The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (31 page)

"Of course you would," he said snidely.

"At the very least I feel I owe it to Walter to look after his mother," I told the
attorney. "Which is more than I can say for the folks at Hocraffer, Zumbrunn, Kobialka,
and Wright. I think I should have the authorities check you for an alibi and a monetary
motive. You seem terribly concerned about Melba's will, and what will happen to her
money if something happens to her. I might also see what I can do to have you disbarred."

"Humph! Fat chance, lady!" he said as he laughed in disdain. He knew he hadn't technically
done anything unjust, remotely illegal, completely immoral, or anything else he could
be disbarred for doing. He had pissed me off, and that's about the size of it. Pissing
people off was merely part of the job description of a lawyer. There weren't a zillion
lawyer jokes for no reason.

"Watch me, you pompous ass," I hissed.

With that final declaration I stormed out of the room. I knew I didn't have a chance
in hell of getting the man disbarred. Cats would eat with chopsticks before I could
pull off a trick like that. But at least my threat gave the creep something to chew
on for a while.

Haunted

by

Jeanne Glidewell

~

To purchase

Haunted

from your favorite eBook Retailer,

visit Jeanne Glidewell's eBook Discovery Author Page

www.ebookdiscovery.com/JeanneGlidewell

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Page forward and complete your journey

with an excerpt from

LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED

A Lexie Starr Mystery

Book One

Excerpt from

Leave No Stone Unturned

A Lexie Starr Mystery

Book One

by

Jeanne Glidewell

LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED

Reviews & Accolades

"Glidewell succeeds in maintaining a rapidly paced story line that dramatically builds
tension, while Lexie's sly, tongue-in-cheek sense of humor provides plenty

of laugh-out-loud moments."

~Booklist

"This first Lexie Starr novel begins with a bang and ends on just the right note."

~Library Journal Review

After Justin had thanked me and strolled away, I reinserted the microfilm into the
viewing machine with trembling fingers. I was so engrossed in this effort that an
explosion could have leveled the building and left it in piles of rubble all around
me, and I wouldn't have noticed. I shook my head as if I thought that would help clear
it and give a chance for reality to set back in. I slowly read the article again.

Boston police academy standout, Clayton "Clay" Pitt, is being questioned due to the
recent disappearance of his wife, Eliza Pitt, who was last seen in the parking lot
of Schenectady's Food Pantry grocery store on Fourteenth Street early in the afternoon
on April 12. Mr. Pitt has been unable to provide an adequate explanation to authorities
regarding his whereabouts on that day. Chief investigator, Detective Ron Glick, stated
Mr. Pitt has not officially been named as a suspect, but he is under a "cloud of suspicion"
at this time. Pitt has been staying at a Boston motel during the week while attending
the police academy. He spends weekends at his home in Schenectady, New York, where
he and Eliza have resided since their 1996 marriage. The Pitts, both thirty, celebrated
their fifth anniversary in March and are expecting their first child in July.

I had to read it again, and then one more time. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Could this be a different Clay Pitt? Obviously there were a lot of clay pits, but
how many human Clay Pitts could there be? How many Clayton "Clay" Pitts lived in New
York, were thirty years old, and were enrolled in the police academy in Boston? Not
many I presumed.

I was nearly bowled over by the thought that my new son-in-law was a potential killer,
a sadistic murderer who could kill one spouse and replace her with another two years
later. I sat back in my chair as questions zipped through my mind. Was Clay guilty
or not? Was Wendy in mortal danger? Could another raw T-bone push her husband over
the edge? What if Clay went really "ballistic"? Could a little marital spat escalate
to the point of murder? I needed to find out the truth, one way or the other, or I'd
never get another good night's sleep again.

I read the short article one last time, hopeful it was only a matter of needing stronger
reading glasses. No such luck, I soon discovered. My vision had not deteriorated.
The part about Clay staying at a Boston motel confused me a bit. I could've sworn
that Wendy had told me he'd been staying with a friend there during the week. Perhaps
he'd moved in with a friend following the disappearance of his wife.

I looked stealthily around the room and thrust the microfilm down into my pocket,
as nervously as if shoplifting a diamond-studded watch. I knew there was a good possibility
that I'd need to refer to the article again. I also snatched up films covering the
following several weeks of the New York Times in case there were subsequent articles
about the case. What were the chances anyone else would need to research those exact
dates in the near future? Slim to none. I would return the films at a later date,
when I no longer had a need for them.

What to do now? Wendy had to be warned that her husband could be a homicidal maniac,
didn't she? Would warning her place my own life in peril? Worse yet, would it jeopardize
my daughter's life? Would Wendy accept my news as a mother's attempt to protect her
own flesh and blood, or would she view it as a mother's attempt to stick her nose
in where it didn't belong? I didn't want to appear as if I were trying to come between
Wendy and her new husband, as satisfying as that'd be. It would be no easy task to
make Wendy see that the man she felt the sun rose and set on was not as flawless as
she perceived him to be. I didn't want to take a chance of alienating my daughter
in the process of trying to protect her. It seemed a no-win situation.