Free Sins and Needles by Monica Ferris Page B

his mouth with his fingers. “That’s just about too awful to think about,” he said, coming back to look at the man. “I mean, who would want to murder her? She was just an old woman who never did anyone any real harm that I know of.”
    â€œHow well did you know her?”
    â€œPretty well. She was my aunt, my mother’s sister. I used to go to her house a lot when I was a kid. I still go out there—well, I guess it’s I used to go out there, now—to run errands, help around the place. She was pretty rude to me—she didn’t like the male gender; anyone who knew her can tell you that—but she liked the things I could do, lift and haul, minor household repairs, you know the drill. She wouldn’t always thank me pretty, but she never ran me off the place with a shotgun.” He laughed.
    â€œWas she involved in a quarrel with anyone that you know of?” Rice asked.
    Stewart widened his eyes in surprise as he shook his head. “Not that I know of. I doubt if you’ll find any sign of a quarrel. She didn’t go out much anymore, didn’t have many visitors outside of the family. She had a housekeeper named Fran March—been there a few years. She was one of a series that started when Aunt Edyth was in her late sixties and couldn’t do for herself anymore. Fran may know if she was mad at someone or someone was mad at her. But I’ll bet you no one was.” He grimaced and dared to ask, “Are you really sure she was murdered? It seems so damn unlikely.”
    â€œThe medical examiner says so, and I have no reason to doubt his conclusion.” Sergeant Rice wrote a brief note and then asked, “Where were you last Saturday evening?”
    Stewart jumped as if he’d been shot at. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, and instantly cursed himself for being an idiot.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir, but we have to ask.”
    â€œOh. Well, I suppose you do. But I should tell you, I don’t in the least profit by her death.”
    â€œNo, sir, I understand that. Still, could you tell me where you were?”
    â€œCertainly. Here at home.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œYes. My wife took our daughters out to dinner and a concert. One of those girl-bonding things they like to do. I’m not all that fond of Asian food and I don’t like Bach, so I played like a bachelor and fixed my own little dinner, watched a ball game on the television, and went to bed early.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œNow hold on a minute. My wife called me at least twice, and I was here to talk to her. You can check with her to confirm that.”
    â€œWhat time did she call?”
    â€œLet me think. About seven the first time and somewhere around nine the second.”
    â€œSo your wife was with the four girls, and you were here, but in touch with her by phone.”
    â€œYes, that’s right.”
    â€œCell phone or landline?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, cell phone. We don’t have a—what d’ya call it?—a landline anymore. Ever since we went wireless on our computers, we couldn’t see the use of it.”
    Rice nodded. “How old are the girls?”
    â€œWell, Katie’s just turned twenty-one. She’s married and out of the house, but she comes home a lot now she’s pregnant. And Lexie is nineteen, Bernie’s sixteen, and CeeCee, who you just got a glimpse of, is fourteen.”
    Rice wrote it all down. Then he asked, “What is your occupation?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œWhat do you do, sir?” asked Rice, a hint of impatience showing in his voice.
    â€œOh. Well, at present, I’m a house husband. You know, take care of the house and the kids. I used to be an office manager at Markham and Sons. They run a pair of big excursion boats on Lake Minnetonka.” Stewart tilted his head toward the windows overlooking the lake. “But they decided to give the job to their