Ill-Gotten Panes (A Stained-Glass Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

James Keene?” he asked.
    Grandy reached the threshold and stood toe-to-toe with the detective, glaring down at him. “And if I am?”
    “I need to ask you to come with us, Mr. Keene. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”
    “So ask.” He folded his arms, straightened his spine. Amazing. Eighty years old, in plaid pajamas and a dressing gown, wearing slippers straight out of the fifties and still he was a tower of intimidation. Even the uniformed officer shifted nervously.
    Detective Nolan kept it together. I guessed the gray peppering his dark hair and the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were testament to his years of experience. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come along with us down to the precinct.”
    “What’s wrong with here?” Grandy asked.
    Sweat prickled my scalp. I finally broke my silence. “What’s going on? Grandy, did something happen at the theater?”
    “I’m afraid your . . .” Detective Nolan hesitated, looking between Grandy and me.
    “Grandfather,” I supplied.
    Nolan nodded. “. . . needs to answer some questions for us. And it would be best if he came along willingly and quietly.”
    A whole new knot made its presence known in my belly. This was worse than bad, even though I didn’t know what worse than bad was called. Terrible? Horrible? Disastrous?
    One question squeaked out. “Grandy?”
    He looked to me, his expression softening as his posture relaxed. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Georgia. Just some sort of, er, formality.”
    “Formality for what? What’s going on?” I tried to move closer to Grandy, but Detective Nolan reached out a hand to stop me. “Hey.”
    Grandy turned to me with a slight smile. “It’s all right, Georgia.” He meant to reassure me, but the unease was clear in the pucker of his forehead, in the narrowing of his eyes. That only intensified my worry. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes’ head start and then follow? I’m sure we won’t be long and I’ll need you to drive me home.”
    This was even weirder than the police presence. “Are you actually going to leave the house in your dressing gown?”
    Grandy turned his gaze to the detective, a question in the lift of his brow.
    Nolan shook his head. “You’re dressed enough.”
    “In that case, Georgia, when you come, bring me a shirt and trousers, will you?” He turned to the door, and the uniformed officer preceded him onto the porch, but glanced back over his shoulder. “And some shoes?”
    Arms wrapped around my body, hugging myself, I nodded. All at once, reality was something I was observing, not participating in. My mind couldn’t grasp any scenario in which Grandy would be taken in for questioning. What could he have done wrong? Mixed whiskey with his prune juice?
    I stirred myself enough to cross to the open door. Outside, Detective Nolan shut himself inside a deep blue sedan while the uniformed officer assisted Grandy into the back of a squad car. Grandy didn’t look my way, instead looking straight ahead with a calm sort of dignity.
    Not until both cars had pulled away did I close the door and get it into gear. I didn’t want Grandy sitting in the police station any longer than necessary.
    I raced around the house, dressing, gathering clothes and shoes for Grandy, and shoving them into one of my trusty reusable shopping bags. With no time to do anything elaborate, I scraped my wild curls back into a soft ponytail. Flip-flops, purse, and keys to the Jeep and I was out of the house.
    Crossing to the car, I spied the little cluster of gawkers across the street. Of course. Nothing brings neighbors together like a little police action.
    “Everything okay?” one of the ladies called. “Pete all right?”
    “Fine,” I shouted back. “Thanks for asking.” And I ducked into the car before any further questions could be lobbed in my direction.
    I shoved the key in the ignition and wasted no time backing out of the driveway and racing down the street, away