Cold Case Cop Read Free

few choice words. “When did you get to be so timid?”
    “Since I realized I’m two years away from collecting a full pension.”
    Frustration fueled Tara’s anger. “My readership has been growing steadily, and this is the kind of story that will hit home with them. Remember, you gave me the go-ahead to look into Kit Westgate Landover’s case.”
    “I know. I know.”
    “Think about it, Miriam. This is the stuff of Pulitzers. Network news coverage. Book deals. When I go to the top I’ll be telling everyone you were the star editor behind me. I will make you famous and position you for your own book deal.”
    Miriam sighed. “We both know I didn’t want to fade quietly into retirement.”
    She smiled, knowing she’d hit all Miriam’s hot buttons. “Exactly.”
    “All right. Go for it. But please just be careful, Tara.”
    “I will be fine.” Tara closed her cell and shoved it in her briefcase as she reached Landover’s house. Standing on the sidewalk, she stared up at the corner-lot mansion. The home had been built in the seventeen hundreds and was steeped in history. This had always been an exclusive pricey area of Boston, but in today’s market this place was worth a king’s ransom.
    She climbed the stone steps to the black, lacquered front door. A pineapple brass door knocker hung in the door’s center.
    Tara rapped the knocker twice against the massive door. The sound echoed inside the house. She moistened her lips and stood a little straighter.
    Miriam’s and Kirkland’s words nagged her as she tried not to fidget. They were right. She had a hot head. Back in D.C., she probably shouldn’t have called that senator an idiot. But she was smart enough to learn from her mistakes. She could handle Pierce Landover if she could get in to see him.
    Footsteps echoed in the hallway inside. If her luck held, she’d get Landover’s maid, or someone else who didn’t know her. She then might be able to get into the house and maybe see Landover. There’d been times in the past when she’d talked her way into situations and gotten great quotes.
    But there’d also been times when she’d been tossed out and threatened with legal action.
    That could be today’s scenario if Cecilia Reston, Landover’s personal assistant for the last twenty-five years, answered the door. Reston protected her employer with the ferocity of a bulldog. And she’d have no trouble reporting Tara to the cops.
    Tara glanced at her black flats and, seeing dust on them, quickly rubbed them against the panty hose under her pant leg.
    The door opened to a very young woman dressed in a maid’s outfit. She had dark, straight hair pulled back with a rubber band and big brown eyes that telegraphed naïveté. “Yes?”
    Tara smiled brightly. “I’m Tara Mackey. I have an appointment with Mr. Landover.”
    The young maid frowned as if confused. “I didn’t realize he was seeing people today. Are you here about the clothes he’s giving away?”
    Tara wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Clothes?”
    “His wife’s clothes. He’s giving all her gowns away to charity.”
    “Ah, yes. She had such stunning gowns. We have a ten-thirty appointment to discuss the gowns,” she said without blinking.
    The maid nodded and stepped aside. “If you’ll wait here.”
    Tara’s heart jumped, but she kept her cool as she stepped inside. “Thank you.”
    So Landover was giving away Kit’s dresses. Was it a sign that the old man was moving on with his life?
    The maid hurried up the carpeted spiral staircase and down the upstairs hallway. Her footsteps faded away. Tara was left alone in the foyer.
    She studied the marbled foyer’s black-and-white polished floor. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and caught the morning sunlight, which streamed in through a transom above the door. Across from the door stood an antique Chippendale table pushed against the wall. On the table sat a Chinese vase filled with fragrant, freshly cut roses.