“Whoa. That was some stumble. Is your friend local? Can we meet with him?”
“No, Harry works out of Boston, but he is exceptionally good at what he does.” Harry would appreciate that description. I took a deep breath, and laid out my idea about how this should be handled. “Obviously I had to pass the information on to you as soon as I learned of it, but, now that you know, I wouldn’t advise you to go charging after Clancy about his arrest records. Personally, I think you should hang on to that information. It may be quite useful when you and he are trying to come to terms with how much contact he will allow you to have with Abby now that Willis is . . . gone.”
Dolores looked at me blankly; then a smile lit up her face. “Jessica Fletcher, you are a sly one. Clancy’s drunk-driving record gives me . . . leverage.”
“That’s exactly how I see it. For now keep it up your sleeve, until it will be advantageous to bring it into the light.”
Dolores clapped her hands. “With everything happening so fast, my major worry has been about losing Abby, and now, thanks to you and your PI friend, I have—leverage!”
“Dolores, I know that’s what you continue to be most upset about, but I assure you that a sheriff who thinks you are, quite possibly, a murderer is a more compelling problem.” I couldn’t put it more bluntly. Dolores was running out of time. “Deputies with an arrest warrant could knock at the door any moment. We need to be prepared.”
Dolores dropped her chin and hunched her shoulders. “But isn’t that why I hired Mr. McGuire? To straighten this all out?”
“As your attorney, Mr. McGuire will protect you from hurting yourself in interviews with the sheriff or the government attorney. He also will be sure that no one on the law enforcement side crosses legal boundaries, so to speak. Our job is to be ready.”
Originally I’d hoped to get Dolores energized enough to take an active part in her own defense; now I was asking her to go a step further.
“Ready? Ready for what?” She seemed thoroughly confused, and I couldn’t blame her.
“In a perfect world, with enough time we might be able to figure out who killed Willis, but for now I will settle for finding possible motives for someone else, anyone else, to have killed Willis. In fact, the more suspects we can find, the better off you will be. Sheriff Halvorson is content to focus on you. We need to change his focus.”
Dolores frowned. “My life is beginning to sound like the plot of one of your novels. So, tell me, how do we do that? How can we create ‘suspects’? If there was evidence of a stranger being on the property that night I’m sure the sheriff would have found it.” Her brown eyes grew wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O. “No. You can’t mean we have to look at the family and friends who were here with us that evening.”
I nodded. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean.”
Dolores sighed. “But it isn’t possible. None of them would ever, could ever . . .”
I stopped her right there. “We don’t know what any of them may or may not have done, but we do know the sheriff thinks you killed Willis, and we certainly know you are completely innocent.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jess. I suppose you’re right. What do you need me to do?”
I picked up the thinner of the two manila folders on the side table. “First off, tell me everything you know about Quartermaster Industries.”
Dolores was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Are you quite sure? Willis never mentioned it, even just in passing?”
“No. Never. The name means nothing to me. Why do you ask?”
“According to Harry, Quartermaster Industries is a company that Willis owned. It is quite valuable, and Harry tells me it’s been difficult for him to uncover information because it is privately held. But we have this.” I held up the folder, pointing to the name on the tab. quartermaster industries. “Shall we take a look?”
Dolores said, “That folder seems kind of skimpy. Must be a very small company.”
I glanced at the first page and gasped. “Dolores, Willis never told you anything about the company? Are you sure?”
“Positive. Why would he?”
“Because, according to this document, Willis owned fifty-one percent of Quartermaster, Norman Crayfield owns ten percent, and you own thirty-nine percent.”
“What? That’s not possible. Let me see that.” Dolores grabbed the paper from my hand.
I pointed. “There’s your signature, and Willis’s. Your signatures were witnessed. Don’t you recall any of this?”
“Honestly, I don’t. Let me see the date. Yes. This does make some sense, I guess. You know Willis had arranged for us to go on an extended honeymoon. We visited Australia and New Zealand, and then spent a luxurious week at the Ko Olina lagoons on Oahu.”
“I remember you sent me pictures, but . . .”
Dolores waved at me to be silent. “Because we were going to be gone for so long, Willis wanted everything to be in order legally. He mentioned health care, the ownership of the house. You know, married-people stuff. So, two days after the wedding, on the day before we left for a monthlong honeymoon, we went to Marcus Holmes’s office and signed scads of paperwork.”
“And you didn’t look at any of it? You just signed whatever was put in front of you?”
Dolores raised her eyebrows and gave me a look. “When you put it that way, I sound like a dolt.”
I backtracked immediately. “Not at all. I am just beginning to understand that Willis wanted you protected with regard to all his assets as soon as possible after the wedding.
