Free The Widow's Mate by Ralph McInerny Page B

what they were doing. The ease with which he talked of leaving his wife had given her pause, as if she had some intimation that he would do the same to her. She had felt an odd closeness to his wife when she gave up waiting in San Diego, knowing Wally would not come to her. If he could betray his wife, he certainly could do the same to her. And he had. Of course, there were her investments, but then he had left his wife well provided for, too. How could she not wonder where he had gone, what he had been doing, during all those years before his body was found in one of his father’s cement-mixing trucks?
    â€œIf I were you, I would begin with Gregory Packer,” she said.
    â€œI’ve already found out a thing or two about him.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œHe spent three years in prison, right here in Illinois.”
    â€œHe did!” It seemed best to pretend surprise.
    She wanted all the details, and Tuttle gave them to her. Her sagging confidence in the little lawyer reversed itself. Maybe he would find out where Wally had been and what had happened to him at the last. Apparently he hadn’t found out about Greg’s marriage to the woman who owned the driving range. It was her all-too-convenient death that made Sandra sure Greg could have had something to do with Wally’s horrible end.
    Alone in her room, a thought she realized she had been avoiding formulated itself. What would it be like to sit down with Wally’s wife and talk about what he had done to the two of them? She imagined them commiserating with one another. That was crazy, of course. How could Melissa Flanagan feel that their cases were at all similar? Besides, Melissa had renewed her old acquaintance with Greg Packer. Sandra sat perfectly still. Melissa ought to know what a monster Greg was.

14
    Marie Murkin had mounted the steps to the back porch, grocery bags dangling from both hands, and was confronting the obstacle of the door when there was a clatter of steps behind her, a hand reached around her, and the door was opened.
    â€œMadame!”
    She looked up into the smiling face of Gregory Packer. “Have you been into the altar wine again?”
    â€œHo ho.”
    He followed her into the kitchen and helped her put the groceries on the table. She took off her hat, picked up the phone, pressed a button, and told Edna she was back. Father Dowling was on his monthly retreat, and Marie had asked Edna to monitor the rectory phone in her absence.
    â€œNo calls,” Edna said.
    â€œThank you, dear.” Marie turned to Greg. She tried to look stern but began to melt under the power of his boyish grin. For weeks, she had been resenting the fact that after his initial visit she had seen him only from afar, usually in the company of Melissa Flanagan. “And how are you getting on with the Widow Flanagan?”
    He laughed in delight. “Is that what you call her?”
    â€œThat is what the other old ladies call her.”
    â€œOther than yourself.”
    He ducked when she took a playful swing at him.
    While she put away the groceries, he sat at the table looking on benevolently. “Do you know what I like about being back? Nothing has changed. It’s like a time warp. Here you are, doing what you’ve always done, peaceful and serene while all around you everything else is going to hell.”
    â€œWatch your tongue.”
    â€œI would need a mirror.”
    She could easily imagine him preening before a mirror. If anything was unchanged, it was his charming bad-boy manner.
    â€œI suppose you want tea?”
    â€œIf you’re out of altar wine.”
    She made tea the old-fashioned way, no bags, and soon the kettle was singing on the stove. Marie was trying to conceal her delight at this visit. It was all she could do not to tell Edna, when she had her on the phone, that Greg Packer had come to visit her. In his absence, she had come up with a long list of questions she wanted to ask him. When