“This might be good for nothing, but I’ve set up a meeting with Peter Safer’s ex-wife. I thought it couldn’t hurt to talk to her. Maybe she can shed some light on Safer, what kind of person he is, what he told her about Leslie, who he might suspect the killer is.”

  “I think it’s brilliant. When do we see her?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  When the doorbell chimed with the food delivery, both Corgis bounced to their feet and barked. With the dogs rushing ahead, the young women followed them to the front foyer to get the meals and pay the driver.

  When Claire opened the door, the person standing there wasn’t who she and Nicole expected it to be.

  16

  Marty Wyatt stood on the front step, his skin looking pasty and gray. Claire was startled to see he had a cane in his hand and was leaning heavily on it. Marty gave them a smile, but it was weak and strained.

  “Marty.” A hint of surprise sounded in Claire’s voice as she moved to take the man’s arm and help him into the townhouse.

  “I had a late doctor’s appointment.” Marty’s breathing was labored. “I decided to swing by here before going home.”

  Claire helped him to the living room sofa while Nicole hurried to get the man a cup of tea. With worried expressions on their faces, the young women sat across from him without speaking in order to give Marty a chance to catch his breath.

  Wiping a bit of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, Marty leaned against the soft sofa back. “I’ll be okay in a minute. My breathing is shot. Walking is getting tough. Steps? Forget it.”

  “Was the doctor any help?” Claire asked.

  “I’m afraid not.” Marty’s tone was accepting. “There isn’t much they can do for me now except try to make me comfortable.” He lifted his head. “I want to thank you both for doing the interviews for me.” He rubbed his hands over his thin thighs. “My illness is in a rush to claim me and I’m not going to be able to do anything anymore that takes physical strength.”

  Claire had to blink fast to push away several tears that tried to gather. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “I can work at my laptop to do more research online, but that’s about the extent of it.” Marty looked from Claire to Nicole. “If you can carry on, I’d be forever grateful, but if it’s too much, I certainly understand.”

  “It’s not too much,” the women said nearly in unison, their voices sounding thick with emotion over the man’s fate.

  “I’ve had a good life and I’m grateful.” Marty stopped to catch his breath. “My only regret is that I didn’t do enough to find Leslie’s killer.”

  “You did an enormous amount,” Nicole told him. “The police haven’t been able to solve it even with all of their resources. You’re one person, on your own.”

  “The information you’ve gathered is a huge help,” Claire said. “When the crime is solved, your sleuthing will be a big part of that success.”

  Marty rubbed at the side of his face. The brief conversation had tired him and caused his eyelids to droop. “Do you have any suspicions about the people you’ve talked to so far?”

  “We’re suspicious of everyone,” Claire admitted. She told Marty what they’d learned and what their impressions were of the people they’d talked with.

  Marty leaned back against the sofa again and closed his eyes. “I’ve always thought Professor Ambrose was a butt-kisser, excuse my language. I think he’d say anything to get ahead … and anything to stay out of trouble.”

  “Do you think he might be guilty?” Nicole eyed the man.

  “I can’t say that, but I’ve kept my eye on him.”

  “Do you have suspicions about anyone in particular?” Claire watched Marty’s face.

  “I don’t like Peter Safer,” Marty said. “He gives me the idea he’s holding back when I’ve talked to him. I don’t like his attitude either. He really doesn’t like talking about the murder. Wouldn’t you want to do everything you could to find the person who killed your friend?” Marty put his hand on his chest and wheezed for a second.

  “I would,” said Nicole softly.

  “But some people wouldn’t.” Claire watched Marty closely to be sure he wasn’t going into some sort of distress. “People may be afraid of repercussions or reprisals … or maybe they don’t want to stick their noses into it or they can’t deal with death and murder so they keep what they know to themselves.”

  Something about Marty’s visit was picking at Claire and her mind worked to figure out why.

  The doorbell rang again and Nicole hurried to answer it. “It must be the food. Finally.”

