Page 2 of Alibi for Murder
She frowned at the collection of dust on the dinosaur of a television. This was something else she needed to do on her vacation. Dust, not replace the set. She hadn’t watched it in years, even before it died. The news was far too depressing, and the entertainment industry had stopped making decent movies ages ago.
She picked up her book from the side table and opened it to the next chapter. Books never let her down.
Who needed television when they had books?
The buzz of the doorbell made her jump. For a moment, she felt confident she must have imagined it. She had no deliveries scheduled. No one ever came to her door, not even the neighbors’ children selling cookies or doing other fundraising activities. Her house sat back farther from the street than anyof the others, and her grandparents had never cut a single tree from their property, so it was difficult to see—and, once you did, the house was a little spooky to kids. One would think this would be the hotspot at Halloween, and she always prepared, but no one ever came.
The buzzing sound came again, and there was no denying it.
Someone was at her door.
Allie placed her glass and her book on the side table and stood. She wandered first to the front living room window and peeked out. A four-door sedan was parked in the drive. Dark in color, blue or black. No markings that suggested it was some sort of salesperson or business vehicle.
Since she couldn’t see who had stepped up onto her porch from this window, she moved to the entry hall and had a look through the security viewer on the front door. One man, one woman. Both wore business suits. Both displayed serious facial expressions. Not the typical-looking salespeople. More like police officers or investigators of some sort.
Could be trouble in the neighborhood. A missing child.
Allie took a breath. She really disliked unannounced visits, but she certainly did not want to hinder the search for a criminal or a missing person. “Can I help you?” she asked through the door. Sounded better than “Are you lost?” as an opening.
The man withdrew a small leather case from an interior jacket pocket and opened it for Allie to see through the viewer. The credentials inside identified him as FBI Special Agent Elon Fraser. The photo matched his face, though he’d put on a few pounds since it was taken.
Why on earth would the FBI be calling on her?
“Would you state your business, please?” A reasonable request, in her opinion.
The female spoke up this time while simultaneously flashing her own credentials in front of the viewer. “We are here to speakwith Allison Foster,” Special Agent Uma Potter explained with visible impatience.
Allie unlocked the door—all three deadbolts. The deadbolts, she remembered now, were her grandfather’s idea. He was always certain someone intended to break in and steal his stamp collection or his humidor with his imported cigars. Allie’s grandmother would roll her eyes every time he mentioned the idea. Like she had any room to judge. The memories made her smile in spite of the strangers standing on the other side of the door.
She opened the door and surveyed the two once more. “I’m Allison Foster.”
Agent Potter gave her a steady perusal as well. “May we come in?”
“Of course.” Allie stepped back and opened the door wider. The agents crossed the threshold and waited while she closed and resecured it.
“What are you here to talk about?” Allie looked from one to the other. She had thought Fraser was lead—he was older and had knocked on the door—but maybe she’d been wrong.
“This may take some time,” Potter suggested.
Allie nodded. “Follow me.” She led the way to the living room, cringed at the sight of her half-finished glass of wine and chocolate bar on the table next to her favorite chair. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.
Fraser waited for his colleague and then Allie to sit before doing the same.
“Ms. Foster,” Fraser began, “do you live here alone?”
Not exactly the sort of question a woman who actually did live alone liked to answer when asked by a stranger, but the man was FBI.
“Yes.”
“Are there any weapons in the house?” he asked.
“Only my grandfather’s BB rifle.”
“Your grandmother left you this place?” This from Potter.
Allie nodded slowly. “She did.” A frown worked its way across her forehead. “What’s this about?” Why would the FBI want to know how she’d come into possession of her property?
Was someone trying to steal her property? She’d heard of this on one of the podcasts she occasionally tuned into. The house was the one thing of real value she owned. Worry needled her.
