Her bright mood plummeted. "Mr. Bittle." Automatically she grabbed collars to prevent the dogs from leaping joyfully on the new humans. "Detective."
"I'm sorry to disturb you on Sunday, Kate." Bittle eyed the dogs warily. "Detective Kusack indicated that he intended to speak with you today, and I asked to come along."
"Your lawyer said I would find you here," Kusack put in. "You're free to call him, of course, if you want him here."
"I thought—I was told I was no longer a suspect."
"I'm here to apologize." Bittle kept his solemn eyes on hers. "May we come in?"
"Yes, of course. Nip, Tuck, no jumping."
"Nice dogs." Kusack held out a beefy hand, and it was duly sniffed and licked. "Got me an old Heinz 57 hound. She's getting up in years now."
"Please, sit down. I'll just put them out." That task gave her time to compose herself. When the dogs we
re racing maniacally over the yard, she turned back. "Would you like some coffee?''
"There's no need for you to trouble," Bittle began, but Kusack leaned back in the ancient recliner and said, "If you're making it anyway."
"I'll make it," Byron volunteered as he came down the stairs.
"Oh, Byron." Relief rippled through her. "You know Detective Kusack."
"Detective."
"Mr. De Witt."
"And this is Lawrence Bittle."
"Of Bittle and Associates," Byron said coolly. "How do you do?"
"I'll say I've done better." Bittle accepted the formal handshake. "Tommy's mentioned you. We had an early round of golf this morning."
"I'll put the coffee on." He sent a look to Kusack that said as clearly as words that anything of import would wait until he came back.
"Nice place here," Kusack said casually. Kate stood where she was, twisting her fingers together.
"It's coming along. Byron takes his time. He just settled on it a couple of months ago. He's, ah, having some things sent out from Atlanta. That's where he's from. Atlanta." Stop babbling, Kate, she ordered herself. Couldn't. "And he's looking for things out here. Furniture and things."
"Hell of a spot." Kusack settled into the recliner, thinking it was a chair that knew how to welcome a man. "House just down the road has a putting green right on the front lawn." He shook his head. "Guy can walk right out his front door and sink a few. Used to drive the kids down here. They got a kick out of the seals."
"Yes, they're wonderful." Gnawing her lip, she glanced toward the kitchen. "Sometimes you can hear them barking. Detective Kusack, are you here to question me?"
"I've got some questions." He sniffed the air. "Nothing like the smell of coffee brewing, is there? Even the poison down at the station house smells like heaven before you taste it. Why don't you sit down, Ms. Powell? I'll tell you again you can lawyer yourself up, but you're not going to need Mr. Templeton for what we have to talk about."
"All right." But she'd reserve judgment on calling Josh. She was not going to be lulled by small talk and paternal smiles. "What do you want?"
"Mr. De Witt snowed you the report from his handwriting expert?"
"Yes. Last night." She sat on the arm of the couch. It was the best she could do. "It said the signatures were copies. Someone duplicated my signature on the altered forms. Used my signature, my clients, my reputation." She rose again when Byron came in with a tray. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "For the trouble, here."
"Don't be ridiculous." He slid easily into the well-mannered host. "How do you take your coffee, Mr. Bittle?"
"Just cream, thank you."
"Detective."
"The way it comes out of the pot." He sampled the brew Byron offered him. "Now we're talking coffee. I was about to go over the progress of the investigation with Ms. Powell. I'm explaining that our conclusions jibe with those of your independent expert. At this point, indications are that she was set up to take the heat if the discrepancies were discovered. We're looking into other areas."