Free The Beginning by Catherine Coulter Page A

Mountebank took down their names. He said without preamble, without softening, “Why are you wearing a black wig, Ms. Brandon?”
    Without a pause she said, “I’m having chemotherapy, Sheriff. I’m nearly bald.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œThat’s all right.”
    At that moment, Quinlan knew he would never again underestimate Sally Brainerd. He wasn’t particularly surprised that the sheriff could tell it was a wig. She looked frankly ludicrous in that black-as-sin wig that made her look like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. No, she was even paler than Elvira. He was impressed that the sheriff had asked her about the wig. Maybe there’d be a prayer of finding out who the woman was and who had killed her. He could see that David Mountebank wasn’t stupid.
    â€œDoc Spiver thinks this is all a tragic accident,” the sheriff said, writing with his pencil on his pad even as he spoke.
    James said, “The good doctor is nearly blind. He could have just as easily been examining the table leg and not the dead woman.”
    â€œWell, it appears the doctor admitted that readily enough. He said he couldn’t imagine who could have killed her, not unless it was someone from the outside. That means beyond Highway 101A. The four other fellows there didn’t know a blessed thing. I guess they were there for moral support. Now, Mr. Quinlan, you’re here on business?”
    Quinlan told him about the old couple he was looking for. He didn’t say anything about the townspeople lying to him.
    â€œOver three years ago,” the sheriff said, looking at one of Amabel’s paintings over Sally’s head, this one all pale yellows and creams and nearly blueless blues, no shape or reason to any of it, but it was nice.
    â€œYeah, probably too long a time to turn anything up, but the son wanted to try again. I’m using The Cove as my headquarters, checking here first, then fanning out.”
    â€œTell you what, Mr. Quinlan, when I get back to my office I’ll do some checking. I’ve been sheriff only two years. I’ll see what the former sheriff had to say about it.”
    â€œI’d appreciate that.”
    There was a knock at the front door. Then it opened and a small, slender man came into the living room. He was wearing wire-rim glasses and a fedora. He took off his hat, nodded to the sheriff, and bowed to Sally. “Sheriff, ma’am.” He then looked at Quinlan, just looked at him, like a little dog ready to go after the mastodon if his master gave the command.
    Quinlan stuck out his hand. “Quinlan.”
    â€œI’m the medical examiner. We’re removing the body now, Sheriff. I just wanted to give you a preliminary report.” He paused, a dramatic pause, Quinlan knew, and grinned. He’d seen it many times before. Medical examiners hardly ever had the limelight. It was their only chance to shine, and this man was trying his best to light up the room.
    â€œYes, Ponser? Get on with it.”
    That wasn’t as good a name as Mountebank, but it was close. Quinlan looked over at Sally, but she was staring at her shoes. She was listening, though; he could see the tension in her body, practically see the air quiver around her.
    â€œSomeone strangled her,” Ponser said cheerfully. “It’s pretty obvious, but I can’t say for sure until I’ve done the autopsy. Perhaps the killer believed it wouldn’t be evident after she’d been in the water, but he was wrong. On the other hand, if the tide hadn’t washed her in, then her body would never have been found and it would have been academic.”
    â€œThat’s what they wanted,” Sally said. “They didn’t want her found. Even with the tide washing her up, how many people ever go down there? They’re all old. It’s dangerous. James and I finding her, that was just plain bad luck for them.”
    â€œYes, it certainly