anyway. But whichever one of us ended up cooking, the othercould sit with a glass of wine or Scotch or whatever and chat. It was nice, just still kind of new.
    As James cooked, I turned over in my mind what he had said. I knew there were things he could not and should not involve himself in, and that included a lot of the crimes that I somehow found myself in the midst of. I didn’t want to compromise his job, and at the same time I didn’t want him to think he had to step in and throw his weight around and save the little woman, i.e., me. I could handle my own problems, criminal or other. But he did have a wealth of experience and a good analytical mind, so I would take advantage of whatever insights he was willing to offer.
    Ten minutes later he set heaping bowls of steaming pasta and sauce in front of us both, and sat down. We devoted some serious time to eating, and after most of my bowl was empty I realized how much better I felt with some food in me. And my brain seemed to be working better, too.
    â€œHave we mutually rejected the coincidence theory?” I asked.
    â€œProbably. Why? Do you have a front-runner among the other theories?”
    â€œI don’t like coincidences. I still think the man was killed just outside our building for a reason, but I don’t have enough information to know why.”
    â€œWell, you don’t have to do anything right now. You watch and wait, and either the information floats to the top and you have more to work with, or no information ever emerges and the crime goes into the unsolved pile. And you go on about your business.”
    â€œYou make it sound simple. Call me self-centered, but ifthere’s a dead man a few feet away from the Society, I’m inclined to believe it has something to do with the Society, and therefore probably involves something historical. We know Mr. Scruggs had been working in the building, on a crew he’d worked for in the past. Nothing unusual there. But I know next to nothing about the man. Was he honest? Did he have any interest in history? Was he gullible enough to do a quick job for someone who asked?”
    James smiled. “You wouldn’t buy that he was merely curious about a grand old building and was hoping to prowl around after hours?”
    â€œYou mean, he might have snitched a key or found a way to wedge open a door, and he planned to come back and enjoy the place alone? But as far as we know he never made it inside, and there was no key on him. I’m sure Hrivnak would have asked if she’d found an odd key. But who would have stopped him? And is that enough to explain how he ended up dead? Is there ice cream?”
    James looked momentarily startled by my quick segue, but he rose to the occasion. “There is. But before I allow you access to the ice cream, let me say that you need to let the police finish their canvass and collect some more information. That’s what they do, and they do it better than you could. If you’re lucky, Detective Hrivnak will share some info with you, and then maybe you can offer her some suggestions—tactfully, of course.”
    â€œAnd you will be free and clear of any involvement whatsoever. That’s fine by me. We are in agreement to do nothing right now except eat ice cream. And maybe watch a rerun of
Law & Order
.”
    â€œWise decision.”
    We settled in for the evening. We still hadn’t sorted out where we “lived” in