Murder on the Expense Account

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Hector Drumm, roving operative for Speare “We Hit The Target” Private Investigations, Inc., arrived in Asheville late Friday afternoon. He came out of the smoky, domed terminal, leaving his bag checked inside, and asked a cab driver the fare to Kimberly Avenue. It was a dollar, and Drumm drew in his shoulders, boarded a municipal bus and dropped six cents in the fare box. In his seat, he took a small black notebook from his pocket and under the heading “Expenses” he jotted carefully: “Cab fare, one dollar.”

This he regretted; the closest bus stop was seven block from Alex Donnelly’s house, up a long sweeping hill that drained the strength from Drumm’s short legs. It was a hot summer afternoon with a glaring sun lying low over the ragged hills in the west. When Hector Drumm rang Donnelly’s bell he was sweating.

An ancient Negro came around the side of the house, a garden trowel in his hand. “Yassuh?”

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