Read A Motor for Murder (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 1) for Free Online Page B

yard and no view, just like he said. It looked to be one of the original ones built in this part of Bellevue in 1950s.
    The small lawn out front was mowed. Trees at the edges, a bit overgrown – not much, but in this neighborhood of weekly garden service, it was noticeable that Paul didn’t have a gardener, and didn’t consult an arborist for several years. The roof was old, covered in moss and pine needles, as regularly happened in the Pacific Northwest – apparently not cleaned for the last couple of years at least. The windows were old-style, single-pane. As a homeowner who had to make numerous repairs and upgrades on my 60s-era house, I noticed such things.
     
    I headed up the cracked-concrete walk and rang the door bell. I heard some shuffling and footsteps inside the house, and then Paul opened the door.
    “Veronica, we met at Rita and George's party?”
    “Oh yes, I remember you”. He was in a red fleece and jeans, and he stood by the entry slouching. He made no motion of inviting me in.
    “Could I come in please? This might take about 5 minutes”.
    He reluctantly moved to one side, and I stepped into the foyer. The old brown carpet stretched in the living room on my right. Ahead was the kitchen with dented linoleum, which is where I followed Paul. The kitchen smelled of strong coffee. The inside of the house confirmed what the outside told me. Obviously, Paul’s family has been of modest means for a while.
    “I assume it’s about that party?” He remained standing and didn't indicate a chair for me, so I stood as well.
    “Yes.” I decided to get right to it. “Please forgive my bluntness. I wanted to ask: You made no secret of your displeasure with the remodel that evening. As HOA president, you could have blocked it & resisted it – as you apparently did for a while. But then, you turned around and gave it your approval. Why?”
    “I don’t feel like I owe you an answer to that.”
    “Do you mean that there was something in particular that made you change your mind?”
    “No. It’s just none of your business”.
    “If it was perfectly legitimate, why don’t you tell me what it was?” I pressed.
    “I don’t understand how it is any of your business.”
    “It seems like you were the last person to talk to George before he was killed.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. We talked for a minute in his office, and then I walked out.”
    “And George was OK when you left?”
    'Yes, of course he was OK.” Paul's voice rose and his face showed his annoyance at this direct question. “Please leave now, I don’t appreciate these types of questions in my own home.” He walked out of the kitchen and held open the front door.
    “I was thinking that you were one of the few guests that would even know that there was a security camera in the office, since you've seen the remodel plans. That makes you a suspect if you noticed that it was off.” I improvised that bit – I didn't know whether Paul would or remember the security camera lay-out from the plans.
    I hadn't moved to follow him towards the door and was still standing in his kitchen.
    “You can’t seriously be accusing me of murder?! Get out now!” He yelled and pointed through the open door with both hands.
    I decided to switch tactics.
    “I am sorry, that was uncalled for. Rita is a friend of mine. Her husband has been killed. I want to figure it out. I apologize if I offended you.” I tried to make eye contact, but he didn't look at me. I followed his eyes and saw on the kitchen counter a photo of a young woman in a graduation gown, smiling, with an imposing building behind her with a sign in red letters spelling Seattle. I made a wild guess.
    “George paid you to get the remodel plans through the HOA! Your daughter graduated law school fairly recently. Seattle University by the looks of that photo – that took money. ”
    “That is none of your business. Please leave, or I’ll call the