Free Breach of Duty by J. A. Jance Page A

that's one of the few things Agnes and I had in common."

Five
    Just then a blue Saab pulled up out front. A beefy, middle-aged guy who looked like he belonged on the pro-bowling circuit got out of the vehicle then turned back to retrieve both a hound's-tooth sports jacket and a battered briefcase. He lumbered inside, carrying the jacket and briefcase in one hand while he yanked loose his red-and-blue-striped necktie with the other. Nodding as he passed, he slipped behind the counter. He disappeared momentarily into a small, cluttered office. After depositing the briefcase on the front corner of a desk, he reemerged.
    "So what's happening?" He asked the question of Mildred while his eyes remained trained on Sue and me.
    "These are police detectives," Mildred explained. "From Seattle. They're here to talk to me about Andy's sister's death. They wanted to know what I was doing last Monday night."
    "What you were doing?" the man repeated. "You mean they're accusing you of having something to do with that fire business? Call an attorney, Millie. Get hold of Jack Hornsby right away. Tell him I told you to call. Let him know he should get his butt over here ASAP."
    "Please, Lonnie," Mildred said. "It's nothing to get so wound up about. And I'm not calling Jack. I don't mind talking with these officers. I've nothing to hide. I already told them I was home with Andy all night long. Unfortunately, there's no way to prove it."
    Mildred hadn't bothered to introduce us. However, the proprietary way in which "Lonnie" pushed his wide girth around the place implied ownership—that and a certain amount of arrogant self-importance, as well.
    "You're sure?" he demanded of Mildred.
    "Yes," she said. "I'm sure."
    Lonnie came back over to the counter then, pulling his pants up under the shelf of his generous belly. "It's ridiculous," he said, scowling balefully at Sue and me. "I can't imagine that you're seriously considering the idea that Mildred might have had anything whatsoever to do with what happened."
    He looked for the world like a man who was spoiling for a fight. Fortunately for all concerned, Sue defused the situation by stepping up to the counter with her hand extended. "I'm Detective Danielson," she said. "And this is my partner, Detective Beaumont. I don't believe I caught your name."
    The man waffled for a moment then took her proffered hand. "I'm Lonnie Olson," he said, losing the scowl. "Glad to meetcha. I'm the owner here. I know you guys are just doing your jobs, but I got to say that thinking Millie could be involved in a murder is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. She wouldn't hurt a fly. Not only that, she's a valued employee around here. A trusted employee. How you can walk around accusing…"
    "Mr. Olson," Sue interrupted. "We're not necessarily making accusations, but we are required to ask questions of everyone concerned with the case. And, if at all possible, we're expected to establish readily verifiable alibis from those same people. That's especially true of individuals who may stand to benefit as a result of the victim's death."
    "What makes you think Millie stands to benefit from her sister-in-law's death? Millie and Agnes Ferman barely spoke."
    It struck me as odd that Lonnie Olson was taking such an interest in every nuance of what was said. He seemed to be displaying far more than a concerned employer's level of interest in what was going on. I was about to tell him our questions addressed to Mildred were none of his business when the telephone did it for me.
    "I'll take that call, Millie," he said. "But don't let these cops push you around. If they get out of line, you call Jack, okay?"
    Mildred George nodded. "I will," she said. Then she turned back to us. "Tell me, Detective Danielson, how exactly is it that I stand to benefit from my sister-in-law's death?"
    "Are you aware that our investigation has turned up a substantial amount of cash on Agnes Ferman's property?" Sue asked.
    "Cash?" Mildred