  Claire said, “We ordered some takeout. There’s plenty. Stay and eat with us.”

  Marty started to protest, but Claire hushed him. “You don’t want to have to make dinner when you get home. It would be nice if you join us.”

  While Nicole prepared three plates, Claire asked Marty if he’d like to go out to the patio table or stay where he was and she’d bring snack trays in for everyone. The man eyed the patio through the sliding glass doors. “The patio sure would be nice.”

  Taking hold of his arm, Claire managed to get Marty off the couch and when he was steady enough to take some steps, she and Nicole maneuvered him outside and helped him into one of the chairs. Bear and Lady rubbed against the man’s leg once he was safely positioned in his seat.

  Drinks were brought out and they settled down to eat the lasagna, salad, and garlic bread with Nicole and Claire chattering away about working at the chocolate shop so Marty could listen to the conversation without feeling the need to contribute.

  Marty ate slowly taking his time to chew each forkful with care. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It takes me a long time to chew.” He gave the women a weak smile. “I have to alternate between eating and breathing. Another wonderful aspect of this disease.”

  “No rush,” Nicole patted the man’s hand. “Take your time and enjoy it.” She winked. “But save room because I brought the dessert.”

  Marty chuckled and rubbed his tummy. When the three had polished off their meals and coffee and tea were brought out, Nicole carried a platter to the table.

  “What do you have there?” Marty’s eyes went wide as he stretched to see what was on the dessert tray.

  “Nothing elaborate.” Nicole set it on the table. “It’s apple pie to celebrate the fall season. I know it’s not quite fall yet, but the weather is cooler and the apples are in season, so here we are.”

  “There’s whipped cream, too,” Claire alerted Marty.

  Marty grinned and stared at the pie. “Apple pie is my favorite. I haven’t had any in a long, long time. My wife used to make a heck of an apple pie.” A flicker of sadness passed over his face. “I can’t wait to try it.”

  After each one of them had two pieces, Marty rated Nicole’s pie five stars. “I haven’t eaten so well in weeks.” Marty’s cheeks had a little more color in them and his eyes were brighter and he looked less fatigued.

  After some conversation, Claire looked at Marty and said gently, “I’ve been wondering if you have something to say to us. Even though you weren’t feeling well, you made a stop here instead of going right home. Is there something you want to tell us?”

  Marty looked down at his empty dessert plate and passed his hand over his face. “I was feeling pretty down. I was feeling pretty sick. I….”

  Claire waited.

  “I just wanted to thank the two of you for your help and ask if you’d carry on after I’m gone.”

  Little zaps of electricity bit at Claire’s arms. “Was that all?”

  Marty gave a nod, but Claire knew there was more to his visit than that.

  “The meal and the pleasant company have revived me. I’m feeling better, but I should get home before the fatigue knocks me down again.”

  Nicole called a cab for Marty, and while they waited for it to arrive, she and Claire helped the man from the patio into the house and walked with him to the sofa.

  Claire told Marty about the red powder she found spread over her steps a few hours ago.

  Marty’s facial muscles sagged and he stared at Claire with watery eyes. Letting out a curse, he gripped the arm of the couch. “I’m sorry this happened. I never wanted to put either of you in harm’s way.”

  “We agreed to help out of our own free will,” Nicole said from the kitchen. “No one forced us.”

  “She’s right,” Claire said with a smile. “And anyway, we’ve been in worse situations.”

  Marty didn’t smile. His face was pinched with worry.

  Claire asked, “Have you ever received a message like this? Something that warned you to back off?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Marty’s shoulders seemed to give an involuntary shake. “I don’t like it. Someone must feel threatened.”

  “The cab’s here.” Nicole asked the driver to wait while they assisted Marty from the house.

  “I think we should go with you,” Claire said. “Make sure you get home okay.”

  Marty poo-pooed the idea. “I’ll be fine.” He gave the young women hugs and thanked them for their generosity, and then he patted Bear and Lady on their heads.

