Francis McGuire was younger than I had thought from our phone conversation, perhaps mid-thirties, certainly no more than forty. He wore aviator glasses, a bright yellow golf shirt, and khakis. I noticed he had on brown leather loafers but no socks. The only thing lawyerly about him was his Gucci messenger bag, similar to those I had seen high-powered men in expensive suits carrying on their shoulders when I was in New York City last month.
“Good morning, Mr. McGuire. I’m Jessica Fletcher . . .”
“The old college friend. Yes. Mr. Holmes told me about you.” He made it sound more like Marcus Holmes had warned him about me.
I remained pleasant. “Please come with me. Mrs. Nickens is waiting in the office.”
He took a step backward. “Let’s get one thing straight, right from the start. I need you to realize that Mrs. Nickens and I must be completely alone when we speak.”
“Of course you do. Any third-party presence would negate the lawyer-client privilege of confidentiality.”
He did the closest thing to a double take that I had ever seen, so I continued. “I have no intention of staying with you and Mrs. Nickens. I am merely acting as her hostess. Would you care for a coffee?”
I led him to the office, and while I introduced him to Dolores, Marla Mae brought in a tray with coffee and muffins. When I said good-bye, Dolores looked as though she was losing her last friend in the world.
I gave her a hug and said, “Tell Mr. McGuire the truth and everything will be fine. I’ll see you later.”
Ever since Willis was murdered, I’d been nervous about Dolores’s ability to cope. I’d lived through the shattering experience of losing a husband myself, and the circumstances of Dolores’s loss, the uncertainty, were devastating enough without being named a person of interest by the local sheriff. I sincerely hoped Francis McGuire could keep the wolves at bay.
The house was quieter than usual, although I suspected if I walked down to the kitchen I would find some cheerful conversation with Lucinda and Marla Mae. Instead I decided to bring the norman file down to the dining room so I could finish my research and still be within shouting distance should Dolores need me.
The file title made me think this might be the folder Marla Mae had seen Willis throw across the room. I opened it and spread the contents on the dining room table. Apparently I hadn’t gotten far when I fell asleep last night. I picked up the yellow pad I had stored behind the papers, and the only note I had written was Sort by company.
I followed my own directions, and in short order I had twelve piles of two or three papers each related to different companies. I plugged the names of the first few companies into my phone one at a time, but each Internet search came up empty.
I decided to read everything carefully and take notes in the hope that I could discover whatever information the papers contained. The first pile included two invoices, one dated this past January and one dated two years ago. The company name on the invoices was Dresher, Inc. Willis had scribbled, REALLY? on the older one and WHO CAME UP WITH THESE NUMBERS? on the most recent.
The third piece of paper in the pile was a letter from Marcus Holmes advising Norman Crayfield that Dresher Inc. was in danger of bankruptcy. Across that one Willis had written, JERK!!!! and underlined it twice.
I assumed that the letter had something to do with Norman because it was in this folder, but I was pleased to see Marcus Holmes was involved. He’d be a resource for Dolores when the time came to go over Willis’s business dealings, and perhaps he could explain these papers.
By the time I went through the third pile, I could tell that everything on the table was going to be indecipherable to me, but at least I would have the information in orderly fashion to discuss with Dolores. On several Willis had scrawled in black marker: NORMAN, WE COULD HAVE DONE BETTER or NORMAN, DO BETTER NEXT TIME.
I suspected that when Willis wrote “do better” he meant “make more money.”
I picked up the second paper in pile number four and a name caught my eye. “Clancy Travers.” Now things were getting interesting. It was a letter from Marvin Pappas, CEO of Coliseum Investments Inc., who was complaining about a meeting he’d had with Clancy Travers when he’d expected to be meeting with Willis. Mr. Pappas felt snubbed and demanded a personal meeting be set up immediately. I looked at the date of the letter. It was written nearly three months ago. I wondered if the meeting ever took place. Willis had written across the top of the page, NORMAN, EXPLAIN.
I heard voices in the foyer; then Dolores called my name. I stepped out of the dining room and she looked calmer than she had since before I discovered Willis’s body.
“Jess, there you are. Mr. McGuire would like a word.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, I understand you write mysteries for a living.”
“That’s certainly true.”
“Mrs. Nickens tells me that you have, in the past, contributed to the resolution of a real-life murder or two.”
I am always a little flustered when the topic comes up. It usually results in my being told to back off, but that was not the case with Mr. McGuire.
He handed me his business card. “If you come across anything that might point to a suspect other than Mrs. Nickens please call my office immediately. If I am not available, ask for Michael Clark. I wrote his name on the card. You can trust him as you would me.”
Mr. McGuire bade us good day and left, telling Dolores he would be in touch.
Dolores clapped her hands, her gold bracelets clattering up and down her arm, as she took
