“I don’t see what we can do,” Paula said, frowning. “We can’t represent a dead client.”
“Oh, yes, we can.” I tapped the five onehundred-dollar bills. “I have either to hand this money back to the estate or try to earn it. I think I’ll try to earn it.”
“Fourteen months is a long time,” Kerman said dubiously. “The trail will be cold.”
“If there is a trail,” Paula said.
“On the other hand,” I said, pushing back my chair, “if there’s anything sinister about Janet’s death, fourteen months provides a pleasant feeling of security, and when you feel secure, you’re off your guard. I think I’ll call on Maureen Crosby and see how she likes spending her sister’s money.”
Kerman groaned.
“Something tells me the brief spell of leisure is over,” he said sadly. “I thought it was too good to last. Do I start work now or wait until you get back?”
“You wait until I get back,” I said, moving towards the door. “But if you’ve made a date with that mousetrap of yours, tell her to go find another mouse.”
II
Crestways, the Crosby’s estate, lurked behind low, bougainvillea-covered walls above which rose a tall, clipped, Australian pine hedge, and back of this was a galvanized cyclone fence topped with barbed wire. Heavy wooden gates, with a Judas window set in the right-hand gate, guarded the entrance.