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“Everything okay?” Zach couldn’t help asking.

Flint considered him, considered the question, nodded. “You?”

“Me? Yeah. Great.” Zach smiled.

Flint blinked as if all the window shades in the world had suddenly snapped up.

He said finally, neutrally, “Well, good.”

The sound of a television could be heard several yards down the hall from Topper the butler’s private room.

An empty chair was positioned beneath the room number. The door stood open. Flint rapped on the door frame. Zach stuck his head inside.

The room’s only occupant was an elderly man in navy pajamas sitting upright in bed. He was watching TV.

“May we have a quick word, Mr. Topper?” Flint called over the blast of a local weather report.

Topper looked around wildly as though he thought the weather lady had sneaked into his room. “Who’s there?” he asked querulously, adjusting his spectacles.

Flint glanced pointedly at Zach. Was Zach supposed to take lead on this?

He stepped inside the room, saying, “Glad to see you’re feeling better, sir. I’m Zach Davies from Davies Detective Agency. I was working for Mr. Beacher at the time of his death.”

“What’s that?”

Zach raised his voice. “Zach Davies, Davies Detective Agency.”

Topper picked up the remote and muted the television. “What are you supposed to be, another insurance investigator?”

Flint and Zach exchanged quick looks. Zach advanced into the room. “No. I was working for Mr. Beacher.”

“Since when?” Topper asked skeptically. “I don’t remember you.”

“For the last week. Mr. Beacher hired me to find out who was threatening him.”

Topper stared. “How’s that coming along?” he asked sourly.

“Everybody’s a wiseass,” Flint remarked.

“What’s that?” Topper demanded. “Who’s there with you?”

“This is my associate, Mr. Carey.”

“Why’s he skulking in the doorway?”

Zach ignored that, removing his ID and moving to the bed to hand it to Topper. He could see the older man was badly bruised. There were tiny cuts over his face and hands. But his injuries didn’t look life-threatening. Zach had expected more medical equipment at the very least.

Topper took Zach’s ID, stared at it, handed it back.

“Mr. Beacher was a man with a lot of secrets,” he said cryptically.

“What kind of secrets?” Flint asked.

Topper looked at him like he was an idiot. “How should I know? They were secrets.”

Zach swallowed a laugh and intervened. “You look like you’ve had a rough time, Mr. Topper. Can you tell us about the accident?”

“I slept through most of it.”