Dead Down East by Carl Schmidt Page B

paused a bit and then turned the TV off.
    “You know what I think?” he asked, and then
immediately answered his own question, “I think the governor’s wife
hired someone to do it. I never trusted her. She has a cold,
disinterested look. Whenever I’ve seen her standing with her
husband, she always seems distant, like she doesn’t care about him.
It’s a little too convenient that she was out of the country when
it happened. He has probably been fooling around for years, and she
finally decided she’d had enough.”
    “Cherchez la femme,” I said.
    “What’s that?” Eric asked.
    “It’s French for, ‘Look for the woman.’”
    “The French know about women,” Eric replied,
philosophically. “Rebecca Lavoilette. Twenty bucks says she’s
guilty.”
    “I suppose it’s possible, but I’ll take that bet,
Eric.”
    I dug in my wallet and pulled out a twenty.
    “Here,” I said. “You hold the money. When it’s all
over, you can give me forty.”
    Eric kissed the twenty and put it in his wallet.
“Money in the bank,” he said.
    “Listen, I’m expecting a visitor in a little while.
If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive you home now.”
    “Sure,” Eric said. “By the way, I’m working on a new
song. I should have it completed by Thursday. I’d like to have the
band play it this weekend if we can arrange it.”
    “Sounds good. Have you finished your breakfast?”
    “Yeah. Let’s go.”
    I drove Eric home and got back to my place in about
fifteen minutes. There was a silver Lexus with a mint green
interior parked in the driveway. Richard Merrill was waiting for me
in the living room.

 

10
     
Two Loaded Women & A Private Dick
     
     
     
    Richard Merrill stood about 5’10”. He was wearing a
stylish gray silk suit with a colorful Hawaiian tie—not the kind of
outfit you’d wear to a funeral. But then, that would come later in
the week.
    Richard waited for me to walk over to him. I couldn’t
decide whether this was a ploy to gain the upper hand or a courtesy
to Cynthia, who was standing beside him.
    I reached out my hand and said, “Richard Merrill, I
presume.”
    “Yes,” he replied, as we shook.
    “I’m Jesse Thorpe.”
    “How do you do?”
    A little formal, I thought, but he’s been a friend to
the governor for almost four years…longer if you count the
pre-gubernatorial decades.
    “Let’s sit down,” I suggested. “Would either of you
like something to drink?”
    “Water would be fine,” Richard said.
    Cynthia nodded, and I fetched three waters in
distinctly different tumblers, just to keep them straight.
    “Richard, I understand that you’ve just been
interviewed by the FBI,” I said. “How did that go? Do they have any
idea who murdered Governor Lavoilette?”
    “The FBI and the Maine State Police hold their cards
close to the vest,” he said. “They questioned me for an hour and a
half. I was William’s closest friend. There was a lot of ground to
cover. I have to go back at two o’clock to continue the
interview.”
    “I assume you know that Cynthia has hired me to
protect her and to investigate the murder privately.”
    “Yes, Cynthia told me.”
    “I could ask you a lot of questions,” I said, “but I
think it would be simpler if you’d just tell me whatever you think
is important for me to know for my investigation.”
    “Have you done this kind of work before?” he
asked.
    I didn’t care for the tone of his question. It
sounded vaguely condescending and hinted that I might be in over my
head. I was, of course, in way over my head, but it was my
job to keep my own cards close to the vest too. I’ve had plenty of
experience with hecklers in nightclubs, so I knew how to handle a
suit with an attitude.
    “I’ve been a licensed private investigator for six
years. I have experience providing protection, researching crimes,
questioning combative individuals, and assisting defense and
prosecution lawyers. Granted, this is the first time I’ve