Page 87 of Dead Man's List

Kit sighed. “Sorry, Sam. Both Veronica Fitzgerald and Steven Neal, the pilot, have obtained legal counsel. Laura Letterman.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose once again. “I bet Joel is having a fun time.”

“Not so much. He hates her a lot more than you do.”

Which was odd, really. Sam should hate Laura Letterman more than he did. She had cheated on him, after all—with Joel, a stranger at the time who hadn’t known Laura had a fiancé. Not until Sam had walked in on the two of them in bed.

He grimaced, the mental picture still crisp.

But it had led to Joel and Sam becoming best friends, so there was that.

“I don’t have to see her, do I?”

“Nope. Hopefully the pilot will give us the name of Munro’s PI.”

“You got a lead on the PI? Good job, Kit.”

“Thank you,” she said, which was a cause for celebration right there. Kit never simply said thank you without diminishing her own achievements. “We found a few of Munro’s buddies from prison. The pilot recognized one of them, but Laura wouldn’t let him give us the name the guy’s currently using until Joel put hisplea offer in writing. He was in court today, so he’s just getting started on the plea deal. We’re headed to see Wilhelmina Munro while we’re waiting. We have news for her.”

“What kind of news?”

“Munro and Fitzgerald were married thirty-three years ago. Wilhelmina’s not Munro’s legal wife.”

“Oof. That’s not going to be a fun conversation.”

“No, I don’t think it will be.”

“Could they have gotten divorced before Munro married Wilhelmina?” Sam asked.

“There’s no record of a divorce—and we’ve been searching. Anyway, thanks for the heads-up. See you later.”

This time when the call ended, Sam put his phone away, grabbed the cooling coffee Sheila had brought him, and went to the kitchen to help with dinner. And if he happened to see what Harlan was carving, he wouldn’t let on that he knew it was for him.

The state’s new rules could wait another day.

San Diego, California

Tuesday, January 10, 4:15 p.m.

“I’d almost prefer a death notification,” Connor muttered as he knocked on the front door of Wilhelmina Munro’s rented condo.

“I don’t imagine she’s going to take the news well,” Kit said.

They’d come to tell Wilhelmina Munro that she wasn’t legally married since he’d already been married to Veronica Fitzgerald. This was not going to be fun.

At the same time, if Wilhelmina had had any part in Munro’s murder, hopefully discovering that she wasn’t legally bound to the man—and had never been—might make her upset enoughto let something slip. Murder might have been cheaper than a divorce, but she was about to learn she hadn’t needed to do either of those.

Connor was frowning at the door that no one was opening. “I can hear movement in there, so someone’s home. Mrs.Munro?” he called, knocking again. “It’s San Diego PD. We need to talk with you.”

“Just a minute!” a voice called back from inside.

It was at least a minute. More like two minutes before the door opened, revealing a slightly sweaty and disheveled Wilhelmina Munro. “Can I help you?” she asked, dabbing at her brow with a tissue. “I was just working out.”

“We need to talk to you, ma’am,” Kit said. “May we come in?”

Wilhelmina sighed. “I guess so.” She opened the door wider and Connor and Kit filed in. “Would you like to sit down?”

Kit sidestepped the yoga mat on the living-room floor. “Thank you. Where is Mr.Rafferty?”

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