A Killing, Reed Ferguson Private Investigator Mysteries: Book 19

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It was not the greeting I expected. I was standing on the front porch of a two-story brick house in the Congress Park neighborhood east of downtown Denver. Next to me was Matt McCoy, and the tall man with steel gray hair who stood in the doorway, who’d greeted us so rudely, was Ward McCoy, Matt’s father.

“We want to talk to you, Dad,” Matt said. There was a slight emphasis on the word “Dad,” a touch of sarcasm in Matt’s tone. “About the treasure.”

Ward squinted at us through rimless glasses, then stared past us at the driveway, where Matt had parked his gray BMW. My black 4-Runner sat behind it. I wondered if Ward thought someone else was coming. A few cars passed by on Seventh Avenue, but otherwise it was quiet. Ward sighed, pulled at the hem of his tan cashmere sweater, and growled.

“Fine,” he announced. With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

“Come on,” Matt said as he stepped across the threshold and into the house.

I entered a large foyer with a chandelier and what appeared to be an antique bench near the door. I shut the door and followed Matt. Ward had already gone down a long hallway to the right of a wide staircase. Matt went after him, and I hurried to catch up.

“I thought you said he was expecting us,” I whispered to Matt. He shrugged. “You didn’t tell him I was coming, did you?”

He gave a slight shake of the head as we passed a living room and an office. Ward disappeared through another door past the office.

“Great,” I muttered. “This should be fun.”

“If I’d told my dad I hired you, he wouldn’t talk to either of us,” Matt said in a low voice.

“Get in here,” Ward called out.

Matt and I entered an open sunroom with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the back yard. The lawn was neatly manicured, and in flowerbeds along the fence, a colorful array of spring tulips was blooming. In the distance, April showers threatened.

Ward sat down in a white cushioned chair, crossed one leg over the other, and smoothed his pant leg. He pointed at a white couch, and Matt and I dutifully sat at either end. Ward rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and glared at us. I glanced at a glass coffee table that had magazines neatly fanned out on it, and a stack of paperback novels on an end table. None of them looked read. If it hadn’t been for the sun shining through the windows, the room would’ve felt cold, a condition further amplified by Ward’s demeanor.

Ward’s dark, beady eyes stared at his son, then his gaze settled on me. “Well,” he snapped, his voice deep and commanding. “Is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I hired Reed to help me find the treasure,” Matt said.

I glanced at Matt. When I’d met him the day before, he’d sounded more sure of himself. He was tall, like his dad, and solidly built, with broader shoulders. And yet now, in front of his father, he was more like a little boy cowering before the powerful patriarch.

Ward looked at me. “That’s true?”

I nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Reed Ferguson. I’m a private investigator.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“You might’ve had dealings with my grandfather.”

“Oh? Is he a detective like you?”

“No, he worked in oil and gas, like you.”

He pursed his lips. “You chose not to stay in that line of business? Flatfooting around town seemed more noble?” I didn’t like the scorn in his voice, but I ignored it. Matt sucked in his breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. “My son heard about you and decided you could help him?”

I chose not to let Ward’s tone get to me. “That’s about right,” I said.

“I heard about Reed from someone at the club,” Matt said. “I called him, and we met yesterday for coffee. I told him about the treasure you say you hid, and that it would be good to get the full story from you.”

Ward looked back at me. “What did Matt tell you?”

“You were in the oil business,” I began, “and you made a ton of money. In the eighties, you ran for governor, but didn’t win. That, and the recession, cost you some of your fortune, and you retired from the business after that. Matt took over for you, and he ran the business until he sold it. Your wife died a little over a year ago, and besides Matt, you have a daughter, Glenda. She’s in her late fifties and married to a man who works in finance.”

Ward flicked a hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t need my life history told to me. And let me correct you on one thing. Matt didn’t sell the business, he was asked to step down.”

I eyed Matt. He was staring at his father, pointedly not looking at me. He sat rigid, as if fearful of what Ward might do or say next.

“What did he tell you about the treasure?” Ward asked me.

“Matt said you hid something valuable, that your children need to work to find whatever it is, and that,” I hesitated, “you have a strong opinion about your children.”

Ward snorted. “Hell, I’ve said they were selfish, and they don’t deserve their inheritance. I’m offering this treasure, though. If they find it, they can have that now and not wait for an inheritance.”

Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

I nodded. “Yes, that’s about right. Matt said you’ve not been clear how much–if any–money will be left to them. You’ve indicated they should work harder and not rely on you.”

“That’s right,” Ward said.

“You also indicated there’s one thing you have that’s very valuable, that you’ve hidden, and if any of your relatives find it, they keep it. No strings attached.”

“Right again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Matt said. “He thinks this is funny, but I’ve grown tired of his games, so I hired someone to help.”

Ward drummed the arms of the chair with his fingers as he contemplated me. Then he turned to his son. “You gave up, huh?”

“I’m still looking,” Matt said, anger lacing his voice. “Not that you’ve given any of us much to go on. I’m fed up with the game.” He pointed a finger at his father. “I want to know, once and for all, if you really hid some treasure, or if you’re just toying with us.”

Ward threw his head back and laughed. “A game? Was it a game when I sent you to Harvard? Was it a game when I brought you into the business and showed you the ropes? And was it a game when you earned plenty of money on your own, then squandered it and almost ran the company into the ground? I can’t help it if you make foolish decisions.”

These revelations about Matt were news to me, but I kept quiet.

“I didn’t make foolish decisions,” Matt retorted through gritted teeth. “I ran into some bad luck is all. It could’ve happened to anybody.”

Ward snickered. “Bad luck, right.” He pointed a finger back at Matt. “You should have plenty of money, and yet you don’t.”

I’d only had time to do a little research on Matt last night. He lived in a big house in Bow Mar, an expensive suburban neighborhood, and he drove the BMW. Outwardly he appeared to have money. But one thing I’d learned in several years of detecting: looks can certainly be deceiving. I made a mental note to check into Matt’s finances later.

Ward stood up, went to the window, and put his hands behind his back. He cut a regal figure as he stared into the yard.

“I’ve given you and your sister plenty of clues,” he said.

“Right,” Matt said. “Two clues. ‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.’ And ‘check the coffeehouse.’ What the hell does all that mean?”

“You’re smart, figure it out.” Ward looked over at me. “Oh yes, Matt, I forgot. You gave up and hired a lackey to do your hard work.”

Matt’s hands balled into fists.

“Have you talked to my daughter?” Ward asked me. I shook my head. “I don’t know how much she’ll know.” His lips formed a harsh line. “She could use the money, too, being married to that no-good husband of hers.”

“Cliff’s a good guy,” Matt murmured. “The old man can’t leave anyone alone.”

“What?” Ward barked.

“Nothing,” Matt said.

It didn’t take a genius to see that Ward wasn’t fond of either of his children. And at first glance, I could see why they had no reason to be fond of him. I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into, but it made me grateful for my sweet, if somewhat overbearing, mother. Despite her sometimes irritating habits, she and I still loved each other. I know I annoy her sometimes, too.

“My late wife, God love her, she was a jewel,” Ward said as he again gazed into the yard. “She loved the gardens, loved the flowers. I made a lot of money, but none of that mattered to her. I showered her with gifts, jewelry, and clothes.” He drew in a breath and frowned. “She just wanted us all to be happy, and she wanted the peace and quiet she found in nature.”

“That’s true,” Matt agreed. “She would rather wear costume jewelry and shop at the local mall than worry about designer clothes.”

“You and Glenda could’ve taken a hint from her,” Ward said.

Matt crossed his arms, hiding his gold Rolex. “I give to charities.”

Ward chuckled. “Oh, my sainted son.”

Matt flew to his feet, his face red. “What is your problem? I tried, not that you cared.”

Ward turned to him. “You were too busy with other things to really try. And now you want me to help you again.”

“I’m so damned tired of you. I can’t wait until you’re –” Matt stopped.

“Excuse me?” Ward asked.

“I don’t need this from you.” With that, Matt stormed out of the room. A moment later, the front door slammed.

“Well.” Ward looked at me. “That’s the son I know. Always with the temper. He never could stand me pushing him to be better.” He tipped his head. “Are you staying or going?”

I sat back. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if I may.”

“If I may,” he said. “How polite.” He went back to his chair and sat down. “I’ll give you a little time to ask your questions.” A small smile crept across his face. “It will be entertaining to see if you can find what my children haven’t.”

Later, when I looked back on the case, “entertaining” was not the word that came to mind.

 

Engaging, suspenseful, and fun. Entertaining, but also cleverly deep. The series characters have become clearer and multidimensional. There’s a lot “there.” I’m really impressed with the series had how it’s developed over time. ~Reader review