Page 41 of Wasted

“I suppose the killer could have been here, possibly trying to steal the valuables.” Victoria stood and peered up at the staircase. “Thomas could have heard him and come downstairs to check. And then…” Her lips pressed together.

“Yeah.” Cillian let the heaviness of the situation weight his voice. She needed to see he could take things seriously. He always took victimization of the vulnerable more seriously than anything. “If it was dark, it could’ve been pretty easy for the killer to hide by the stairs and then hit Thomas from behind.”

Victoria took in a visible breath, like gathering her courage to shake off the sadness again. “It would explain the two paintings being switched. If it was a thief, he could have taken them off the walls, intending to steal them.”

“But then got interrupted, clobbered Thomas, and panicked.” Cillian shook his head. “Makes sense as an unplanned murder. The robber probably hadn’t killed anybody before, so he would leave the valuables behind. He wouldn’t want to risk getting caught for a murder rap.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Victoria crossed in front of Cillian, moving toward the back of the foyer where large, cherry wood doors stood closed.

Cillian followed her, scanning the rest of the foyer for anything he might not have seen before. “You don’t sound convinced.”

She opened the two doors, pushing them inward.

He followed her through.

A massive room with high ceilings and several chandeliers opened before him. Shelves of books lined almost all the walls like at a library, flanking an impressive fireplace in the farthest wall. “Wow. You must love this room. No wonder you got along so well with this guy.”

She turned toward Cillian and stared at him.

“What? You didn’t think I’d remember how much you love books?” His ribs pinched. Man, she really didn’t give him any credit at all.

Her mouth opened like she was going to answer. Then closed.

She faced away again. Of course.

She walked toward the seating area by the fireplace where two armchairs and a velvet, antique-looking couch stood. “He was here.” She gestured toward the larger armchair that also looked like an antique, though Cillian was far from an expert.

“When you saw him?”

She turned her gaze on Cillian, pain reflecting in her eyes. “When he told me he couldn’t trust anyone but me.” She aimed her gaze at the chair. “‘You’re the only one I can trust,’ he said.” Her voice tightened.

“So it maybe wasn’t a burglar. Maybe it was premeditated.”

Victoria nodded as she folded her arms across her parka. “The evidence fits that theory, as well. The rug could have been removed only because it had blood on it from the blow. The paintings could be switched because…” She tilted her head at an adorable angle as she touched a finger to her chin.

“Maybe the killer was looking for something behind the paintings.” Cillian threw out the idea as soon as it came to him. “Like a safe with blackmail evidence Thomas had against him?”

“Blackmail?” She lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t think Thomas would blackmail someone. Though he did say he was considering speaking with Mr. Neely about something he had ‘discovered.’”

“And idea what or who that would’ve been about?”

“He didn’t trust his niece and nephew. They weren’t very convincing at playing the role of loving relatives.”

Cillian nodded. “So they might’ve been after his money. Trying to get on his good side to be sure they were in his will. Which, ironically, you were instead.” He smiled, but she didn’t smile back. Too soon for jokes about her inheritance, apparently. “Okay, who else would’ve wanted to hurt him or kill him?”

She sighed, lowering her arms. “It’s hard to imagine anyone would. But there was a strange incident that last day I saw him.”

“Strange how?”

She moistened her lips. “Well, I had thought he and Clinton Glenn were friends. He’s the curator of the Chicago Renaissance Art Museum, to which Thomas is a major contributor. But that day, Thomas sounded cold and angry with him.”

“What did they say?”

“I don’t know beyond the initial greeting. Ryan, his nephew, escorted me out just then.”

“Like he didn’t want you to hear what they talked about?”

“More like he wanted me out of his uncle’s life. He and his sister, Brenda, often behaved that way, though Brenda covered it beneath a veneer of politeness.”