Free Mittman, Stephanie by The Courtship Page A

When have you ever entrusted to me something that had value to
you?"
    Those
long fingers of Cabot's played with the spokes of his chair wheel. "Does
it bother you that I've a piece of that warehouse?"
    "There
isn't any warehouse anymore," Ash replied. "But, yes, it bothers me
that you refused to let me buy you out when I was in the position to do so and
that now you'll have to settle for the insurance money instead."
    "Not
if it's arson," Cabot said, reaching for his copy of the California
Penal Code and flipping it open to the bookmarked spot. "Section Five
forty-eight, burning or destroying property insured. Every person who willfully
burns or in any other way destroys... blah, blah, blah."
    "Hey—I
didn't burn the place, Cabot. And you certainly didn't burn it, so—"
    "So
who did?" Cabot asked, fingering the ends of his chair arms as he looked
over at Charlotte's room, where a low drone signified that she was still
discussing the case with Greenbough.
    "I
don't know, but I'm sure as hell going to find out," Ash told Cabot,
coming to his feet and running his hands through his hair.
    "You'll
do no such thing," Cabot told him. "I've an investigator for that and
you've been remanded to my custody, which means you are not to leave this
house."
    "But—"
Ash began. Cabot put his hand up and signaled for him to listen to Charlotte's
interrogation of Greenbough, as if Cabot's wife could possibly save his tail.
    "So
then, what you're telling me is that because of the fire there is no way to
know to whom, or for how much, you actually sold those coffee beans?" he
heard her ask, the ludicrousness of Greenbough's assertion mirrored in her
voice.
    "You
just might be a very lucky man," Cabot said as he maneuvered his chair
back and forth to get it free of the desk.
    "Well,
it's certain you are," Ash said, fighting the urge to help his brother. He
was sure that a third wheel on the back of the chair, a small one that could
pivot, would make all the difference, but so far he hadn't managed to get Cabot
to listen to reason. "She's quite a woman."
    "She's
quite a lawyer," Cabot said proudly, obviously taking full credit for
Charlotte's ability while he seemed to be dismissing any other attributes she
might possess. "She's given him a motive. We've a second suspect, you see.
Now, let's go say good-day to Mr. Greenbough, shall we, and thank him for
coming in."
    Charlotte
looked up with a start as Ash opened the door to her office. He nodded at her
and at Greenbough and held the door open for Cabot to go through.
    "Sam,"
Cabot said, extending his hand, "I can't tell you how much help you've
been. We'll be in touch."
    Sam
Greenbough looked at Cabot and Charlotte, clearly confused by their civility,
their pure and obvious delight at his presence. After all, he'd come to nail
Ash's skin to the wall, and here they were, shaking his hand and thanking him.
Cabot did have a right to be proud. He and Charlotte made quite a team.
    "When
you're done getting what we need from Mr. Greenbough, meet me in the conservatory,
Charlotte, will you? I'd like to dispense with this case in the next few days
and get on to something more challenging."
    Sam
turned around in his chair to watch Cabot leave. "I'm not here to help
you," Sam called out after him, as if that could change what he'd
apparently told them unwittingly.
    "No,"
Cabot agreed, wheeling the chair around to face Sam, "I'm aware of that.
But stranger things have happened. It's a funny thing. They say that when a man
loses one of his senses, the others are heightened. A blind man hears better
than most sighted men. A deaf man can smell a fire a mile away.
    "And
a cripple... well, a cripple hears, sees, smells, everything that goes on
around him. And doesn't miss a trick." He looked at Ash accusingly, as if
he'd been reading his thoughts and had surmised—from what was really nothing
more than a casual interest—that his brother had designs on his wife, when
nothing could have been further from the