Free Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice by Donald Bain Page B

information.”
    His frown said that he didn’t buy it.
    “That’s all well and good, Mrs. F., but I’m dealing with a murder here. Seems to me—and the county DA agrees—that when there’s a murder involved, all bets are off. It also seems to me that the relationship between the Wolcotts is darned important. I’m sure it won’t surprise you that we’re looking at Mrs. Wolcott as a suspect.”
    “It doesn’t surprise me at all,” I concurred. “And I know what’s behind you wanting to know what happened that night at the shelter. If Josh Wolcott was a wife batterer, it provides Myriam Wolcott with the motive to have killed him.”
    He started to say something, but I continued.
    “Be that as it may,” I added, “I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to be telling tales out of school, in this case tales out of the women’s shelter.”
    Mort held up his hand. “Take it easy, Mrs. F. I just thought that we could get this over with, have a pleasant chat about it.” His voice took on a more conspiratorial tone. “The DA and the state and county investigators will just have to subpoena you and Ms. Wilkerson, do the same with the shelter’s records.”
    “Then I’ll wait for that, Mort. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I take very seriously the pledge of confidentiality I took when I started volunteering at the shelter. I’m sure you can understand that.”
    “Of course I do, and I admire you for it. It’s just that I’d like to save the town and the county some money, gather up evidence without having to go the legal route. Besides, I’ve always been up front with you, haven’t I?”
    “Yes, you have, Mort, and I’ve always appreciated it. But in this case . . .”
    “Yeah, yeah. I know, I know, you gave your word and you mean to keep it.”
    “Thank you for understanding. May I ask you a question now?”
    His eyebrows went up. “You can ask.”
    “Have you been contacted by the attorney Cyrus O’Connor?”
    “Got a call from him first thing this morning. Sounds to me like you know more than you’re telling me.”
    “Just responding to a rumor around town, Mort, that Myriam Wolcott might be retaining him as her lawyer.”
    “I don’t pay much attention to rumors, Mrs. F., but in this case it’s true. It surprised me, too. Never knew the man to take on criminal cases.”
    “Has he agreed to represent her?”
    “Seems so. He put a stop to questioning her unless she’s charged. Typical lawyer’s first move.”
    I stood and glanced out the window. “Spring is in the air,” I said.
    “Can’t come soon enough.”
    “Mort.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Who told you I was there when Myriam Wolcott came to the women’s shelter?”
    He winced.
    “I think I’m entitled to know. After all, it appears that I’ll now become involved in a very direct way.”
    “Her brother,” he said flatly.
    “Myriam’s brother?”
    “Right. Seems that she called him the night she came to the shelter. I had him in here yesterday for questioning, and he told me about the call.”
    “Her mother will not be pleased,” I said.
    “You know her?”
    “We’ve recently met.”
    “Tough old bird.”
    “That’s one way of putting it. Are we finished?”
    “I am if you are.” He rose and walked me outside.
    “If I’m subpoenaed about that night at the shelter, I’ll naturally comply.”
    “Sorry, Mrs. F.”
    “I know you have a job to do. Please send my love to Maureen. Has she been cooking up exotic dishes lately?”
    Another wince. “Let’s not discuss that, Mrs. F. Thanks for coming by.”
    I couldn’t help but laugh as I pedaled away from his office. Maureen Metzger was a dear soul, full of life, one of the town’s real doers. She was also one of Cabot Cove’s most adventuresome—and least successful—cooks.
    My cell phone started ringing and vibrating while I was riding home. I stopped and checked the screen to see who was calling. Seeing the name Josh Wolcott caused me to flinch. I