Читать книгу Social Graces - Dixie Browning, Dixie Browning - Страница 9

A few hours later, with both the furniture and the downstairs windows sparkling—on the inside, at least—Val collapsed onto one of the freshly scrubbed kitchen chairs. She kicked off her Cole Haans and sipped on a glass of chilled vegetable juice, hoping that that and peanut butter constituted a balanced diet.

The ugly green refrigerator probably dated from the sixties. It was noisy and showing signs of rust, but at least it was now clean, inside and out. And if it wasn’t exactly energy efficient, neither was she at the moment.

Marian had relayed the promise that her phone would be hooked up sometime today, which was a big relief. New number equaled no crank calls. She’d had to go outside and stand near the road to get even an erratic signal on her cell phone. After today, though, she could hook up her laptop, deal with her e-mail and check out the Greenwich newspapers to see if there’d been any new developments since she’d left town.

That done, she’d better start composing a résumé. Unfortunately, the only kind of work in which she had any experience was the kind that paid off more in satisfaction than in wages.

“Ha. How the mighty have fallen,” she said, dolefully amused.

How much would a private investigator charge to dig into her father’s records? The same records that had been turned inside out by swarms of experts?

Too much, probably. Anything was too much, given her present circumstances. Besides, even if she could have afforded to hire an investigator, she wasn’t sure she could trust him with her father’s personal files. Was there some code of ethics that said a private investigator had to turn over any incriminating evidence he might find?

“Dad, I’m out of my element here, you’re going to have to give me a hint,” she whispered now. Will Jordan might be still under investigation, but Val had a feeling he was going to find some way to pin the whole thing on Frank Bonnard. Why not? Her poor father was in no position to defend himself.

Val was feeling more inadequate with every day that passed. If she got lucky and found evidence that would vindicate her father, then she could be charged with concealing that same evidence. Couldn’t win for losing. Classic case, she thought ruefully.