Whisper of Evil Read Free Page B

Ethan usually bought him a couple or three at least twice a month, just to keep on top of things. So he knew that Nell had—somewhat reluctantly, according to Wade— agreed to come home at least long enough to clear out the old house, see what family possessions she wanted to keep, do whatever else needed doing by the last blood Gallagher left with ties to this place.
    Hell, maybe she'd just have a big-ass yard sale and then set a match to the ancestral home and drive back to D.C. purged of the past.
    Ethan doubted she'd want to keep much, at least if all the old stories and rumors had any truth to them. And since she hadn't returned home even for family funerals in the past twelve years, it certainly looked like at least some of those stories were true.
    Ethan pursed his lips unconsciously as he watched Nell get back into her very nice Grand Cherokee and drive away. He'd run the plates later, he decided, just to make sure, but he didn't expect there'd be anything he didn't already know.
    He knew a lot.
    Being sheriff of a small, generally close-knit community required that, of course. Good police work in Lacombe Parish, and particularly here in Silence, so often came down to what he knew about the people here long before he had a crime to solve. So he made it his business to know what most everybody was up to, whether or not it was illegal.
    "Sheriff?"
    He turned from the window to find one of his CID detectives, Justin Byers, standing in front of the desk. He encouraged his people to come seek him out if they needed to talk, avoiding the outdated intercom system mostly because it was outdated but also because he hated the tinny, almost eerie sounds of voices run through the things.
    "What's up, Justin?"
    "I'm having a little trouble running down all the financial information on George Caldwell. Nothing really suspicious, just some pretty scattered investments and a few too many details unexplained for my taste. I thought maybe if we got a warrant for his personal records—"
    Ethan smiled. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Justin, but I doubt Judge Buchanan will issue a warrant based on our uneasiness. Find out what you can, but don't push anybody, and don't call on his widow, okay?"
    "Does Sue Caldwell even consider herself his widow? I mean, they'd been separated—what?—two or three years?"
    "About that." Ethan shrugged. "But they were still married, and she's his legal heir. From what I hear, she's grieving. So leave her alone."
    "Okay, sure. Just so you know, it's going to take a while to gather all the info you wanted—"
    "Understood." Ethan's easy smile remained until the detective left the room, then faded. He didn't entirely trust Justin Byers. Then again, he didn't entirely trust at least three of the six new people he'd had to hire on since the new highway had made this a far more busy town in the last year. Ethan liked to have people he knew around him, and three of the most recent hires—including Byers—had not been born and raised in Silence.
    Not a crime, that, and all had boasted fine credentials and recommendations, to say nothing of experience to spare.
    Still.
    Returning to his comfortable chair behind the desk, Ethan unlocked and opened the center drawer and drew out a dull brown folder. Inside were copies of three reports his office had submitted, as required, to the district-court prosecutor.
    The report of the first death was straightforward enough. Peter Lynch, fifty, had died suddenly, appar-entry of a heart attack. Only at the insistence of a hysterical wife had an autopsy been performed, resulting in the unexpected finding of poison. Since the house hadn't been treated as the scene of a crime at the time, going back to search later had turned up nothing useful in proving what had happened, but the medical examiner believed someone might have slipped a few capsules of nitroglycerin into one of the vitamin bottles. Lynch had been known to take vitamins by the handful, and no other drugs,