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with his point about online literacy.

“What do you think happened to Jerry?” I asked after a pause.

“Honestly,” he sighed, “Jerry Steele … if I may be blunt … ”

“Please,” I urged with a nod.

Alfred took a deep breath and then leaned forward with a conspiratorial air.

“I think it was money,” he whispered. “Jerry had more money problems than anyone I have known in a long time. He tried to keep it hidden in polite company. But there were signs.”

“Like what?” I pressed.

“Oh,” he said with a wave of his hand, “I would frequently hear him on phone calls arguing about money. And Leila Jaxson could tell you about invoices that weren’t paid and even checks that were returned.”

“She didn’t mention any of that to me when I talked to her,” Vicki said with a frown.

“She wouldn’t,” Alfred replied and shook his head. “She’s loyal to Jerry, especially now.”

“Well, it seems this guy was running a business on straight up fumes,” I mused as I drummed my fingers on the table.

The Count nodded. “That’s one way it could be said. “He was juggling bills on his personal credit cards, and the money the city gave him for the film was spent before the check was even received.”

“Then why did you sign on with him?” I asked.

“I didn’t know all of this until I got deeper into it,” he answered with a shrug. “That’s why I visited you that day.”

“So,” I said as I leaned back in my chair, “Jerry was drowning in bad debt and had enemies all over town.”

“Correct,” Alfred agreed. “I believe it was someone to whom he owed money.”

“Do you know Allen Wagenschutz?” I asked.

The Count furrowed his brow.

“No,” he said. “I have not heard that name. Who is that?”

“Loan shark,” I replied. “Jerry owed him money.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” he snorted. “Nefarious characters are frequently found in company with ne’er-do-well rascals like Jerry.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and then he brightened.

“So,” he clapped his hands together. “Tell me of your house plans.”

“Well,” Vicki chuckled, “we have barely started. We bought the land, and now we’re looking at designers.”

The Count’s eyes brightened. “Eureka!” he exclaimed. “I have a great idea!”

“What is that?” she asked, and I looked at him quizzically.

“With your permission, of course,” he said, “I would love to design your house.”

I cleared my throat and bit back a wince. “You?”

“Yes,” he clapped his hands together and nodded his head vigorously, “I designed this place, and since we already know one another, I can imagine something that is intimate, and personal, and has your unique energy.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted something intimate, personal, and unique. I mainly wanted something fairly average with our custom picked elements selected from a drop down menu--things like a skylight, smart capability, and a swimming pool. I wanted to split hairs over things like what shade of white marble do we want for the kitchen, and I didn’t think we needed all of Alfred Dumont’s imaginative powers for that.

“I don’t know if--” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Let me draw up a preliminary sketch for you,” he insisted. “I promise after you see what I design for you, you will look no further.”

Vicki and I glanced at each other.

“Well,” Vicki allowed as she cast me a reassuring smile, “I guess it couldn’t hurt to look at a sketch.”

“Great!” Alfred cried with a broad grin. “Then it’s settled. I will bring plans to your place of business in the morning. Let us drink on it.”

He lifted his wine glass, and Vicki and I toasted on our alleged partnership.

“We have many days ahead of us together,” Alfred said as he rose for emphasis. “Let us say our goodbyes and end while the night is still young.”

He took us back through the house and toward the canoe where he and Vicki talked about house plans all the way back to our car.

“This should be interesting,” I muttered as soon as we were back in our car.

“But did you see how excited he was,” she said. “How could you say no to that?”

“You’re so much nicer than I am,” I sighed.

“I know,” she laughed, and I couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corner of my mouth.

Chapter 8

Thursday morning dawned, and we still had no solid leads. Vicki and AJ turned our office into a boiler room, and they got on the phone and talked to everyone who knew anyone.

AJ was following the Clare angle while I had the crime photos zoomed to high definition on my screen, but I still wasn’t finding anything.

“Clare didn’t go to yoga that day,” AJ told us. “I just got off the phone with LotusWorx.”

“Did they even know who she was?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I spoke to your mom, so she told me everything I wanted to know.”

I laughed. “Yeah, she teaches there.”

“She’s a nice lady,” AJ said with a small smile. “I’ve seen her around a few times.”

“You haven’t really met her, have you?” I realized.

“I know who she is,” AJ shrugged, “but I don’t think I’d ever really talked to her.”

“You should meet her one day,” I said. “Anyway, so if Clare wasn’t at yoga, like she said, then where was she, and why did she lie?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” AJ replied. “I’m pulling up her Facebook and Instagram right now. Maybe she posted something.”

“She would have taken down anything that didn’t match up with her alibi,” I pointed out.

“Maybe she got sloppy,” AJ countered.

“It’s possible,” I allowed, “but I doubt it. Not with something this high stakes. Try the in-laws. They may be a better bet.”

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

“Henry

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