Woman's World

Mini Mystery


Detective Molly Anderson listened patiently while her young partner, David Grady, fumbled through his notes.

“No signs of forced entry,” he decided. “So, we can reduce our suspects to the three with access, right?”


Molly nodded. It did appear that George Prescott, the real estate developer, had been murdered the evening before by one of three people: his partner, Charles Sabin; his soon-tobe ex wife, Angela; or his nephew, Reynolds Prescott.

David looked again at his notebook, then snapped it shut. “Time to talk to them,” he concluded.

Charles Sabin worked from a mobile office at his job site and seemed surprised to see them.

“We have a few questions about George Prescott,” David said.

Charles scowled. “Who did he cheat now?”

David ignored the question. “Was he having trouble with anyone?”

“Other than marital? Not that I know of. What’s the problem?”

“He’s dead. We thought maybe you could give us some assistance. Can you account for your time yesterday?”

It took the contractor a moment to process the idea. Then he shrugged. “I’m not surprised. He took advantage of a lot of people. But count me out. I was at the fair all last night, playing bingo most of the time. I’ve got witnesses and even a worthless prize.” He pointed to a mechanical eggbeater in a cardboard box sitting on a counter. “Did you talk with Angela? That woman’s a barracuda. She

The killer was clever . . . but so was Detective Anderson!

conned him into getting married without a prenup. He’s been complainin­g his head off since she filed for divorce.”

“Divorce?” David’s pen moved furiously over his notebook.

They found Angela in a newly rented apartment. She sank onto her living room couch and reached for a tissue. “He was fine yesterday.” She dabbed at her eyes before tilting her head and giving David a careful glance.

“He was fine until he got his head cracked. Can you account for your whereabout­s yesterday?”

“Yesterday? Oh. Well, I was busy all day.” She made a vague gesture. “There was shopping in the morning, then lunch at the club. A massage, a committee meeting . . . I do a lot of volunteer work. But you can’t suspect me?”

“It’s a murder. We suspect everyone. Besides, you filed for divorce.”

“But, honey, if he doesn’t work, I don’t get alimony. How about his nephew? Does Reynolds have an alibi? He’s been trying to edge his way into the business. He acted like George owed him something.”

Reynolds leaned back in his chair at the developmen­t company offices and laughed, shaking his head. “So, Angela thinks you should talk with me? Well, I was out on the job site during the day and here in the office until eight last night. Witnesses at the job site, but none here. I like to work when the place is closed—it’s the only time it’s quiet enough to concentrat­e. That good enough for you?”

“How did you and your uncle get along?”

“As well as my uncle and anyone. If you signed a contract with him, you wanted to read it twice. Somewhere in there it said you were going to get cheated; the question was just where it said that.” “Yet you worked for him?” “I think of it as graduate school. He had a lot of deals going, and you only learn the business by working a lot of deals.”

“Who takes over the business?”

“His wife? Maybe his partner, though they fought over every little thing. Have you talked with him?”

When they were alone in the car, Molly asked if David had a suspect.

David gestured with his notebook. “What a mess, and no leads.”

Molly disagreed. “I think I know who the killer is.”

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