dropped, and his bravado seemed to ooze out of him. “Look, I’m sitting down,” he said. “I won’t move, Sheriff, I promise. I’m sorry. I just get a little hot now and then.”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Mort said.
“Sorry, Hal.”
“What was that?” Mort said.
“I said, ‘Sorry, Hal.’ ”
“You two know each other?” Mort asked his deputy.
“We’re in the same bowling league,” Harold said. He looked at Wandowski: “Just cooperate with the sheriff, Bob, and don’t make any more trouble.”
Mort moved to the front of the desk, then leaned back on the polished walnut and cherry inlaid top and glared down at Wandowski, who squirmed in his chair. Mort let the silence build, keeping his gaze on Wandowski, who glanced over his shoulder at Harold, looked down at the carpet, then up again, his eyes unable to meet Mort’s. The tension grew, and I watched Wandowski’s face turn red, pale, then red again. Finally, he blew, as Mort knew he would.
“I didn’t do it!” he exclaimed. “I was here all night. I never left the party.”
“You were angry with her.”
“I swear I didn’t do it.”
“You were getting even.”
“No, no, you’re wrong.”
“You threatened her right in front of me.”
“I know, but I swear I never saw her again.”
“You just said yourself you can’t control your temper. You saw her and remembered your daughter coming out of her cottage. You felt the rage all over again. And you killed her.”
“No! You can’t trick me into saying anything. I’m not the killer.”
“You just wanted to protect your home, right?” Harold said kindly. “You just wanted to keep your family safe.”
Wandowski looked up, relieved at the show of support from the deputy. “Yes,” he sighed. “Of course I want to keep my family safe.”
“So you killed Mrs. Swift because she represented a threat to their safety.” Mort’s voice was low and measured.
“No, no, I didn’t say that.”
“You thought she’d kidnapped your daughter, and you wanted to get even.” Mort slapped the desktop, punctuating his lines. “You wanted to kill her. You didn’t want her anywhere near your daughter. She was a stranger, different—everyone said so. She was evil, luring your daughter into her cottage when you weren’t there. What was she doing to your girl? She was—”
Wandowski leapt to his feet. “She never should have taken Julie!” he roared. “She got what she deserved.”
Mort stopped and eyed Wandowski. I held my breath.
Wandowski looked around frantically. “No, no, I know it sounds like I was mad at her, and I was, I was, but I didn’t kill her. I swear.” He collapsed back into his seat and wrapped his arms about himself.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Mort shrugged and looked at Harold. The deputy put a hand on Wandowski’s shoulder. “All right, Bob, calm down now.”
Mort turned his back on them and went to the door. “You can go home, Wandowski, but I’m not through talking to you. You’re not to leave Cabot Cove. Understand?”
Wandowski nodded.
“Mr. Wandowski,” I said from my observation post at the window, “may I ask you a question?”
Wandowski appeared surprised. He must have forgotten I was there. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Why didn’t your wife come to the party with you tonight?”
“Uh, she wanted to, but we didn’t have a baby-sitter for my daughter. I work for Mr. Marshall, so I had to come, even if she couldn’t.”
“Go on, go home,” Mort said. Wandowski slowly stood and shuffled from the room in stark contrast to the way he’d entered.
The Deckers were next to be interviewed.
“You folks are in the business of noticing things,” Mort said, “being writers and publishers and all. What’d you see tonight?”
Jack Decker, a tall, handsome man with a deep voice, laughed gently. “I’m afraid we didn’t have our journalist ears and eyes operating tonight, Mort. We were
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Mort said.
“Sorry, Hal.”
“What was that?” Mort said.
“I said, ‘Sorry, Hal.’ ”
“You two know each other?” Mort asked his deputy.
“We’re in the same bowling league,” Harold said. He looked at Wandowski: “Just cooperate with the sheriff, Bob, and don’t make any more trouble.”
Mort moved to the front of the desk, then leaned back on the polished walnut and cherry inlaid top and glared down at Wandowski, who squirmed in his chair. Mort let the silence build, keeping his gaze on Wandowski, who glanced over his shoulder at Harold, looked down at the carpet, then up again, his eyes unable to meet Mort’s. The tension grew, and I watched Wandowski’s face turn red, pale, then red again. Finally, he blew, as Mort knew he would.
“I didn’t do it!” he exclaimed. “I was here all night. I never left the party.”
“You were angry with her.”
“I swear I didn’t do it.”
“You were getting even.”
“No, no, you’re wrong.”
“You threatened her right in front of me.”
“I know, but I swear I never saw her again.”
“You just said yourself you can’t control your temper. You saw her and remembered your daughter coming out of her cottage. You felt the rage all over again. And you killed her.”
“No! You can’t trick me into saying anything. I’m not the killer.”
“You just wanted to protect your home, right?” Harold said kindly. “You just wanted to keep your family safe.”
Wandowski looked up, relieved at the show of support from the deputy. “Yes,” he sighed. “Of course I want to keep my family safe.”
“So you killed Mrs. Swift because she represented a threat to their safety.” Mort’s voice was low and measured.
“No, no, I didn’t say that.”
“You thought she’d kidnapped your daughter, and you wanted to get even.” Mort slapped the desktop, punctuating his lines. “You wanted to kill her. You didn’t want her anywhere near your daughter. She was a stranger, different—everyone said so. She was evil, luring your daughter into her cottage when you weren’t there. What was she doing to your girl? She was—”
Wandowski leapt to his feet. “She never should have taken Julie!” he roared. “She got what she deserved.”
Mort stopped and eyed Wandowski. I held my breath.
Wandowski looked around frantically. “No, no, I know it sounds like I was mad at her, and I was, I was, but I didn’t kill her. I swear.” He collapsed back into his seat and wrapped his arms about himself.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. Mort shrugged and looked at Harold. The deputy put a hand on Wandowski’s shoulder. “All right, Bob, calm down now.”
Mort turned his back on them and went to the door. “You can go home, Wandowski, but I’m not through talking to you. You’re not to leave Cabot Cove. Understand?”
Wandowski nodded.
“Mr. Wandowski,” I said from my observation post at the window, “may I ask you a question?”
Wandowski appeared surprised. He must have forgotten I was there. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Why didn’t your wife come to the party with you tonight?”
“Uh, she wanted to, but we didn’t have a baby-sitter for my daughter. I work for Mr. Marshall, so I had to come, even if she couldn’t.”
“Go on, go home,” Mort said. Wandowski slowly stood and shuffled from the room in stark contrast to the way he’d entered.
The Deckers were next to be interviewed.
“You folks are in the business of noticing things,” Mort said, “being writers and publishers and all. What’d you see tonight?”
Jack Decker, a tall, handsome man with a deep voice, laughed gently. “I’m afraid we didn’t have our journalist ears and eyes operating tonight, Mort. We were
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