The lemony smell of furniture polish, mixed with the subtle musk of leather, filled the room. "Not murdered?" Puzzled, I glanced at Cleyhorn, then cut my eyes back to Beatrice Morrison. "But, I just told you the police think it was an accident. Besides, how can I prove someone wasn't murdered?"She looked at me as if I was a fretful child. "If you can prove a person was murdered, then surely you can prove one wasn't murdered."I had the feeling I had just awakened from a dream, only to find myself in another dream. What's the old joke, deja vu all over again? "Isn't the police report enough?""My attorney, Mr. Cleyhorn, and I are very concerned of the impact the accident could have upon company stock. There are millions at stake." She paused, sighed at my obvious confusion, and explained. "Chalk Hills Distillery is a high profile corporation. We have reached this point by always being proactive, not reactive. We cannot afford any lingering publicity, which might possibly drive stock prices down.
