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It was best that they were not questioned at the hospital.
Millie had already suffered a setback in her job, and it wouldn’t be fair to have her completely ostracized by the hospital staff by announcing that she hadn’t dropped her allegations like she’d been directed by her supervisors. It was best that the investigation be handled quietly and delicately for all parties involved in the case.
“Yes, please.” Brook set her purse on the entryway table as she removed her dress coat and scarf. She’d worn a pinstriped pantsuit with high heels. She’d seen no reason to wear her winter boots when was simply driving from the parking garage of her building straight to a residence. That did not mean she hadn’t brought along her tote bag in case of an emergency. “Your father has a lovely home.”
Brook’s adjective had been an understatement.
The foyer alone was as large as Brook’s living room and dining room put together, causing an echo when someone spoke too loudly. Since Brook’s condo was quite large and expensive in its own right, it had nothing on a house of this size. The décor was almost solely Victorian in nature, with a few deviances here and there for modern technology.
The ornate stairways on either side of the foyer led the way to the second story. The detailed trim of the banister and spindles was quite breathtaking. The splendor of the entrance was only enhanced by the lavish cut-crystal chandelier overhead. Brook guessed it was a 17thcentury French Empire Estate Style weighing in around four-hundred pounds.
A large Howard Miller grandfather clock was to the right, next to an irregular wall that was not uncommon with such décor. Inside the modest nook was a small oil painting no more than eighteen inches square that was highlighted by a hidden recess light. If Brook wasn’t mistaken, it was either a Vermeer that was almost certainly part of the Frick Collection or a damned good replica. She would put her money on the former, which meant Kolsby’s wealth had far more complexity than she’d previously understood.
“Dad couldn’t part with the house after divorcing my mother,” Catherine said as she took Brook’s coat and walked over to an oversized closet. She took her time opening the door, choosing a wooden hanger, and carefully placing Brook’s dress coat separate from the others. “Seeing as Mom wanted to move to South Carolina, it all worked out for the best. As I said, Peg set out some tea, coffee, and a pitcher of chilled water. Which would you prefer?”
“Coffee, please.” Brook was a proponent for making others at ease, especially in a situation like this one. Giving a host something to do prevented them from overthinking their words or the uncomfortable situation before them. “It’s quite cold out this morning.”
“It seems like we might have a small break in the weather. I don’t believe snow is in the forecast for the next week or so.” Catherine made sure the closet door was completely closed before gesturing toward the left side of the home. She wore a pair of black slacks and a matching silk blouse, though the focal point was the unique width of the white belt around her waist. The contrast was only enhanced by the silver jewelry and rather large engagement ring on her left hand. “Please, follow me. Would you like cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine,” Brook murmured as she fell behind Catherine.
They both rounded the corner on the left, and Brook didn’t think she could be more impressed with the choice of décor. Catherine had led her to an exceptional library, which she’d referred to as a den. A blazing fire was flickering its flames in a hearth with a cherrywood mantel that had been decorated for the holidays. The green garland was nothing like what Kate had purchased for the offices of S&E Investigations.
This particular garland was thick, lush, and frosted with plump pinecones and sprigs of holly with red berries as decorative accents.
The Christmas tree was a Balsam Fir and stood at least twelve feet tall. It was difficult to ascertain if the tree was real or fake, but there was no doubt that the decorations were valuable. The gold and deep red bulbs weren’t the kind of ornaments that children brought home from school. They appeared to be early 19thcentury handblown German glass ornaments.
The men must have previously been in deep conversation, although they’d all fallen silent the moment that Catherine and Brook had entered the room. The only sounds that she could distinguish were the shifting logs, the rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock, and faint music drifting down from some hidden speakers in the ceiling. The holiday tunes weren’t the standard songs on the radio, either. Instead, she was almost certain the music was the holiday collection of an orchestra.
“Ms. Sloane, thank you for driving all the way out here to speak with us,” Dr. Kolsby said from a leather chair that was part of a seating arrangement in front of the magnificent fireplace. A cherrywood desk had been position near the far wall in front of a bookcase lined with what looked to be medical textbooks bound in leather, hardcover reference books of every sort, and cases of collective journals cataloged by publisher, author, and year. “I’m still recovering from—“
“Dad, you don’t need to get up.”
“I’m fine, son. I’m fine. Where are your manners?” Dr. David Kolsby stood, though it was clear such movement caused him considerable pain. Brook briefly shook his hand before stepping back. He still seemed weak from the accident. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Sloane.”
“Dr. Kolsby, I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice. I was sorry to hear about your injuries.”
“You’ve met Catherine, I presume.” Dr. Kolsby nodded toward his daughter who had walked over to a credenza that held an ornate carafe and a tray of matching, porcelain mugs with a gold leaf family crest on them. “These fine young men are my sons, Brett and Nolan.”
Brook remained silent as she shook their hands. The only animosity she could sense came from Nolan, who was the younger of the two. Both men resembled their father, without the greying hair and fake tan. They had his square facial features, large foreheads, and brown eyes. She studied each of them. While they had both met her gaze directly, Nolan was more direct of the two.
“Please, have a seat.”
“I have to say that I’m surprised you were so willing to meet with me after hearing that Millie Gwinn sought out our services.” Brook purposefully walked back to the second leather chair so that she wouldn’t be caught sitting next to someone on the couch. It turned out that both Brett and Nolan remained standing near the fireplace. “As I mentioned on the phone, S&E Investigations is a private investigations firm. Ms. Gwinn came to us after the police determined that there was no validity to her claims.”
“Ridiculous claims, you mean.”
Dr. Kolsby raised his hand extending one finger when Nolan would have continued to respond in an impolite manner.
“I have nothing to hide, Ms. Sloane,” Dr. Kolsby said confidently as Catherine brought over two cups of coffee. She handed one to Brook before relinquishing the second cup to her father. He was dressed in a pair of black pants with a burgundy cardigan sweater over a well-starched white dress shirt. Since a couple of weeks had already passed since his car accident, the lacerations on the left side of his face were almost completely healed. “The police have done their due diligence, and they have determined such accusations to be completely unfounded.”
“I have spoken to Officer Soerig, and you are correct. She has concluded that Ms. Gwinn’s accusations are baseless.” Brook took a sip of her coffee and found that it was some of the best that she’d ever had the pleasure of drinking. The warmth from the porcelain cup was quite welcoming, but what she found she enjoyed most was the blazing fire. The heat permeated her clothes and swathed her skin. “Ms. Gwinn has simply hired my firm to fact check those findings. One of my colleagues has a family member in the medical field, and it is her firm belief that anesthesia doesn’t act as a truth serum.”
“Your colleague would be correct. You can imagine my surprise when the police were suddenly at the end of my bed, asking if I’d murdered someone. And not just one murder, but several supposed victims.” Dr. Kolsby shook his head with just the right amount of disbelief. Brook had yet to notice any tell of his that indicated he was making false statements. “I’ve dedicated my life to helping others, Ms. Sloane. You may talk to my former wives. Unfortunately, they will confirm that I spent more time at the office than with them.”
Catherine had taken a seat on the couch, and Brook had noticed the woman had chosen the cushion closest to her father. She’d even chuckled at his words, as if she could give his jest the weight of truth.
Maybe it was the truth.
