Page 35 of Not a Word

Back in her car, McCabe tried Catherine Chartwell again. This time she reached her, but the woman hung up before she could get her location, and McCabe could only hope she would find her at the house by the time she got back there.

She found her in the backyard, with her son. Dismissed him politely, because she wanted to question Catherine alone. They each took a seat on the back deck.

“You were at a luncheon?”

“Yes. The arts council. I’m a member.”

“What time did lunch begin?” the detective asked.

“Half past eleven. I can give you the names of the other women who were there. They’ll confirm I was with them the whole time.”

McCabe blinked. “Thank you. I might get back to you on that.”

“I just thought . . . when things like this happen, you want to know where everyone was.”

“Of course. Can you tell me, when did you leave the house?”

“Around ten.”

“Isn’t that kind of early? How long would it take to get to Benjamin’s? Ten minutes tops?”

“I wanted to wander around the downtown first. I thought I’d pop into Angela’s.”

McCabe knew it. High-end ladies fashion store. Not that she ever shopped there on her salary.

“Did you speak to your husband before you left?”

Catherine nodded.

“I told him I’d be back midafternoon.”

“And Ms. Kennard had not arrived before you left?”

Catherine gave the detective a sharp look. “You must be joking.”

McCabe smiled apologetically. “I always ask what might seem like stupid questions. Sometimes I hear something I’m not expecting. So she arrived after you had left.”

“Clearly.”

“Did you know Leah Kennard?”

“I didn’t . . . know her. It’s possible we might have met at some point. But it’s not an encounter I remember clearly.” She bit her lip, as though that would help her recall.

“She’s not someone your husband worked with?”

“No,” Catherine said quickly.

“Was your husband retired?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“He had his own consulting firm that he wound down in recent years but he still did the occasional assignment if someone begged him hard enough and was offering enough money.”

“He’d always worked in this field?” McCabe asked.

Catherine hesitated before answering. “Years ago, he worked for Wiffel-Smith.”