A Cup of Murder by Cam Larson Page B

his
stomach, front legs sprawled out as he happily gnawed a piece of ham
that hung from a large bone. I told Jacob thanks and left. Thor
didn’t look up.
    Temporarily free from my obligations, I left West
River around nine a.m. and set my GPS for the condo address. While
driving I formulated my approach to James Simms. I decided
politicians were ready to answer questions and get their faces out
there no matter if it was Sunday or any other day of the week. I
relied on him being home when I got there. Did politicians socialize
or go to church? They were silly questions that invaded my mind and I
quickly brushed them away. The belief I would find him home and ready
to talk with me was at the top of my mind. It helped me prepare my
opening words, not that I had any concrete idea of what those words
would be.
    When I arrived, I got out, smoothed my outfit,
handed my keys to the valet and then walked with confidence to the
front door of 50 West. Impressed with the friendly doorman, I didn’t
think it appropriate to confirm the Simms’ condo number with him. I
couldn’t give the impression I didn’t know where I was going. As
it turned out, I didn't have to since a concierge sprang from nowhere
to greet me. My expression diverted from the fascinating mosaic floor
tile to his voice. He asked my destination and directed me to the
elevators. Satisfied I was safely inside he wished me a good day and
left to greet the next visitor. I commanded my heart to stop beating
so fast.
    I couldn't believe that James Simms earned enough
money to afford this level of luxury from work in the political field
alone. He obviously lived off private money. Again, the contrast
between James and his brother hit me. Michael had never given the
impression he was wealthy but he must have enjoyed a huge part of the
family wealth like his brother did. I rang the chime at number nine
and waited until a uniformed maid answered the door. She ushered me
into an expansive alcove on the right to wait for Senator Simms. Book
shelves were lined with leather-bound books that had to do with
politics and law as far as I could tell. Black leather was the
predominant upholstery choice in furniture. I chose to stand.
    "Welcome to my home," a voice said
behind me. "Emma tells me you are a reporter from the West River
Daily News." His tone was deep and rich and when I turned my
head at his voice, the resemblance to Michael proved startling. The
difference was his face was creased in friendliness rather than
arrogance. "Come into the living room and I will introduce you
to my wife, Sarah."
    For the first time since planning this charade, it
dawned on me I had no credentials to show if asked. Apparently, none
were needed. I relaxed at the welcome and entered a large curved
room. Its walls were mainly glass and the wallpaper was a view of the
New York Harbor and Manhattan skyline. The condo was on the end
affording the curvature and spectacular view. I had a feeling I was
invited into this area for a reason. James Simms seemed to enjoy
flaunting his wealth and success. This interview should be easy
enough, not that I made interviewing a habit.
    Sarah Simms reached to shake hands with me as she
stood up. She was striking. It is the only description that came to
my mind at first glance. Tall, slim and fit, my five foot six stature
seemed dwarfed compared to hers. She stood a couple of inches above
me. I want to say her hair was blond but that would not do it
justice. It was more like sand on a beach that never saw shade and
where sunlight highlighted in the right places. Her cut was short and
perfectly outlined a somewhat chiseled oval face. Both Sarah and
James were friendly, putting me at ease right away.
    "Would you like refreshment?" asked
Sarah. "We were just getting ready to have a glass of raspberry
tea, or would you like a glass of wine?"
    I told her tea was fine. There was no way a glass
of wine was in my cards. I had to stay focused and make this a
professional call,