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The others repeated this toast and they all took a sip of the whisky.
Jamison said, “Wow, I’m not usedto something this strong, at least not in the afternoon.”
Baron eyed her. “If you live here long enough, you’d see the utility in it. But I don’t recommend you live here, Alex.”
Decker glanced at Riley and then said to Baron, “Nigel Nottingham?”
Baron lowered his glass and glanced at him. “What about him?”
“Baron the First’s loyal butler.”
“Yes,I’m aware of that.”
Riley said quickly, “He talked to a relative of the guy. He lived in the same building as Brad Costa. Decker thinks the relative told Costa about a possible treasure at your house. That’s why Costa came here.”
“And was murdered,” added Decker, still looking at Baron.
Baron said wearily, “Yes, the treasure. Theallegedtreasure.”
“Younever mentioned that to us,” said Decker.
“Why would I? There is no treasure.”
“So you’ve looked for it?” said Jamison.
“No. But my ancestors did, for many, many decades. And it was never found, because our patron would never have left any money for his descendants to find. It wasn’t in his DNA.”
“Costa must have thought differently,” said Decker. “Why elsechuck New York for this place. Did he ever ask you about it?”
“As I told you before, I don’t know the man. I never met the man, so there would have been no possible way for him to ask me anything.”
“And you’re certain about that?”
Baron pursed his lips and looked amused. “I’m assuming you’re referring to my failure to tell you about Joyce and Michael Swanson?”
“Your credibility is not all that good in my book.”
Baron said, “Well, I’m not sure what I can say to convince you otherwise, so perhaps I should take my leave.” He turned to Alex. “I am very sorry for what happened. I doubt there’s anything I can do, but if you or your sister need anything, please ask and I’ll do whatever I can.”
Riley said, “Same for me.”
“Thank you,” said Jamison.
They all walked outside. Fortunately, the rain had nearly stopped. As Baron and Riley were heading to his old Suburban, they heard the sirens.
“Coming this way,” noted Decker.
They saw flashing lights turn onto the street where the Murder House was.
All four of them ran over to the next block in time to see the police leap fromtheir cars and run up to a house. The front door was open and an elderly woman was waiting on the porch looking distressed. As they watched, an ambulance slowly drove up to the house, its emergency lights off.
“Who lives there?” asked Riley.
Decker said, “Dan Bond. And from the looks of things, I’m not sure helivesthere anymore.”
