Breaking the Chain by C D Ledbetter Page A

the base of the scissors, and forced unwilling legs to move. Holding the scissors aloft, she jerked the curtains apart.
             

 
     
     
     
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              The scratching sound of Elizavon's quill pen halted at the sound of knock ing on the library's massive oak doors. With a fleeting expression of annoyance, she dipped the tip once more into the inkwell, finished her note, then blotted the expensive linen stationery with a tissue. Folding the page into thirds, she ignored the creak of the doors as her butler entered, and tucked her letter into a cream colored envelope.
              "What is it?" she asked, not looking up. "You know I don't like to be interrupted while I'm going though my correspondence."
              Taft shifted his weight from one foot to another and cleared his throat. "There's someone here to see you, madam. A detective. Says his name is Mr. Rolfe."
              Her gaze traveled to the multiple rows of books that stretched across the wall on her right, then swung back to Taft. "What does he want?"
              "He said your attorney told him to deliver a package to you, and not to give it to anyone else. Shall I send him away?"
              She exhaled slowly, her long sigh communicating her displeasure more eloquently than mere words. "No. Send him in."
              "Very well, madam."
              It was about time she received the background report on Jack Windom. She detested detectives, but the rodents did have their uses. They were like sewer rats, hiding amongst the debris of human nature, small, nosey and capable of ferreting out one's innermost secrets. Her lips formed a small, knowing smile. No one could hide secrets forever, especially with today's sophisticated technology. She'd soon learn everything there was to know about Jack Windom--and consequently, so would Mary.
              A few moments later, the door swung open and Taft returned, followed by a tall, burly man dressed in a dark brown suit. She studied him for a moment, noting the tightly clenched hand that gripped the handle of his briefcase as if he expected it to be ripped from his fingers at any moment. The smile on his face slowly ebbed away, leaving the corners of his mouth turned downward. It was obvious he was ill at ease in these surroundings; probably spent most of his time with the trailer trash that frequented Boston's numerous bars.
              She dismissed Taft with a wave, and locked her gaze with Rolfe's. "Sit down, Mr. Rolfe," she invited in a tone devoid of emotion.
              He collapsed into a chair, and she almost smiled at the relief on his face. Where had Allan Charles dug up this odious creature--from underneath some slimy rock?
              "I believe you have a report for me."
              The chair creaked as he reached for his briefcase. "I've completed the background check on Jack Windom." He withdrew a thick envelope and pushed it across the desk. "I had to go to South Carolina to dig up the information on his wife; that's why it took so long."
              Elizavon's head shot up, and she quickly masked her surprise. What had Jack been hiding? "What did you find out?" she asked, forcing her tone to sound disinterested. "Make it short. I only want the bottom line, not the boring details."
              "He'd taken out a hundred thousand dollar insurance policy on her. Since she croaked just over a year afterwards, it sounded kinda fishy, so I went to South Carolina to see what I could dig up. Seems that his company had some big insurance push on at the time, and Jack wasn't the only one who took out a big insurance policy. From what the insurance company rep told me, over seventy percent of the folks who worked there