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Authors: Sherryl Woods
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minute.”
“Because?”
She scowled at his lack of sensitivity. “Because my husband was dead, Deputy Ames. He’d been murdered. I couldn’t bear seeing him like that.
And for al I knew the person who’d done it was stil around here somewhere.”
“So you stil had feelings for him, even though you intended to divorce him?”
“Of course I did. I had loved Larry Chandler with al my heart. Just because our marriage hadn’t worked didn’t mean that I wanted him dead or even that I didn’t stil care about him. In many ways, he was a wonderful man. He just wasn’t a very good husband.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced at Powel and saw his nod. “Meaning that he was unfaithful.”
“He had an affair?”
“There were affairs,” she confirmed. “I lost count.”
“Did they end badly?”
“You’d have to ask the women that.”
“Names?”
“I can give you those I knew about,” she said wearily. “I’l make a list. I can’t swear it’l be complete.”
“What about political enemies? Did he have them?”
“Of course.”
“Business problems?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who would have reason to want your husband dead?”
She told him about the veiled, anonymous threats. “I believe the notes and answering machine tapes with the messages are in the safe. I can get them for you.”
Walker nodded. “Let’s do that, then.”
He fol owed her into the library, watched as she pressed a button and a panel of bookshelves swung away from the wal . Behind it was a safe original y instal ed by her grandfather. She turned the lock, then stepped aside.
Donning gloves, Walker drew out jewelry boxes, packets of papers, then a box that contained the letters and tapes. He took that, placed it into an evidence bag, then returned everything else.
“Have you had a chance to look around?” he asked. “Did you notice if anything is missing?”
“I only came through the foyer and into this room last night. I went out the same way.”
“Then let’s take a look around. Are there other valuables beyond what’s in the safe?”
“I keep a few pieces of jewelry in my room. There’s silver that’s kept in the pantry.”
Liz led the way upstairs. She knew it would be evident when they walked into her room that she hadn’t shared it with Larry. There were no masculine belongings, just antique perfume bottles and cosmetics on the dressing table, gowns in one closet, her suits and casual clothes in another. The carpet and iron bed were white, the comforter white with sprigs of violets. Gauzy white curtains bil owed at the open windows. It was a very feminine room and not nearly as large as the master suite down the hal . It had suited her as a girl, and she had retreated to it when she no longer wanted to share a bed with her unfaithful husband.
Walker surveyed the room without comment, waiting while she checked her jewelry box.
“Everything is here,” she said when she’d counted the few pieces of antique jewelry that had sentimental value to her. The far more expensive treasures, the ones Larry had lavished on her after each affair, were in the safe downstairs. Those, too, had been accounted for—not that she’d cared.
“Let’s see if the silver’s where it’s supposed to be,” Walker said.
“It’l be closer if we take the back stairway,” Liz told him. It was the way she’d slipped downstairs in the middle of the night for cookies as a girl, the way she’d sneaked outside to meet Tucker as a teenager. Even now she almost expected to find him waiting for her just outside the kitchen door.
He wasn’t.
Every piece of silver, much of it from famed English silvermakers of the eighteenth century and earlier, was exactly where it belonged, gleaming on the padded shelves of a special silver closet in the pantry. As a girl, Liz had been awed by the display. She’d even liked the rainy afternoons when she’d sat at the table helping the housekeeper
“Because?”
She scowled at his lack of sensitivity. “Because my husband was dead, Deputy Ames. He’d been murdered. I couldn’t bear seeing him like that.
And for al I knew the person who’d done it was stil around here somewhere.”
“So you stil had feelings for him, even though you intended to divorce him?”
“Of course I did. I had loved Larry Chandler with al my heart. Just because our marriage hadn’t worked didn’t mean that I wanted him dead or even that I didn’t stil care about him. In many ways, he was a wonderful man. He just wasn’t a very good husband.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced at Powel and saw his nod. “Meaning that he was unfaithful.”
“He had an affair?”
“There were affairs,” she confirmed. “I lost count.”
“Did they end badly?”
“You’d have to ask the women that.”
“Names?”
“I can give you those I knew about,” she said wearily. “I’l make a list. I can’t swear it’l be complete.”
“What about political enemies? Did he have them?”
“Of course.”
“Business problems?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who would have reason to want your husband dead?”
She told him about the veiled, anonymous threats. “I believe the notes and answering machine tapes with the messages are in the safe. I can get them for you.”
Walker nodded. “Let’s do that, then.”
He fol owed her into the library, watched as she pressed a button and a panel of bookshelves swung away from the wal . Behind it was a safe original y instal ed by her grandfather. She turned the lock, then stepped aside.
Donning gloves, Walker drew out jewelry boxes, packets of papers, then a box that contained the letters and tapes. He took that, placed it into an evidence bag, then returned everything else.
“Have you had a chance to look around?” he asked. “Did you notice if anything is missing?”
“I only came through the foyer and into this room last night. I went out the same way.”
“Then let’s take a look around. Are there other valuables beyond what’s in the safe?”
“I keep a few pieces of jewelry in my room. There’s silver that’s kept in the pantry.”
Liz led the way upstairs. She knew it would be evident when they walked into her room that she hadn’t shared it with Larry. There were no masculine belongings, just antique perfume bottles and cosmetics on the dressing table, gowns in one closet, her suits and casual clothes in another. The carpet and iron bed were white, the comforter white with sprigs of violets. Gauzy white curtains bil owed at the open windows. It was a very feminine room and not nearly as large as the master suite down the hal . It had suited her as a girl, and she had retreated to it when she no longer wanted to share a bed with her unfaithful husband.
Walker surveyed the room without comment, waiting while she checked her jewelry box.
“Everything is here,” she said when she’d counted the few pieces of antique jewelry that had sentimental value to her. The far more expensive treasures, the ones Larry had lavished on her after each affair, were in the safe downstairs. Those, too, had been accounted for—not that she’d cared.
“Let’s see if the silver’s where it’s supposed to be,” Walker said.
“It’l be closer if we take the back stairway,” Liz told him. It was the way she’d slipped downstairs in the middle of the night for cookies as a girl, the way she’d sneaked outside to meet Tucker as a teenager. Even now she almost expected to find him waiting for her just outside the kitchen door.
He wasn’t.
Every piece of silver, much of it from famed English silvermakers of the eighteenth century and earlier, was exactly where it belonged, gleaming on the padded shelves of a special silver closet in the pantry. As a girl, Liz had been awed by the display. She’d even liked the rainy afternoons when she’d sat at the table helping the housekeeper
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