Same Place, Same Time

Her expression brightened. “Yes. All five stores. The accounting is centralized at our main store on Queen Street.”

Proud of her work. “Was there anything unusual about your husband’s behavior recently? Any changes in his habits, new people that he was seeing?”

Nan colored at his words. “If you’re referring to the fact that they found him in a motel room, the answer is that I have no idea what he was doing there. I suppose you think he was having an affair or something.”

“Is that what you think, Mrs. Walker?”

Nan’s gaze dropped from his. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I’ve sometimes suspected him of being unfaithful over the years, but we’d just started marriage counseling. I guess I hoped he was sincere when he told me he was willing to work on some of our problems.”

Lying about husband’s affair.

Nan looked back at him, her expression earnest now. “It’s been difficult with Jason away from home. Our counselor says it’s not uncommon for couples to go through a period of adjustment after their children are gone. To be honest, it was me that found it particularly hard. When Jason was at home his friends were always over, involved in one activity or another. And I volunteered at his school and drove for all his hockey games.”

Morgan nodded sympathetically. “So when Jason left, life seemed pretty empty?”

“Oh, I still had my work. But evenings could be lonely. Jerry never felt like doing much when he got home—he was happy to sit around watching television. Quite honestly, I have a hard time imagining him having the energy to have an affair.” The underlying bitterness of her last comment had obviously been unplanned. Her mouth tightened the second the words left her lips and her eyes became fixed on a point somewhere to the left of Morgan’s head.

“Do you know the contents of your husband’s will?”

“Yes.” Her gray eyes flashed at him, objecting silently to the question, but she answered. “I get the house, both cars and retirement fund. The business will go to Jason, of course.”

“Entirely to Jason?” Morgan feigned surprise.

Nan lifted her chin. “Of course. He’s our son.”

Morgan shrugged. The value of Nan’s inheritance was not insubstantial, but it paled in comparison with the worth of the business. “Sure. But your husband could have left you with a life bequest, with the shares to revert to Jason on your death. I mean, in a divorce, you would have been entitled to half of his assets. It just seems odd, that’s all…” Morgan’s voice tapered off, and he pretended to look uncomfortable, all the while watching Nan’s face closely for any signs of resentment. He saw none.

“Our retirement fund is not insubstantial. I’ll be well provided for. And of course I draw my own salary out of the business. And I’ll receive a pension when I retire.”

“Of course,” Morgan was silent for a moment, as if thinking something over. “But what will your son do with the business? You said earlier he wasn’t interested in working there.”

“Perhaps he’ll change his mind. Or he could always hire someone to run it for him,” Nan pointed out reasonably.

“You perhaps?”

“Me? Good heavens, no. Lorne Thackray would be the most likely choice, I’d say.”

Lorne Thackray. Morgan wrote the name down on his pad and circled it twice. “Does he work there?”

“He’s the manager at the Queen Street location. Jerry was talking about increasing Lorne’s responsibilities by adding another store. I imagine he could handle all five if he had to.”

Nan was sitting straighter in her chair now, and her voice was firmer. Morgan found the changes very interesting, but he sensed this was not the time to dig deeper. “That’s all for now, Mrs. Walker. If you think of anything that might help us out, please give us a call.”

Once the initial shock wore off, people’s memories tended to loosen up. Knowing this, Morgan tried not to feel discouraged by the lack of information Nan had provided.

In a homicide of this type, the spouse was an obvious suspect. The marriage had been in trouble and Morgan was almost certain Nan had known her husband was having an affair. And while Nan certainly seemed anxious and distraught, Morgan had a feeling it was more because of his questions than the loss of her husband.

On Nan’s side, of course, was her alibi. And the fact that she didn’t exactly come away with a fortune in the will certainly stood in her favor. On the other hand, alibis could be discredited, and money wasn’t the only motive for murder.

Morgan shook his head, momentarily clearing his mind of the conflicting facts and motives. If he went on gut feel, he’d have to say he didn’t think she’d done it. And why?

