Free Sinister Sudoku by Kaye Morgan

Halvorsen,” he said, panting slightly as he came forward. “I’m with the Western Assurance Group—”
    That was as far as he got. “Get off my property!” Mrs. H. shouted. “You’re no better than a pack of thieves. And when I think of what you put us—me—through . . .” She stomped up the cleared path to her door, yanked it open, and then slammed it shut behind her.
    That left Liza staring at the obnoxious insurance guy. He looked about as astonished as she felt. “I thought you were in the hospital,” Liza said.
    “I signed myself out,” Frost told her.
    Liza blinked. “And then you came all the way out here to annoy my neighbor? I thought you were after Chris Dalen. Is this just a side trip to see how well your company screwed Mrs. Halvorsen on her home repairs?”
    Now Frost looked even more surprised. “Don’t you know? Her married name is Halvorsen. But before that, your neighbor was Elise Dalen. She’s Christopher Dalen’s sister.”

7
    “Chris Dalen is dead,” Liza said. “Why do you have to harass—”
    “That doesn’t end my business,” Howard Frost interrupted. “There is still the matter of the missing painting, which my company is responsible for recovering.” He paused for a second, adding, “Western Assurance Group has announced a ten percent reward for finding the Mondrian, so long as this does not involve guilty knowledge.”
    Liza looked over at the closed door. “Well, if Mrs. H. has any knowledge, I don’t think she’s in a mood to share with you right now.”
    Frost opened his parka and dug out a business card. “I’m staying at the Maiden Motor Court. If you happen to uncover any information—which I’m told you sometimes do—feel free to contact me.”
    Once again, Liza found herself saying, “Don’t hold your breath.”
    While Frost made his way to his car, she headed up the shoveled walkway and knocked at the door. “It’s Liza,” she called, turning round to see the rental sedan pull away. “And nobody else.”
    The door opened, and Mrs. H. stood there, tears in her eyes. Liza grabbed the older woman’s hands. “I didn’t know—I’m so sorry—”
    “It’s not something I much wanted to talk about,” she admitted, “having a convict in the family.”
    Mrs. H. took a deep breath. “He’s my kid brother, the youngest of our family. When he was growing up, he always threatened to run away and join the circus. Maybe he should have. He had talent, he could have been a gymnast or the man on the flying trapeze, instead of spending all those years behind bars.”
    “If he talked about running away, I guess he mustn’t have been all that happy at home,” Liza said.
    “We lived on a farm, and Chris hated it. As he got older, he used to give my father a hard time. Dad liked to say that he was his own boss, but Chris always needled him about really working for the bank.” Mrs. H. looked down. “And he had a point. A couple of bad years, and Dad had some serious notes to pay off.”
    She shook her head. “My oldest brother inherited the farm. His kids sold the place to a larger operation, which got taken over by one of the big agribusinesses. They knocked down the house where we lived to put in a feedlot or some such. That was years after Chris left—or was taken.”
    “As in arrested?” Liza asked.
    “Chris was always kind of a wild kid. Suddenly he had a lot of spending money. When my parents asked about it, he said he’d been doing some odd jobs. We found out just how odd when he got caught with a carload of computers he’d stolen out of an office building.”
    She shrugged. “My father refused to give him any help, and Chris wound up going to prison. Dad thought he’d learn a lesson. What he learned is that electronic stuff quickly loses its value, but art doesn’t—and it’s usually easier to carry. There were people who taught him the techniques, who helped set up jobs and sell off the proceeds.”
    “I guess your folks weren’t