I'm going to a funeral." He smiled. "I'll call you."
She watched him drive away. She didn't know yet whether she liked him or not. She certainly didn't dislike him.
She started the car. It wouldn't hurt to see him again, she thought, driving back to the library. Even though she'd never been all that fond of blonds. And she'd certainly never imagined herself dating a cop. A police officer.
CHAPTER 8
"Helen Morris, please."
"This is she."
"Mrs. Morris, _I'm Staff Sergeant Alberg of the R.C.M. Police in Sechelt.”
"Oh, yes, Mr. Alberg.” Her voice was thin, gray. "I think I remember you. Tall and fair-haired."
"Right.”
"You paid your respects, as I recall. When I was there to make the arrangements."
"You didn't stay for the funeral," said Alberg.
"No." There was a pause. "It was today, wasn't it.”
"I kind of expected to see you there. I've got a few questions—I'd hoped you'd be able to help us out a little more.”
"I don't see how I could,” she said. "As I told your sergeant on Wednesday, I hadn't seen my brother in more than twenty years. I haven't the faintest idea what he's been doing, who his friends were.”
"Not even Christmas cards?"
She didn't reply.
"You didn't even exchange Christmas cards?”
"No, Mr. Alberg. We didn't.”
"Were you surprised to hear that he'd died?" Alberg leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. He shifted the phone to his other ear.
"Not particularly. He was eighty-five, after all."
"How old are you, Mrs. Morris?"
"I'm seventy-six. But healthy."
"Were you surprised by the will?"
She laughed. "As you've just discovered, he never even sent me a Christmas card. Why should I be surprised that I don't figure in his will? I wouldn't have taken anything from him, anyway.”
"Were you surprised to hear how he'd died?” Alberg squinted his eyes almost closed, as though by diminishing his vision he could make his hearing more acute.
He heard her sigh. "Of course I was surprised,” she said irritably. "I'm not accustomed to having acquaintances who get themselves murdered."
"Acquaintances?" Alberg let his voice fill with amazement. Another silence. "He wasn't much more than that, Mr. Alberg. I regret having to say so, but it's true.”
"Do you have any other brothers? Any sisters?"
"No. There were just the two of us."
"So he was your only living relative.”
"In the sense you mean it, yes. I have three children. My husband died several years ago. Forgive me, but I really don't see the point of your questions."
"I was just thinking that it must be very sad to have been estranged for so long from your only brother. It must have been a great sadness in your life, and in his.” He winced, telling himself not to overdo it.
"Estrangement, Mr. Alberg, implies a previous affection. There was never any affection between Carlyle and me. Therefore we were never estranged, and the situation was never a sad one."
Alberg removed his feet from his desk and sat up. "What was the situation between you, Mrs. Morris?" He went on quickly, before she could tell him it was none of his business. "You see, so far we don't have any suspects in your brother's homicide. In order to try to find out who did this to him, it's necessary to know something about him. What kind of man was he? Did he, for example, make friends easily?”
He waited, and the long-distance seconds ticked by, but she didn't reply.
"He lived here for five years, Mrs. Morris," he said. "Played the piano at the old folks' dances, sang in the men's choir down at the Old Age Pensioners' hall, played bingo nearly every week, even went on a couple of bus tours to Reno." He paused; no response. "Quite a sociable fellow, your brother." He picked up a pen and began doodling on a routine letter from division headquarters. "Yet you know, the funny thing is, he doesn't seem to have had any particular friends. He only did things in groups. Does that sound like your brother to you?"
"I keep telling you," she
She watched him drive away. She didn't know yet whether she liked him or not. She certainly didn't dislike him.
She started the car. It wouldn't hurt to see him again, she thought, driving back to the library. Even though she'd never been all that fond of blonds. And she'd certainly never imagined herself dating a cop. A police officer.
CHAPTER 8
"Helen Morris, please."
"This is she."
"Mrs. Morris, _I'm Staff Sergeant Alberg of the R.C.M. Police in Sechelt.”
"Oh, yes, Mr. Alberg.” Her voice was thin, gray. "I think I remember you. Tall and fair-haired."
"Right.”
"You paid your respects, as I recall. When I was there to make the arrangements."
"You didn't stay for the funeral," said Alberg.
"No." There was a pause. "It was today, wasn't it.”
"I kind of expected to see you there. I've got a few questions—I'd hoped you'd be able to help us out a little more.”
"I don't see how I could,” she said. "As I told your sergeant on Wednesday, I hadn't seen my brother in more than twenty years. I haven't the faintest idea what he's been doing, who his friends were.”
"Not even Christmas cards?"
She didn't reply.
"You didn't even exchange Christmas cards?”
"No, Mr. Alberg. We didn't.”
"Were you surprised to hear that he'd died?" Alberg leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. He shifted the phone to his other ear.
"Not particularly. He was eighty-five, after all."
"How old are you, Mrs. Morris?"
"I'm seventy-six. But healthy."
"Were you surprised by the will?"
She laughed. "As you've just discovered, he never even sent me a Christmas card. Why should I be surprised that I don't figure in his will? I wouldn't have taken anything from him, anyway.”
"Were you surprised to hear how he'd died?” Alberg squinted his eyes almost closed, as though by diminishing his vision he could make his hearing more acute.
He heard her sigh. "Of course I was surprised,” she said irritably. "I'm not accustomed to having acquaintances who get themselves murdered."
"Acquaintances?" Alberg let his voice fill with amazement. Another silence. "He wasn't much more than that, Mr. Alberg. I regret having to say so, but it's true.”
"Do you have any other brothers? Any sisters?"
"No. There were just the two of us."
"So he was your only living relative.”
"In the sense you mean it, yes. I have three children. My husband died several years ago. Forgive me, but I really don't see the point of your questions."
"I was just thinking that it must be very sad to have been estranged for so long from your only brother. It must have been a great sadness in your life, and in his.” He winced, telling himself not to overdo it.
"Estrangement, Mr. Alberg, implies a previous affection. There was never any affection between Carlyle and me. Therefore we were never estranged, and the situation was never a sad one."
Alberg removed his feet from his desk and sat up. "What was the situation between you, Mrs. Morris?" He went on quickly, before she could tell him it was none of his business. "You see, so far we don't have any suspects in your brother's homicide. In order to try to find out who did this to him, it's necessary to know something about him. What kind of man was he? Did he, for example, make friends easily?”
He waited, and the long-distance seconds ticked by, but she didn't reply.
"He lived here for five years, Mrs. Morris," he said. "Played the piano at the old folks' dances, sang in the men's choir down at the Old Age Pensioners' hall, played bingo nearly every week, even went on a couple of bus tours to Reno." He paused; no response. "Quite a sociable fellow, your brother." He picked up a pen and began doodling on a routine letter from division headquarters. "Yet you know, the funny thing is, he doesn't seem to have had any particular friends. He only did things in groups. Does that sound like your brother to you?"
"I keep telling you," she
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