  Settled in the backseat of the cab, Marty waved goodnight as the vehicle pulled away moving slowly over the narrow, cobblestone road.

  Claire and Nicole watched the taxi disappear down the hill and around the corner.

  “Poor guy.” Nicole wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill. “Such a nice man.”

  Claire let out a sigh. “I got the feeling Marty came here for a reason other than to thank us and to ask us to keep on with the investigation.”

  Nicole turned to her friend. “Do you have an idea what the reason might be?”

  “I don’t, but I think it’s important.”

  “Why wouldn’t he tell us then?” Nicole looked puzzled. “Why would he change his mind?”

  Claire’s shoulders sagged. “Two good questions … and no answers.”

  17

  As Sandra Wallace, the former Mrs. Peter Safer, walked down the hallway, her heels clicked out a rhythm on the marble floor. A tall, slender woman in her early fifties, Sandra had shoulder-length chestnut hair and was wearing a form-fitting, but tasteful, red sleeveless dress. Ms. Wallace was a vice president of the financial firm and looked every bit the intelligent, efficient, and successful business partner. Extending her hand, she introduced herself with a pleasant smile and led Claire and Nicole to her office. The space had a wall of windows overlooking Boston harbor and was decorated in a modern, understated manner in shades of grays and cranberry.

  “I was surprised to get your email,” Sandra sat in a chair next to the sofa grouping of furniture in front of the fireplace. “You understand I, myself, did not know the young woman who was murdered?”

  “We know that,” Claire said with a slight nod. “We’ve been talking with a few people who lived on Leslie Baker’s floor, a few of her friends, and her former boyfriend … your ex-husband, Peter. Sometimes people subconsciously hold back in such interviews and we’ve learned that good information can be gained when we talk to people connected to the interviewees. A little thing that’s recalled from a conversation can help a great deal.”

  “I see. I suppose that makes sense.” Sandra crossed her long, lean legs and lightly placed her arms on the sides of the chair. “I haven’t spoken with Peter in years though.”

  “Can you describe Peter for us?” Nicole asked with a smile.

  “Peter is an intelligent man, very driven to succeed. Financial security is important to him.” Sandra’s lips tightened. “It’s the number one thing in his life.”

  “He left his program before completing his Ph.D.,” Claire noted.

  “He did. I didn’t know him then. I met him about eight years after that. He had his MBA and was working in finance. He didn’t mention his doctoral work until we’d been seeing each other for almost a year.”

  “Did he give a reason why he left academia?” Nicole asked.

  Sandra shifted her gaze to the fireplace for a few moments. “His answer was always very simple. He didn’t think the life of a professor would be financially rewarding enough.”

  “Do you think there were any other reasons for the career change?” Claire questioned.

  “I think the murder affected him terribly. Peter never talked much about it, but I think, deep-down, he associated the murder with his life doing the doctoral work and probably thought he could chase those awful memories away if he changed his life completely. He was haunted by the crime. He had fitful dreams. I suggested he go for therapy, but he dismissed the idea.”

  “So he left school and abandoned his plans to teach and do research,” Nicole commented.

  “I think he loved his field of interest,” Sandra said. “But it was all ruined by the murder and he decided he needed to be as far from higher education as he could be.” The woman gave a shrug. “So Peter picked a financially lucrative career that was very different from being an academic.”

  “Was he happy with his choice?” Nicole asked.

  Sandra gave an almost imperceptible sigh. “Peter is never happy. He suffers bouts of depression. He has devoted his life to the accumulation of assets. He has a hole inside of him that he thinks money can fill. It hasn’t and it never will.”

  “Do you think his mood and behavior are a result of Leslie’s murder?” Claire asked.

  “Most definitely.”

  “It tainted your marriage?” Nicole asked gently.

