Collecting my scattered thoughts, because I need to focus if I want this to go down smoothly, I ride forth—Mr.William Bryant in my sights.
I get a faint scent when I hang a left onto the lawyer’s street, similar to the one in the office.Penetrating such suburban bliss is alien to me.Here’s hoping dear William is catching up on paperwork in his den, or else I will have to wait for the family to go to bed.
No one wants a nightmare like me.
Cutting the engine and coasting the bike with my feet, I ride past all the security cameras and nosy neighbors with my head beam off.Pulling onto the grassy verge of a conveniently placed dog park, I run through the layout in my mind.
Extracting information out of someone is never a walk in the park, not even for someone like me.But the element of surprise will help.
How much does this street love its neat lawns and rose bushes?Heh.It’s all I can notice as I flicker past the houses in the blink of an eye.Prowling around the back of the Bryant residence, I make sure to avoid the motion-sensitive patio lights and lasers.
Bryant’s got this place lit better than a correctional center.Good for him.Unfortunately for him, however, my eyes see the world a little different.
Sniffing at the patio door connecting to the master bedroom suite, I know it’s empty—and the door is not locked.
The sound of the shower faucets blasting tells me that Mrs.Bryant is making herself scented and clean for bed… because she wants to offer her husband sex.
She’s got the detachable shower head in her left hand as she blasts the hood of her clitoris with the jet of warm water.A rueful smile curls the corners of my mouth as I sense her right hand priming the trigger finger to work the pulsing nub to an orgasm.On any other night, I would make a detour.
At least Mr.Bryant has got that to look forward to.
Slipping out into the corridor, I saunter past four closed doors—two on each side.Behind one door is a teenage girl.She’s playing on her phone, excited about something.Beyond the corridor passage is the massive living area.Must be a bummer to heat the space in winter.
True to form, William Bryant is puttering around in his man cave.He’s got a documentary about wild animals streaming, but he’s not paying much attention to it.I can hear his thumbs tapping frantically on his phone keyboard.
It’s always best to approach someone from the side.Come at them from the front, and they can react in a million different ways.Appear from the back, and you run the risk of the prey having a heart attack.
“William Bryant.”It is not a question.Before he can scream, I have my hand over his mouth like a tight, icy bandage.
Staring into his shocked, bulging eyes, I speak.
“I’m not here to kill you or your family.Believe me, and we can have ourselves a polite conversation.Choose to think that I am lying, and I will hurt you.”
I remove my hand from Bryant’s mouth.He nods, too scared to speak.Moving him to the lounge chair, I push him to sit down.The mechanism activates and the chair tilts back as if he’s seeing a dentist.Bryant gives a little squawk of surprise but stays put.
“When did Tempest Aherne ask you to plan her estate?”
The details bubble out of him like a foaming beer keg.
“Miz Aherne asked me to plan her estate about a year ago.It… it was difficult, because she had no fixed address where I could contact her.No phone.Nothing.She would call my office and leave me with dribs and drabs of information about her niece?—”
“What about the house on Landslide?That’s a fixed address.”
The lawyer looks confused.“Miz Aherne was based here in Minneapolis—I think—for the entirety of the process.She would leave to ascertain some facts and then come back and give them to me.She… she was very anxious to get it done… very worried about something.Which was entirely understandable in hindsight.”
I have no doubt.
“Who contacted you to tell you Tempest was dead?”
Frowning at the memory, Bryant shakes his head.“The coroner’s office of course.It was all perfectly legal, I assure you.”
Yep.Bryant sure does like his ‘t’s crossed and ‘i’s dotted.
“But how did the coroner know to contact you?”
“It’s in Miz Aherne’s file… Can I please show you?”
Jerking my head, I let the man stand.He hustles over to a filing cabinet—old school—and withdraws a green folder.Sifting through the paperwork, he finds what he was looking for.