Maybe it all boiled down to this: he didn’t think Nan Walker had the balls to cold-bloodedly plan and carry out the murder of her own husband.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS NOON. Trista sat and stared at her hands, folded motionless on the top of her desk. Usually she worked through lunch, eating a sandwich as she read files, or making notes on her morning appointments. Today, however, she wasn’t hungry. And her thoughts were uncharacteristically scattered.

Maybe the problem was lack of sleep. But whenever she tried to close her eyes to catch a quick nap, she saw Morgan’s face—the way it was now, not the way she remembered it from before—and she was stricken with guilt.

She’d ruined his life. She still felt that way, despite the months of therapy she’d undergone in an attempt to make peace with her past. He was angry and bitter, and worst of all, she couldn’t blame him, nor could she criticize him for not having moved on with his life. How could he, when she hadn’t either? Weak and foolish she might be, but she wasn’t about to add hypocritical to the list.

How had he survived these past few years? Same as her, she suspected—by throwing himself into his work. At least now he would have Jerry Walker’s case to keep him busy. He wouldn’t be in her position, sitting in an empty room with nothing but her own thoughts to drive her crazy. His job demanded action. Gathering evidence, interviewing suspects—he wouldn’t have time to sit and stew.

Trista separated her hands and tapped her long nails against the wooden surface of the desk. She still found it difficult to believe that Jerry had been murdered, although the basic facts had been confirmed in the morning paper.

But why? And who could have done it? His wife, Nan? It seemed impossible for such a quiet, self-effacing woman. Did her mild exterior conceal the rage it would take to commit murder? Certainly there were negative feelings, repressed hostility. But murder?

Once Nan was ruled out, though, who did that leave? The woman Jerry had been having an affair with? But why would she kill him? Because he wouldn’t leave his wife, perhaps? For some reason, that scenario didn’t sit right with Trista either. Who was this woman he had been seeing? Were there any clues in her session notes?

Trista was relieved when a knock interrupted her fruitless speculations.

“Yes?”

The door opened and a large woman with jet-black hair and piercing dark eyes strode into Trista’s office.

“Sylvia,” Trista said, surprised. Sylvia and her husband, Daniel Hawthorne, were former clients. They’d come to her after Sylvia had found out her husband was having an affair, and stayed in therapy for about two months. Trista had been sorry to see them quit the sessions. It was obvious there were still issues that needed to be resolved.

“Sorry to barge in.” Sylvia spoke in her customary booming voice and didn’t sound sorry at all. “That secretary of yours wasn’t at her desk.”

“Brenda’s on her lunch break.” Trista invited Sylvia to sit down. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“I’m fine,” Sylvia said as she lowered herself into one of the wingback chairs.

Inwardly Trista scrambled for the particulars of the Hawthornes’ situation, wishing Sylvia had given her notice so she could have reviewed her files. She remembered that Daniel had been a sweet, intelligent man. In their conversations, he’d often been dominated by his overpowering wife.

“He’s at it again,” Sylvia said in quiet fury. “I asked him to take me out to lunch today—Wednesday is when he used to meet his girlfriend, remember?—and at the last minute, he canceled.”

Trista assumed she was talking about her husband. “Did he say why?”

Sylvia flounced her hair with one hand. “He said they were having a faculty meeting. So, of course, I phoned the university after he left to check—”

Trista made mental note of that of course. Did Sylvia routinely check up on everything Daniel said?

“—and they said there was no meeting and that Daniel had even canceled his afternoon class!”

Trista remembered that Sylvia had a strong jealous streak, predating Daniel’s affair. Whether those feelings were justified in this case, Trista had no idea. “Before you jump to any conclusions, I think you should talk to Daniel. Perhaps the meeting was rescheduled. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well. There could be many reasons why he had to cancel his class.”

Sylvia shook her head. “No. If he wasn’t well, he’d have come home or at least phoned me.”