Free Murder on the Mind by L.L. Bartlett Page A

newspaper was quite thorough. He was active in The United Way. He served as last year’s campaign chairman. Matt truly cared about people.”
    Oh yeah?
    “Did he have any enemies?”
    She hesitated. “Not that I’m aware of. Matt was . . . could be,” she amended, “very charming.”
    “Is it possible he might’ve had financial problems?”
    “If you mean blackmail, no.”
    Her perfectly calm statement took me by surprise, but then she’d probably already been over this with the police. And if she was willing to be blunt, there was no reason for me to dance around certain issues.
    “Did he have a girlfriend?”
    The widow was not surprised by the question.
    “Perhaps. He worked late a lot these past few years. I suspected he might be having an affair . . . but I guess I didn’t want to know for sure. We lived a quiet, comfortable life.”
    Her cold gaze made me shudder.
    “Did he ever mention Jackie?”
    She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
    “I ran across the name in conversation with someone at the bank.”
    “I know of no one called Jackie.”
    I got the feeling she wasn’t exactly being candid with me. But then, I hadn’t really expected her to.
    “When did you last speak with your husband?”
    She sighed. “Last Sunday evening. He said he had meetings all day Friday and I should take a cab home from the airport.”
    “Did you find him immediately?”
    “No. I was home for about an hour. I’d unpacked my suitcase and thought I’d go to the grocery store. That’s when I found him.” She looked away, her eyes filling with tears. I wasn’t sure if it was from grief or revulsion. I pretended to jot down a note, giving her a moment to collect herself.
    “Who was the last family member to actually see your husband alive?”
    She cleared her throat. “Me, I suppose.”
    “None of the children visited while you were gone?”
    “I don’t think so. Michael’s school is in Erie, Pennsylvania. Diane and Rob haven’t lived at home for several years.”
    Which confirmed what the neighbors had said. “Do they live in the Buffalo area?”
    “Yes, Rob does. Diane. . . .” Her gaze narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”
    “I’d like to speak with them, too.”
    She sat straighter in her chair. “I would prefer that you didn’t, although I suppose there’s no way I can stop you.”
    I changed my line of questioning. “Did your husband hunt?”
    “Never. He could never kill anything.”
    Maybe not, but as a bank V.P. he’d had the power to ruin someone’s financial life with the stroke of a pen.
    “Any other hobbies?”
    “He golfed. He was quite good at it, too. He was to head a tournament in June. A benefit for one of his causes. At the moment, I can’t think which one.”
    “That’s quite understandable. How tall was your husband?”
    She looked at me as though the question was ridiculous, but answered it anyway. “Five-eleven.”
    “And his weight?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe two hundred and ten pounds.”
    I jotted it down. “I’m curious; there were no calling hours at the funeral home. Was there a reason?”
    She pursed her lips. “You are curious.”
    I was afraid she was going to refuse to answer the question. Then she sighed.
    “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Resnick, I want to put this whole unpleasant ordeal behind me. You can understand that, can’t you?”
    “What about his friends? Wouldn’t they—?”
    “I telephoned those people I deemed necessary. The church was full of our friends and his colleagues. There was no need to subject my family to a media circus.”
    A plausible explanation. Yet how could she know of all the people whose lives her husband had touched? How many would’ve showed up to pay their respects, people who were genuinely sorry to hear of his passing?
    I tried a different tack. “I understand you’ll be selling the house.”
    She called my bluff without blinking. “As a matter of fact, a real estate agent will be here later today.”
    She really