Read Online Relative Malice by Marla Madison, Madison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marla Madison, Madison
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the case?”
“A Detective Whitehouse at first. But when I was there today, they told me he was in the hospital. His partner, a woman, is in charge now.” He handed Nash a business card. “Do you know anything about her?”
Kendall Halsrud. “Never worked with her. But I still see some of the guys. If there were anything bad to know about Halsrud, it would have been discussed.”
Glausson leaned forward. “That’s reassuring, but I’d like to hire you. You were highly recommended when we brought you on board for your security position, and I’d be more comfortable if someone I trusted was working on this. I want you to find my niece.”
It occurred to Nash that “someone he trusted” more likely meant someone he could control. “I’m not a detective anymore.”
“But you’d have insights no one else would have.”
“I can give you some names. A lot of the PIs in this area are retired cops—they know the ropes.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars an hour for the time you put into it—on top of your regular pay.”
A hundred an hour. Glausson was speaking his language. But there were things to negotiate. “What about my job?”
“I’ll personally see to it that most of it is delegated to others. You can attend to whatever you have time for, but the murder of my family and finding their baby takes top priority.”
Getting involved seemed a little crazy, but the Glausson home invasion was big. He would be back doing—well, sort of doing—the work he loved. His wife wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d worry about that later. “One more thing. The extra money you pay me? I want it in cash.”
“That can be arranged.”
“And just so you know, I won’t be doing any end runs around the cops. I’ll get as much as I can from them, try to find out if they’re doing everything they should be. I’ll do my own thing. Anything I find I’ll have to turn over to them.” Kendall Halsrud could be a problem, but not one Glausson needed to know about.
Glausson offered his hand to confirm their deal. “I understand. I’ll feel better knowing you’re on it. You’ll have to keep me abreast of what you’re doing, of course.”
“Sure, no problem.” Now he had to hope that the Halsrud woman would be open to working with him. And if not with him, then staying the hell out of his way.
Kendall wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Death was Brynn’s specialty? “What does that mean?”
Brynn stood and moved toward the adjoining kitchen. “Let’s have some tea.”
Were they back to that again—avoidance? Perhaps Brynn was just being sociable, but Kendall doubted it. She may need to be reminded that Kendall came over here officially and she had to answer her questions. She followed Brynn into the small kitchen, a mirror image of the one across the hall, except this one was painted a soft aqua with one wall covered in sepia photos from what looked like the turn of the previous century.
“Tell me, how is death your specialty?”
Brynn had her back to Kendall, busy preparing tea. “It was Madam Vadoma’s specialty. Her real name was Ethel Weissbrodt.”
That had to be the old fortune-teller whose name was still on a sign outside the building, the one Morrie told Kendall about. “Wasn’t she dead by the time you moved in?”
“Morrie put a For Rent sign in the window right after she died.”
Brynn was back to avoidance. Kendall wanted to shake her. “So, if you never met her, how did you start telling fortunes?”
“Morrie had a hard time renting the apartment because all of her things were still in it and he didn’t have time to get rid of them. I rented it as it was.”
Kendall gritted her teeth. “Please. Answer the question.”
“I didn’t exactly start.” She served Kendall a cup of fragrant tea in a paper-thin, white china cup and saucer.
Kendall could have used something stronger than tea to help her through the exasperating conversation. “What does that
“A Detective Whitehouse at first. But when I was there today, they told me he was in the hospital. His partner, a woman, is in charge now.” He handed Nash a business card. “Do you know anything about her?”
Kendall Halsrud. “Never worked with her. But I still see some of the guys. If there were anything bad to know about Halsrud, it would have been discussed.”
Glausson leaned forward. “That’s reassuring, but I’d like to hire you. You were highly recommended when we brought you on board for your security position, and I’d be more comfortable if someone I trusted was working on this. I want you to find my niece.”
It occurred to Nash that “someone he trusted” more likely meant someone he could control. “I’m not a detective anymore.”
“But you’d have insights no one else would have.”
“I can give you some names. A lot of the PIs in this area are retired cops—they know the ropes.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred dollars an hour for the time you put into it—on top of your regular pay.”
A hundred an hour. Glausson was speaking his language. But there were things to negotiate. “What about my job?”
“I’ll personally see to it that most of it is delegated to others. You can attend to whatever you have time for, but the murder of my family and finding their baby takes top priority.”
Getting involved seemed a little crazy, but the Glausson home invasion was big. He would be back doing—well, sort of doing—the work he loved. His wife wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d worry about that later. “One more thing. The extra money you pay me? I want it in cash.”
“That can be arranged.”
“And just so you know, I won’t be doing any end runs around the cops. I’ll get as much as I can from them, try to find out if they’re doing everything they should be. I’ll do my own thing. Anything I find I’ll have to turn over to them.” Kendall Halsrud could be a problem, but not one Glausson needed to know about.
Glausson offered his hand to confirm their deal. “I understand. I’ll feel better knowing you’re on it. You’ll have to keep me abreast of what you’re doing, of course.”
“Sure, no problem.” Now he had to hope that the Halsrud woman would be open to working with him. And if not with him, then staying the hell out of his way.
Kendall wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Death was Brynn’s specialty? “What does that mean?”
Brynn stood and moved toward the adjoining kitchen. “Let’s have some tea.”
Were they back to that again—avoidance? Perhaps Brynn was just being sociable, but Kendall doubted it. She may need to be reminded that Kendall came over here officially and she had to answer her questions. She followed Brynn into the small kitchen, a mirror image of the one across the hall, except this one was painted a soft aqua with one wall covered in sepia photos from what looked like the turn of the previous century.
“Tell me, how is death your specialty?”
Brynn had her back to Kendall, busy preparing tea. “It was Madam Vadoma’s specialty. Her real name was Ethel Weissbrodt.”
That had to be the old fortune-teller whose name was still on a sign outside the building, the one Morrie told Kendall about. “Wasn’t she dead by the time you moved in?”
“Morrie put a For Rent sign in the window right after she died.”
Brynn was back to avoidance. Kendall wanted to shake her. “So, if you never met her, how did you start telling fortunes?”
“Morrie had a hard time renting the apartment because all of her things were still in it and he didn’t have time to get rid of them. I rented it as it was.”
Kendall gritted her teeth. “Please. Answer the question.”
“I didn’t exactly start.” She served Kendall a cup of fragrant tea in a paper-thin, white china cup and saucer.
Kendall could have used something stronger than tea to help her through the exasperating conversation. “What does that
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