Page 14 of Dead Man's List

Connor released his seat belt. “Let’s get this over with.”

Together they approached the front door, eyeing the man with wary curiosity. He looked to be somewhere in his seventies.

“Good evening,” Kit said. “I’m Detective McKittrick, and this is Detective Robinson. We’re here to talk to Mrs.Munro.”

The man sniffed. “To tell her that her sonofabitch husband is dead. She already knows.”

Kit shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d suppressed as much information as they could, but a lot of people had been aware of emergency vehicles and police gathered in the park. It hadn’t made the news yet, but it was just a matter of time.

“How did she hear the news?” Connor asked.

“A reporter called, asking for a comment. Miz Wilhelmina hung up without saying a word.”

“Your name, sir?” Kit asked.

“Jake Rafferty. I’m Miz Wilhelmina’s caretaker.”

Kit kept her expression neutral, despite her surprise. “Caretaker? Is she ill?”

Rafferty shook his head. “I take care of her house in Boston. I came with her. Just in case.”

In case of what? Kit wondered. In case Munro was dead? In case Wilhelmina needed the older man? In what capacity might that be?

“When did you arrive in San Diego?” Kit asked.

“This afternoon. We took the first flight out. She wasworriedabout that lying SOB.”

They’d have to check this man’s alibi. Hopefully he’d beenwhere he claimed. They didn’t have a solid time of death, but Munro had been dumped in the desert no later than that morning. Probably the night before.

“Did you know Mr.Munro well?” Connor asked.

Rafferty laughed, a rasping sound. “Are you asking me if I killed him, Detective? The answer is no. I did not. But I’d like to buy a beer for whoever did. I knew him well enough. I know he lied and connived and got Miz Wilhelmina to marry him so he could get at her money. I know he was catting around on her before the ink was dry on the marriage license. I know that he was a cheating, boozing, abusive SOB. I know I had to put Miz Wil back together when she finally came home. He’d all but broken her. For that alone, he needed to be dealt with. But I did not do it.”

“Raffie,” a voice gently admonished. “Ask the detectives in, please.”

Wilhelmina Munro stood in the doorway, her face in shadow. She was a tall woman, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. She exuded exhaustion.

Kit wanted to yawn just looking at her.

Rafferty motioned to the door with a gnarled, arthritic hand. “Go on in.”

Wilhelmina led them to a living room decorated in chrome and black leather. It was a masculine room, and the chair the woman had chosen dwarfed her slim body. “Please sit, Detectives. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No thank you, ma’am,” Connor said, sitting on the sofa closest to Wilhelmina. Kit took a chair that allowed her to watch both Wilhelmina and Rafferty, who’d remained in the room’s arched doorway. “You know why we’re here?”

Wilhelmina nodded once, a regal dip of her head. Her hair was an ash blond with a liberal sprinkling of gray. She was aclassically beautiful woman with a bone structure most models would kill for. No wrinkles marred her skin. She had either great genes or an excellent plastic surgeon. Other than the gray in her hair, she looked no older than forty.

“My husband is dead,” she said, her voice shaky. She was genuinely distressed or a reasonably good actress. Maybe a bit of both. “His body was found in the desert this afternoon.”

“We’re sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Kit said respectfully.

“No loss,” Rafferty muttered loudly.

Wilhelmina sighed. “Raffie, please.”

Rafferty grunted. “Sorry.”

Kit was pretty sure he wasn’t sorry at all. “If we might ask, who told you of your husband’s death?”

---