Love for Sale

Hazard’s room. It stank of his hair oil, and a huge bottle of it was on the windowsill. There was no label on it; apparently it was a noxious recipe he mixed himself. Other than his suitcase and his shaving materials, this was the only item in the room. Nobby apparently had no use for tooth care. Walker opened the small, battered case. Nobby had two changes of underwear, one extra shirt. The clothes were all old and stained and looked as if they’d been with him for decades, being fruitlessly washed and ironed and darned. The extra shirt had been meticulously patched at the elbows, collar, and cuffs. Did he do this sewing himself, or did he have some downtrodden wife or spinster daughter in the background?
    There were two books in the suitcase. One was an old Bible. The fake leather cover had crumbled to bits. The spine was a wreck. Almost every page had a smudge on the lower outer corner. Nobby must have gone through it hundreds of times, wetting his finger to turn the pages, many of which had come loose from the binding. Nearly the whole of Revelations was unhinged.
    Naturally that would be Nobby’s favorite section. There was a great deal of precise underlining throughout.
    With distaste, Walker stuffed Revelations back in place as best as he could and put the Bible back in the case and picked up the other book. It turned out to be an equally battered expanding file folder instead of a book, stuffed with receipts, business cards, notes of dates, and costs of hotels, drivers, train tickets, meals, drinks, and room service charges.
    Noticeably absent were notations about cash coming in from Brother Goodheart’s preaching. It seemed that Nobby never knew how much was made on these many trips, though he knew precisely what was spent and how. Walker would send this along to Albany as well.
    He was still convinced this murder was all about money. But someone had killed the fatted calf and put all of them out of business. Who had the motive for this? Where would Nobby, for example, get a new job? With his looks, smell, age, and personality, he’d be unemployable. Price would be out of what must have been an unpleasant but moderately lucrative job. Rennie would lose his access to the cash, and if the conspiracy theory was right and the accountants at Albany could prove it, he’d be in jail.
    Walker told himself there was no point in debating this with himself yet until he had a lot more hard information. He took his assistants to the last room occupied by the Institute’s guests, the room of attorney Jackson Kinsey.
    Kinsey had a large, expensive suitcase full of clothing and law books. Bits of paper bristled at the top of many pages. Walker and Officer Lawrence went through them while Ralph Summer slouched against the door picking his teeth with a penknife.
    Walker went through the largest of the four law books, while Officer Lawrence went through another. “What are you finding on those marked pages?“ Walker asked.
    “Stuff about libel and slander,“ Lawrence replied.
    “Me, too,“ Walker said. “And here’s one about bylaws and the duties and restrictions of treasurers.”
    They set the books aside and went carefully through the rest of the items in the suitcase. There was nothing remarkable, and here, too, there were no signs of notes made during the meeting. But all of Kinsey’s personal belongings were of the best quality. The shirts and underwear were hand-tailored. The extra silk tie must have cost what an average person made in a year. Even his shaving materials were encased in an exotic leather case, and the razor had an ivory handle. So did his hairbrush.
    Walker sighed. “Ralph, you can go back to working on the house. Lawrence, will you come with me to the asylum and take notes? We have a lot more things to ask these men about.”

Chapter 11

    The sense of relief among the residents of Grace and Favor when all the guests and police had left was almost overwhelming. Mimi, the maid, was the only one upset, because Chief Walker had ordered her not to start tidying up any of the rooms on the second and third floors. Mimi, naturally, was itching to take the bedding and start washing it and to get on with the sweeping and mopping of the floors and the beeswaxing of the furniture. She had to content herself with ruthlessly polishing the silver, which didn’t need polishing.
    Mrs. Prinney was happy that she didn’t have to cook for so many extra people anymore, as she was almost out of food. She