“Whatever I have is yours, that kind of thing.” Tom shook his head. “And he wouldn’t shut up about it, Elizabeth said. So finally she gave him half of her inheritance. He used it to buy himself a little house in Aspen. Not Aspen Meadow, Aspen. He kept the deed in his name and held on to it. Eight years later, when they got divorced, he sold it. Multiplied his money—her money—several times over, according to Elizabeth. I’m telling you, that woman is bitter.”
“I guess she would be. But if someone, anyone, wanted to murder Drew Wellington, why not do it here, at the far end of Flicker Ridge? The killer somehow gains entrance to that great big house, then kills him. I don’t understand why someone would risk being registered by the library surveillance camera, being seen by other people, or ha
