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“Sheriff, have you gotten any information on Jeremy’s death yet? I mean, anything you can share?”
“I can tell you Jeremy was shot to death, one bullet in the stomach, from an old revolver. I’ll be holding a press conference in an hour about it, so I’d appreciate you keeping your yap shut about it.”
“Really? That’s interesting. Thanks, Sheriff. Of course, I won’t say a word. For what it’s worth, I know you’re doing your best. Bye now.”
“What did she say?” Molly asked, eagerly scooting to the edge of her chair. “Is there news?”
“Yes. She said she was going to hold a press conference this afternoon, so she might as well tell me, providing I swore not to speak to the press beforehand, which, of course, I promised.” She paused to fix the cup of coffee Emily had just poured her.
“Well? What did she say?” Molly pressed.
“Jeremy was shot to death, one bullet in the stomach.”
“Winston Haversham said he was shot!” Molly cried. “Did he die right away?”
“I don’t know. Maverick didn’t say, but I would think a gut shot might not kill you instantly,” Grace said. “I’m no doctor, though, so I couldn’t say for sure.”
“What do you mean, an old revolver?” Zoe asked. She took a sip of coffee, made a face, then added more cream.
“It was a Smith and Wesson, she said, but it was made in the fifties,” Grace said.
“That means it’s probably worth some money,” Zoe said. “Those collectible guns aren’t cheap.”
“I wonder if Albert Herves owns a gun?” Molly asked again. This time her question made the others pause. A man with Albert’s money could afford to collect antique weapons.
Grace nodded. “We need to go have ourselves a chat with Albert.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Grace. I think you should just tell Sheriff Maverick about what Winston Haversham said, and what your suspicions are,” Emily said. “Herves may be dangerous.”
Grace disagreed. “He won’t try anything stupid in his own office during broad daylight, with all his workers around. Not that I think for one minute they would rat out the guy who signs their paychecks.”
“I think it’s a bad idea, Grace,” Zoe said. “I worry.”
“Don’t. We’ll be fine.” Grace stood up and smiled at Molly. “Ready to go solve this thing?”
Molly nodded. “We’ll be okay, Zoe, Emily. We’re just going to talk to him, not accuse him of murder.”
“If he makes one wrong move, says one wrong thing, I swear we’ll leave, and I will whip out my cell phone and call Sheriff Maverick,” Grace promised.
Grace and Molly left under Zoe and Emily’s protests, confident they could care for themselves and keep themselves safe.
***
Albert Herves Investments took up a two-story building several streets over from downtown Summit Springs. Like the rest of the town, the exterior was themed,quaint, and pleasantly nostalgic. The interior was ultra-modern, with dark gray marblefloors, white furniture, and stainless-steel accents. It had an open floor plan. On one end of the room, a cluster of sofas and chairs faced a receptionist’s abstract-shaped desk.
The other end of the room contained a long double row of a half dozen computer workstations, each with a person diligently tapping at a keyboard. Most wore headphones, and a couple were talking as if on the phone.
The receptionist looked up when Grace and Molly walked in. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“Yes. We don’t have an appointment, but I would like to speak to Albert Herves, please,” Grace said, smiling at the receptionist.My name is Grace Conroy, of Grace Conroy Designs.”
The name must’ve struck a bell with the receptionist. “I know Mr. Herves is very busy, but let me see if he can fit you in. Please have a seat. Could I offer you a water or a coffee?”
“No, thank you, we’re fine,” Grace replied. She and Molly sat on the sofa facing the receptionist’s desk.
“She knew who you were.” Molly whispered in excitement. “That’s so cool!”
“Not so much. It’s just because of the company, not me, personally,” Grace said with a smirk. “He probably wouldn’t go out of his way not to trip over me if he saw me on the street.”
