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datatime: 2022-12-08 13:26:51 Author:JcxnpcDX

Over the causeway and onto Main Road, heading back toward the hamlet of Cutchogue. I called Margaret Wiley.

The next call was from my ex, whose name is Robin Paine, which fits her, and who also happens to be an attorney. She said, "Hello, John, this is Robin. I want to remind you that our one-year separation ends on October first, at which time we are legally divorced. You'll get a copy of the decree in the mail. There's nothing for you to sign or do. It's automatic." She put a light tone in her voice and said, "Well, you can't commit adultery after October first unless you remarry. But don't get married before you get your decree or it's bigamy. Saw you on the news. Sounds like a fascinating case. Be well."

Aside from these little career conflicts, we were actually in love once. Anyway, October first. Then she is officially ex, and I lose the opportunity to be an adulterer or a bigamist. Life just isn't fair sometimes.

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

The house, as I said, was large, circa about 1850s, typical of the home of a rich merchant or sea captain. The foyer was big, and to the left was a large sitting room, to the right was the dining room. The place was all antiques, of course, mostly junk if you want my opinion, but probably worth a bunch of buckos. I didn't see or hear anyone in the house, so I wandered about from room to room. It wasn't actually a museum in the sense of exhibits; it was just a decorated period house. I couldn't see anything sinister about the place, no paintings of burning churches on the walls, no black candles, no needlepoint pentagrams or black cats, and the kitchen had no bubbling witch's cauldron.

You can discuss that with her. She's waiting for you.

I told her it concerned the Gordon murders.

I tried my answering machine again, and there were two new calls. The first was Max, who said, "John, this is Chief Maxwell. Maybe I didn't make myself clear about your status. You're no longer working for the township. Okay? I got a call from Fredric Tobin's attorneys, and they're not happy people. Understand? I don't know exactly what you and Mr. Tobin discussed, but I think that's the last official conversation you should have with him. Call me."

I wasn't sure why I was here, but something had drawn me here. On the other hand, I think I had geriatric overload, and the thought of talking to one more septuagenarian was more than I could handle. I should have opened the bottle of Tobin wine and chugged it before meeting Mrs. Whitestone.

Interesting. All I'm trying to do is help, and I'm getting home-towned by the local old boys.

Maybe I should find out why Mr. Tobin lied.

That's very nice of her to give up her time.

Pregnant? asked Agnes."

Thank you. I think she hung up before I did.

Over the causeway and onto Main Road, heading back toward the hamlet of Cutchogue. I called Margaret Wiley.

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

I didn't see a wedding ring, observed Agnes.

Interesting. All I'm trying to do is help, and I'm getting home-towned by the local old boys.

Remember, don't talk to anyone except Chief Maxwell, me, and Detective Penrose.

Well, I'm not sure it does, Mrs. Wiley. I was just curious about-

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

Pregnant? asked Agnes."

I didn't see a wedding ring, observed Agnes.

That's very nice of her to give up her time.

Apparently Mr. Fredric Tobin had been at the Gordons' on at least one occasion. Yet, he didn't seem to recall his June visit. But maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was another brown-bearded man in a white Porsche.

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