She heard Tony’s voice, rough with—not regret, more likely relief—saying, Be careful, Beth. She hadn’t been careful at all. What did she think? He’d always rush to her rescue?
He had said he still cared about her. Beth winced away from the memory. Maybe he did—but not enough.
* * *
THE NEXT FEW days sucked. Tony made no progress on any front. The only word he heard about Beth was from her brother when, on Tuesday, Matt called.
“Tell me you’ve done some actual detecting and are closing in on the scum that tried to kill my sister.”
“I’m investigating.” Tony really hated to admit the rest, but wouldn’t lie. “I don’t have much to work with.”
“You’re an asshole. You know that?”
Dead air. Matt was gone.
Yeah. Tony did know that.
He’d caught another case that he had to work, however frustrated he was not to be able to focus on Beth’s assault a hundred percent. This was a domestic, no mystery, but he still had to be able to lay out for a jury who did what and, so far as he could determine, why. The why would determine what charges the prosecutor’s office brought.
The ex-Mrs. Schuh did return his call at last. She’d moved to San Juan Island, about as far as she could get from her ex while staying in the state, and had opened an art gallery.
“I have plenty of competition,” she told him cheerfully, “but a lot of artists live on the islands, and tourists arrive ready to buy.”
After expressing her shock once she heard about Christine’s body being found in the garage wall, she said. “I could never understand—” She broke off.
“What couldn’t you understand, Ms. Inman?” She’d gone back to her maiden name.
“How she could leave her children. Or maybe I should say, I didn’t believe she would. She cared more about appearances than I ever did—thus my divorce.” The last bit was said drily. “But she loved her children. I’d have sworn she did.”
She listened in silence as Tony explained that they had reason to believe Christine’s killer might have been a man with whom she was having an affair. “I’m sure you’ll understand that we have to look at any men who were friends at the time.”
“You wonder if Alan might have been sleeping with her.”
“He’s only one of many possibilities.”
“I want to tell you he wouldn’t have slept with a married woman—one I considered a friend—but I can’t. Killing a woman, though? No. Killing anyone, really. He’s a doctor who truly does care about his patients, I think. Sleeping with her, that’s different. Pretending to be concerned about my health, he gave me frequent lectures because I’d ‘let myself go.’” The quotation marks could be heard. “I put on weight. I didn’t torture myself at a health club to uphold his standards. I had a wheel and kiln in the garage—and wasn’t that a battle—and was even selling some of my work. I couldn’t have cared less that I was getting a few gray hairs. He did.”
“Did you suspect he might be seeing another woman?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “Eventually—a couple years after Christine’s disappearance—I hired a private investigator. He supplied me with photos that helped me get a generous settlement in the divorce. Enough to allow me to open my gallery.”
How could a man quit loving a woman because she got a little plump, went gray, developed wrinkles on her face? That was life. A betrayal like that was unimaginable to Tony. If Beth—
He gave his head a hard shake.
“Ms. Inman, did you ever have reason to suspect he and Christine might have been involved?”
“No, but, in retrospect, I have to say I wouldn’t be totally surprised.”
“One other question. Did your husband have any artistic ability?”
“Artistic?” She laughed, a rich sound. “Not that I ever saw. He let me choose the art for our home, as long as he deemed it attractive. Nothing experimental. He had to be able to tell what he was looking at. Otherwise, he had zilch interest in gallery showings, art fairs or my pottery.” Sadness infused her voice now. “Not the kind of thing you think will come to matter.”