Free First Gravedigger by Barbara Paul Page A

before. Maybe it didn’t belong to him—Mrs. Speer, did your husband keep a gun in the house?”
    â€œNo, Amos never owned a gun.”
    So Nedda hadn’t known about the automatic the dear departed had kept in his office. Interesting.
    Lieutenant D’Elia said, “I’d like Sergeant Pollock to take a look at the cabinet the porcelain was taken from. And then you could give him a description of the missing figurine.”
    â€œCertainly,” Nedda said. Sergeant Pollock was standing at attention, ready to go. “But there’s something I have to take care of first.” She turned to me. “Mr. Sommers, I need someone to run the galleries until I can decide what I want to do. It’s an imposition, I know, but would you be willing to take over the directorship on a temporary basis? Just to help me out?”
    â€œWhy, of course,” I said magnanimously. “Don’t worry about the galleries, Mrs. Speer. We’ll take care of everything here.”
    She actually managed to look relieved. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I’ll talk to you again later—after the funeral, I suppose.” Nedda stood up, catlike even in that movement. “Goodbye, Lieutenant. I’ll let you get back to your investigation.” Sergeant Pollock opened the door and followed her out; I still hadn’t heard the man’s voice.
    â€œAttractive woman,” Lieutenant D’Elia mused. “I suppose you know she’s the sole heir.”
    â€œI’d assumed she was.”
    â€œDid she and Speer get along all right?”
    â€œSo far as I know.”
    â€œNo trouble in the marriage? Amos Speer was a great deal older than his wife.”
    â€œI didn’t know them socially, Lieutenant,” I said, “but I don’t think there was any trouble. Why don’t you ask Peg McAllister? She knew Speer longer than any of us.”
    â€œI already did,” D’Elia smiled, but offered no information. “I just realized I’m sitting at your desk—since you’ve just been promoted. Is there another room I can use?”
    â€œNo need. I have some work to finish up in my own office first. I won’t be ready to move in right away.”
    â€œFine. Mrs. Speer asked you to take over on a temporary basis. What’s she likely to do in the way of long-term arrangements? What are her options?”
    â€œAppoint me or one of the other agents or one of the branch managers as permanent director. Hire somebody from outside. Sell the business.” I didn’t mention the one possibility I was worried about: that Nedda would decide to run the galleries herself.
    â€œWould you take the job on a permanent basis?” Lieutenant D’Elia asked me.
    â€œLike a shot,” I grinned. “Any of us would. It’s a good business, Lieutenant. Running Speer Galleries is a job a lot of people would like to have.”
    â€œWell, you seem to have your foot in the door. Good luck. Was Speer on bad terms with anybody here at the gallery?”
    My throat tightened. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œWas he an easy man to work for?”
    Aha, an out. “No, he wasn’t. He was exacting and demanding and at times autocratic.”
    â€œAnd that didn’t cause bad feeling?”
    â€œFleetingly. One thing you should understand, Lieutenant. Speer may not have been a boy scout, but he was a damned good dealer. For an antiques agent, the most important thing in the world is having a head honcho who knows what he’s doing. Speer knew. He was a sharp old man. He was highhanded and impatient and sometimes he’d get mad at this agent or that one—hell, we all got a little of that at one time or another.” (That was my out: spread the guilt.)
    â€œHm,” D’Elia said noncommittally.
    â€œBut it didn’t mean anything. Whenever there was disagreement, it was always over professional matters,