Free The Luck Runs Out by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

any chance they killed Aunt Martha so’s they could steal our van to haul away the gold and silver.”
    “Taking along a thousand-pound pig in case they happened to want a ham sandwich on the way?” said Corbin mildly.
    The nephew flushed. “Okay, I guess it was a dumb idea. The guys must be over the border by now, anyway. That’s how they’d do it out west, have a plane or a helicopter waiting, transfer the loot while they was holding the hostage, and be halfway to Mexico by the time you started thinking about setting up a roadblock. I just wish that van would turn up. You sure you don’t want me to go with you and help hunt?”
    “I think you’d be more useful here,” Corbin replied with remarkable forbearance. “Officer Madigan should be along soon. You and she had better start going through your aunt’s papers. See if you can get a lead on anybody who might have had a grudge against her, owed money they couldn’t pay, or anything of that sort.”
    Shandy could tell Corbin was just putting up a decent pretense of making Flackley believe he wasn’t being kept under surveillance, and he was sure the nephew realized it, too. However, Flackley seemed to be taking it well enough.
    “Sure, I’ll be glad to. Hey, did I hear you call this Madigan a she? Can she cook?”
    “I wouldn’t know about that,” said Corbin, “but she’s the best shot on the force and a black belt in judo. She also tends to be a bit touchy on the subject of female stereotypes. Maybe you’d better open a can of chili.”
    Flackley grinned. “Yeah, sounds like I better. You guys want some?”
    “No, thanks. Here she comes now. We’ll leave you to settle the lunch question between you.”
    A trim uniform and an air of brisk confidence suited Officer Madigan’s svelte figure and pixie face to perfection. Frank Flackley looked a good deal brighter at the prospect of being left in her custody. Lieutenant Corbin gave Madigan a quick briefing, then he and Shandy took off.
    They stopped to make inquiries at the few houses around Forgery Point, but got nothing of value. Nobody knew Martha Flackley’s nephew was staying with her, but nobody seemed greatly surprised that he’d arrived. Flackleys had been going away and coming back for upward of two hundred years. They’d always been great ones for minding their own business, and they always seemed to have business to mind.
    Martha Flackley had been a fine, honest, hard-working woman, not exactly popular but certainly well respected. Nobody could think of any reason why anybody would want to kill her. Nobody, seemed to cherish any illusion that she’d be fool enough to keep valuables in the house. If she did, why choose such a complicated way to get at them when it would be easy enough to break in any day while she was off on her rounds?
    Shandy was relieved when at last Corbin gave up and headed back toward Balaclava Junction. The state policeman refused his offer to stop at the brick house for pot-luck, which was just as well because Helen and Iduna turned out to be waist-deep in frying doughnuts.
    “Good lord!” Shandy exclaimed. “What are we running here, a Salvation Army shelter? How many are you planning to feed?”
    Helen scooped a crispy round out of the seething kettle and laid it carefully on the draining rack. “So far we’ve had thirty-seven.”
    “Thirty-seven what?”
    “People wanting to know if anybody else has found Belinda. We’re handing out coffee and doughnuts to shut them up and keep them hunting. Want one?”
    “I’d rather have a sandwich, if you don’t mind. Anything but ham.”
    “Oh, Peter, haven’t you eaten?”
    “Not since breakfast, whenever that was. No, don’t stop frying. I’ll find something.”
    He poured himself a mug of coffee from the thirty-cup urn they’d set up on the kitchen table and foraged in the refrigerator for bread and cheese.
    “This will do fine. Has Stott been by?”
    “Twice so far. That man is distraught, Peter.