  “It sure did. I wanted to share my life and good fortune with a partner. Peter was blindly running towards gain, accumulating assets, building his portfolio. No matter how much he amassed, it was never enough. Our relationship didn’t make him happy, didn’t provide him with contentment.” Sandra clasped her hands together and rested them in her lap. “Please know that I loved him … but I couldn’t save him from the damage done to him by that murder.”

  Claire gave a nod and asked, “Did he ever talk about Leslie?”

  “Peter told me they dated, that it was always on-again, off-again. He spoke highly of her,” Sandra said. “He described finding her dead body in the apartment. It was heart-breaking and horrible. I know he was never the same person after that. I don’t think he ever fully recovered from the trauma.”

  Remembering that Nicole suggested she sit quietly during the interview in order to better focus on her “sensations” about the person, Claire sat back and listened.

  “You never had children?” Nicole questioned.

  “Not with Peter. I remarried.” Sandra’s face lit up. “We have a son and a daughter.”

  Nicole gave the woman a bright smile and asked several questions about Sandra’s family until she moved the questioning back to the ex-husband. “Did Peter mention anyone he suspected of the murder?”

  Sandra shook her head. “Peter said the killing was random, that some nut broke in and murdered Leslie. He told me the police will never solve the crime.”

  “You mentioned you haven’t seen Peter in a long time,” Nicole said. “Your split wasn’t amicable?”

  “Peter thought I was betraying him when I asked for a divorce. Honestly, I pity him and I tried to get him help, but he always refused,” Sandra said. “I couldn’t live with him anymore. I wanted someone who cared for me and showed me affection. I wanted a family.” A look of sadness pulled at Sandra’s face. “Peter wouldn’t speak to me after I approached him about divorce. He didn’t challenge or oppose it. It was over quickly.”

  “Did Peter keep in touch with anyone from his university days?” Nicole asked.

  Sandra’s eyes went wide. “No, he didn’t. He never communicated with any of his friends from the program or with the people he knew socially. He made a clean break. He left that life far behind.”

  “Did Peter mention anyone he was close to during his studies? A good friend?”

  “He was friendly with two people in his department. A young woman, her name was Lucy Flynn, I don’t know what year she was, and a man who was a year behind Peter, Scott Rivers. He spoke of them on occasion. I’m not sure what became of them or if they’re still in the Boston area.”

  “Maybe we’ll look them up.” Nicole made a note of the names on her phone. “Did they know Leslie?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sandra said.

  “Did Peter ever talk about the night of the murder? What he and Leslie did that night? What time he left her apartment?”

  “Peter told me they went out for pizza and then had a drink at a pub. He walked Leslie home. He didn’t want to stay long because she had an exam the next morning.”

  “Did he go inside the building? Did he stay for a little while?”

  “He said he helped Leslie with her stove … there was something about it malfunctioning.”

  “Did he go home after that?”

  “He told me he left her place and went home,” Sandra said.

  “Did he make any stops on his way home?”

  Sandra blinked, thinking about the question. “I don’t recall.”

  Nicole asked, “Did he mention returning to Leslie’s apartment to study with her that night?”

  Sandra’s forehead creased in thought. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask that?”

  “We’re only trying to establish a timeline of where and when everyone was that night.” Nicole smiled sweetly. “That’s all.”

  A knock sounded on the door and Sandra’s assistant poked her head in. “The Collins meeting is about to start.” The young woman ducked away as quickly as she’d come.

  “I apologize, but I have a meeting.” Sandra stood and shook hands with Claire and Nicole. “If there’s anything more I can help with, don’t hesitate to get in touch.” She walked the two visitors to the elevator and said goodbye.

  On the way down to the ground floor, Nicole eyed Claire. “What did you think?”

  “I think Sandra was sincere and forthcoming. I didn’t sense she was hiding anything.” Claire watched the floor numbers light up and dim on the indicator panel over the door. “I didn’t realize Peter Safer had been so damaged by Leslie’s murder. I feel less inclined to be hard on him.”

 

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