Free You Bet Your Life by Jessica Fletcher Page A

to me after we were married.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He really wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife. It would have been fine if he’d been around more. But I got bored and lonely when he was away. Jane was hostile, Oliver ignored me, and our housekeeper was busy all day. I wanted to work, and he was against it. I told him I didn’t want to be just another decoration in his life, pulled out for a business party or to play with when he dropped in. He didn’t like that.”
    “I imagine not.”
    “I don’t remember venting at the beauty parlor. I’m usually more circumspect than that. But if I arrived there right after one of our arguments, I could have said what they say I did. But I certainly didn’t mean it. You know how we say things like that and don’t mean it.”
    “Yes, I know. What caused the police to focus in on you so quickly, Martha? Did they investigate other possible suspects?”
    “Hardly at all. Nastasi says it’s a classic rush to judgment on the part of the authorities.”
    “Well, we’ll just have to help Nastasi find the proof of that,” I said.
    Martha looked at me for a long time. “I’m glad you believe me, Jessica. Two of my lawyers didn’t. They didn’t say it, but I could tell. That’s why I fired them.”
    “I knew you’d changed lawyers. Every time I tried to contact you, and managed to reach the person I thought was your lawyer, you had moved on to someone else.”
    “I can’t deal with anyone who thinks I’m a killer.” She shivered.
    “Martha, what evidence do they have against you?”
    “I am not a murderer.”
    “I know that, but your attorney has to prove it to a jury, or at least make that jury decide that the prosecution hasn’t proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt. All it takes is one juror to come to that conclusion. You don’t have to share anything with me, Martha. Your attorney, Mr. Nastasi, is the one who—”
    “Oh, no, Jessica, I want to share it with you. Everything!”
    “Go ahead,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”
    “Where shall I start?”
    “Start on the day of the murder. When did you last see Victor? What kind of mood was he in? What kind of mood were you in?”
    “Oh, Jessica, we were so happy.” She fought against another bout of crying. “At least, I thought we were.”
    “I’m listening.”
    Martha related the details of their last day together. Victor had been home a lot that month, and they were rediscovering each other, rekindling the sparks that had led to their marriage. Martha had convinced Victor that it was time for him to fly her to London for their honeymoon they’d never had, and he’d agreed. He regaled her with all the places he was going to take her and all the people he was going to introduce to her.
    “He’d been spending a lot of time in the pool,” she said into the telephone connecting me to her. “He had a shoulder that was giving him trouble. His rotator cuff. Oliver had recommended swimming as a kind of physical therapy.
    “On the day Victor died, I had a luncheon date with Jane. I felt I was making a lot of progress with her. She was no longer antagonistic, and had even come close to being friendly on several occasions. Victor was so pleased with that thaw in our relationship. He wanted us to be a happy family, even though his ‘baby,’ as he always called her, was twenty-nine. And I was excited that I was close to reaching a breakthrough with her.”
    Martha went on to tell me that she’d driven to the restaurant where she and Jane had planned to meet for lunch. But Jane never showed up.
    “I left the house a little before noon. The restaurant is on the other side of the city, a forty-five-minute drive, if there’s no congestion, but of course there was. I arrived at the restaurant around one and must have been there around an hour waiting for Jane. When it became obvious she wasn’t going to show up, I decided to leave. The city’s rebuilding a part of the highway and traffic was