Free Paper-Thin Alibi by Mary Ellen Hughes

morning that you had known Ms. Weeks when you both lived in New York City.”

    “Yes, that’s right.”

    “I believe you indicated you had been friends for a while, but that friendship ended before you moved down here.”

    “I think I said we had been friendly. ”

    “There’s a difference?”

    “I believe so, yes. Linda and I had never reached the closeness, the sharing-confidences stage that friends have. We were more acquaintances with a few things in common.”

    “I see. So that friendliness ended, I assume, when you found out she was having an affair with your husband?”

    “What!”

    The sheriff simply looked at her, waiting. Jo was sure he expected her to blurt out confirmation of the absurd question he’d just thrown at her. Instead she counted to ten as she returned his stare, holding herself down until she could speak calmly.

    “What in the world, Sheriff, makes you think Linda had an affair with my husband?”

    “Are you saying she didn’t?”

    “Absolutely she didn’t. I know that for a fact.”

    “Interesting, since she told others the affair was the reason for the problems between the two of you.”

    Jo grit her teeth and drew a deep breath, thinking how typical that was of Linda. She was sure Linda also claimed to have been a complete victim in the supposed affair, to have been totally unaware that Mike had been married to Jo at the time, and was cleverly seduced.

    “Sheriff,” Jo began, “Linda said a lot of things that were figments of her own, very creative imagination. This was just one more very hurtful lie of hers. I wouldn’t put any credence to it.”

    “Then I presume you would also contend your husband didn’t commit suicide when he realized he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with her?”

    Jo groaned, and shook her head in disbelief. How long, she wondered, was that woman going to continue to throw jabs at her? Wasn’t death supposed to put an end to such things? At that thought Jo almost smiled, realizing that that question was the last thing she would voice to the man sitting behind the desk, watching her so carefully over the top of his glasses. She drew a breath, wondering what in the world she was going to say that would swing a predisposed opinion in her direction.

    Jo’s cell phone rang as she worked her way through the crowd toward building 10, and she checked it before answering, not in the mood for frivolous chat. The call, however, was from the one person she was willing to talk to. She pressed the answer button.

    “Hi, Carrie.”

    “Hi.” Carrie paused, probably reacting to the less than happy tone of Jo’s greeting, then asked, “How’s it going?”

    Jo sighed, and looked about for a quieter place to talk. She spotted an empty kiosk that had closed up early as the final hours of the festival ran out, and headed for it. Leaning against its side and out of the flow of last-minute shoppers, she brought Carrie up to speed on the downward spiral of events that had occurred since they’d last talked. Carrie knew about Linda’s death, but her reactions to what followed ranged from horrified gasps to sputters of outrage. These were exactly the gamut of emotions Jo had experienced and she was glad to have them confirmed as reasonable.

    “Jo,” Carrie said, “I think you should call Russ.”

    Jo straightened up from her lean. “Russ? Why?”

    “For his help, of course. He can vouch for you to this sheriff, and anything Russ says will carry much more weight than what your friends would say.”

    “I don’t know, Carrie. I’d hate to ask that of him.” She really did, but for reasons that weren’t totally clear to her at the moment.

    “I don’t think he’d feel imposed upon, if that’s what you’re thinking. At least get his advice. He’d want you to do that.”

    “I’ll think about it. How are things at the shop?”

    “Slow to moderate. Michicomi probably drew away most of our crafters. But I think we’ll reap the