Love for Sale

putting away the picture with the telegram, he called, “Come in. Oh, Chief Walker, I was just getting ready to look for you.”
    Walker took the chair across the desk from the attorney. “First, I think the earlier experience of finding a body in the kitchen of this house, combined with this murder, should convince you to get locks on all the doors and windows on the ground floor.”
    Mr. Prinney nodded. “So you think someone might have gotten into the house?“
    “It’s possible.“
    “But improbable, I’d guess.“
    “I don’t know much yet about the people who were here,“ Walker said. “Except that they represent an organization in disarray. Until I interview them, and everyone they left behind, I won’t know who had the motive and no alibi. But common sense demands locks anyway.“
    “Where are you taking these invaders of our hospitality?”
    Walker said, “Nowhere yet. I’m going to have to leave them here under guard until I can find a nearby jail that can take them. I’m even considering Matteawan.“
    “The place for the criminally insane?“
    “As far as I’m concerned, they are criminally insane,“ Walker said. “I can probably pop them in there for evaluations for a couple days. Meanwhile, Harry Harbinger, Ralph Summer—if I can find him—and I will take turns at the head of the stairs on the third floor. If I need to, I’ll borrow some other help from somewhere. I already have New-burg’s department seizing the records and loaning us a fingerprint expert. We’re going to have to search the entire mansion. Do I need a warrant?”
    Walker knew, as did everyone in town, that Lily and Robert didn’t really own Grace and Favor. Important decisions fell to Mr. Prinney as the executor of the Brewsters’ great-uncle’s estate.
    Mr. Prinney was appalled. “A warrant? Of course not. Those of us who live here need to know who did this as much as you do. But how long will it be before you take them all away? One of them is probably a murderer.“
    “Not more than two days, I hope. I don’t relish the thought of sitting in the hallway on my shift for longer than that. I wish it weren’t a Sunday. I’ll need to get hold of someone in Albany to examine their finances. This appears to be all about vast sums of money.”
    Chapter 8
    The morning wore on endlessly. Walker received a phone call from Chief Colling. “This blabbermouth Jimmy Rennie is driving us mad. I’m going to send him to you with two big guys. You can keep one of them if you need an extra deputy. I’ll pay for his time. It’s worth every cent to quiet down Rennie’s yap.”
    Walker had interviewed Jackson Kinsey, Good-heart’s attorney, and got nowhere. He was the one Robert had caught trying to leave Grace and Favor. “Why were you trying to leave?“ was Walker’s first question.
    “I have nothing to say about that,“ Kinsey said. His face was almost as red as his hair, and his head seemed physically bigger than the normal person’s. The man was determined not to reveal anything.
    “You’re Goodheart’s attorney, aren’t you? Or maybe I should be calling him by his real name, Charles Pottinger, I believe.“
    “Who my clients are is my business, not yours.“
    “We’ve taken Big Jimmy Rennie into custody and seized all the paperwork at the Institute,“ Walker told Kinsey.
    “That’s not legal,“ Kinsey said, pounding his big hairy fist on the large table in the master suite. “You’ll regret this, you tin-pot despot.“
    “I believe it is legal. We’ll all find out eventually, won’t we?“ Walker said with a smile. “Tin-pot despot“ was a phrase that had never yet been applied to him, and it amused him to hear it from Kinsey, of all people.
    Walker gave up on him for the time being and said, “You’re free to go back to your room, A deputy will tell you when luncheon is served.”
    Kinsey huffed his way out of the suite and to his own room under Robert’s close watch.
    When Robert returned, Walker said, “Would you bring me this Nobby Hazard, please.”
    Nobby soon appeared, spiffed up to his poor best. The old man was in a black suit that had seen better decades and wore a stiff celluloid collar that had yellowed with age. His skimpy gray hair was greased down and had a knife-edge part in the middle. Whatever the grease was, it stank. He had a thin, wrinkled face with many old smallpox knobs and depressions, and his mean little blue eyes were set very close together.
    “What do