Phil Calhoun invited her into his living room and offered her a seat on a threadbare sofa. He was far from her romantic image of a private investigator. Although he was a big man, he was overweight and considerably older than she’d guessed from his voice. She figured he was in his early sixties. His face was a little doughy, but his gray eyes were bright. He was wearing a wool black and white checkered hunting shirt. His cotton work pants were held up by black suspenders. On his head was a cap with the words “Roscoe Electric” emblazoned above the visor.
“Mind if I smoke?” Calhoun asked, holding up a box of Antonio y Cleopatra cigars.
“It’s your house,” Angela said.
“What’s the story about this murder?” Calhoun asked as he leaned back in his chair.
Angela gave a capsule summary of the whole affair.
“Sounds interesting to me,” Calhoun said. “I’ll be delighted to take the case on an hourly basis. Now about me: I’m a retired state police officer and a widower. That’s about it. Any questions?”
Angela studied Calhoun as he casually smoked. He was laconic like most New Englanders. He seemed forthright, a trait she appreciated. Beyond that, she had no way of judging the man’s competence, although having been a state policeman seemed auspicious.
“Why did you leave the force?” Angela asked.
“Compulsory retirement,” Calhoun said.
“Have you ever been involved in a murder case?” Angela asked.
“Not as a civilian,” Calhoun said.
“What type of cases do you usually handle?” Angela asked.
“Marital problems, shoplifting, bartender embezzlement, that sort of thing.”
“Do you think you could handle this case?” Angela asked.
“No question,” Calhoun said. “I grew up in a small Vermont town similar to Bartlet. I’m familiar with the environment; hell, I even know some of the people who live there. I know the kinds of feuds that simmer for years and the mindset of the people involved. I’m the right man for the job because I can ask questions without sticking out like a sore thumb.”
Angela drove back to Bartlet wondering if she’d done the right thing in hiring Phil Calhoun. She also wondered how and when she’d tell David.
Arriving at home Angela was distressed to find that Nikki was by herself. David had gone to the hospital to check on his patient. Angela asked Nikki if David had tried to get Alice to come over while he was away.
“Nope,” Nikki said, unconcerned. “Daddy said he’d be back soon and that you’d probably show up before he did.”
Angela decided she’d talk with David. Under the circumstances, she did not like Nikki being in the house by herself. She could hardly believe that David would leave Nikki alone, and the fact that he did eliminated any reservations Angela had about hiring Phil Calhoun.
Angela told Nikki that she wanted to keep the doors locked, and they went around to check them all. The only one that was open was the back door. As she prepared a quick snack for Nikki, she casually asked what she and her father had been doing that morning, but Nikki refused to say.
When David returned, Angela took him aside to discuss his leaving Nikki by herself. David was defensive at first but then agreed to avoid it in the future.
Soon David and Nikki were thick as thieves again, but Angela ignored them. Saturday afternoons were one of her favorite times. With little opportunity to cook during the week, she liked to spend a good portion of the day hovering over her recipe books and putting together a gourmet meal. It was a therapeutic experience for her.
By midafternoon she had the menu planned. Leaving the kitchen, she opened the cellar door and started down. She was on her way to the freezer to get some veal bones to make a golden stock when she realized she’d not been back to the basement since the technicians had been there. Angela’s steps slowed. She was a little nervous going down in the cellar by herself and toyed with the idea of asking David to accompany her. But she realized she was being silly. Besides, she didn’t want to spook Nikki any more than she already was.