Free Murder.Com by Betty Sullivan LaPierre Page B

"How's that?"
          "He asked a million question about the company, but Bud was impressed with his performance.   Angie said he never had anything bad to say about the young man.   Just very enthusiastic about learning about the company.   But he left before Bud's death, to head back east to school.   Makes me wonder if he spotted something and brought it to Nevers' attention."  
          On the way to the office, Tom spoke with Bud's secretary and asked her about the young intern.   She gave him Bill Crane's name, but she only had a local address and phone number.   Tom took the name of the school and his parents' home phone number in case he needed to contact him.   She'd also compiled a list of Bud's current clients, explaining that Ken had now taken them over.   Her only association with the clients was limited to a greeting when they entered the office or witnessing their signatures on contracts.
          The two detectives settled in Bud's office where they went through the rest of the files and checked off the dissatisfied customers, deciding who would be contacted first.   Cliff suddenly hit the top of the filing cabinet with his fist.
          "I feel like all I've accomplished is getting search warrants for the future.   I've never felt so up in the air over a case.   So far, we haven't even come close to finding a motive for the murder, much less a suspect."
          Tom nodded.   "Just be patient and keep looking.   Something's bound to turn up.   Murderers make mistakes."
          It was after ten o'clock before the two men finally departed the building and went their separate ways.   Tom turned into the driveway of the modest home that he and Sarah had bought before she became terminally ill.   He'd thought of selling it several times, but the last few years he'd decided he liked the space and privacy.   The thought of living in an apartment or a condo just didn't suit him.
          Making his way through the house, he pulled his already-loosened tie over his head and hung it on one of the door knobs.   He slung his sport coat over the back of the dining room chair.   By the time he reached the bedroom, he had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled.   He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, socks and pants, then laid back on the rumpled covers.  
          He stared at the ceiling for a few moments.   Who in the hell killed Bud?   And why?   He felt like he'd hit a brick wall.   Praying silently something would happen to shed some light on this case, he grabbed the pillow, rolled over and barely remembered to set his alarm before his eyes closed.   Then the dreams began.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
          Thursday morning, Angie started the day with mixed feelings.   She'd told no one about Melinda's letter.   Sandy Weber had called last night wanting to meet for lunch today, but she didn't trust herself to keep quiet around her friend so declined the invitation.   They made plans to meet the following week.   Until she knew why Melinda wanted to see her, she'd keep to herself.
          Angie stood at the kitchen counter having a cup of coffee when Marty sauntered through the back door.   Her shoulders drooped and she wore no smile on a sullen face.   She didn't even look up and say hello.
          Stepping in front of her, Angie put a finger under Marty's chin and lifted the woeful face.   "What's wrong?"
          "Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Nevers."
          "That's not what I asked." Angie raised a brow. "I asked what's wrong?   You look ill.   In fact, you haven't appeared well for the last couple of days."
          Marty cast her eyes downward.   "I think Mr. Nevers' death has caught up with me.   I've cried myself to sleep every night.   I know how horrible this must be for you."
          Angie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.   "Yes, it's been devastating, but we can't bring him back.