Dearly Departed by David Housewright Page A

expecting to learn that I was invited to the grand opening of a car wash or some damn thing. Instead, the note, written in black marker, read: STAY AWAY FROM THE EMERTON CASE IF YOU KNOW WHAT ’ S GOOD FOR YOU!
    “Annie!” I yelled.
    Fortunately her car window was rolled down to hear me, and she stopped just as she was about to exit the parking lot. “What?” she called. “Are Raymond and Irene still in custody?”
    “Yes.”
    “Damn,” I muttered, reading the note a third time. I really hadn’t caught anybody.
    T ruman listened patiently as I told him of my discovery of the note.
    “What does it mean?” he wanted to know.
    “Just what it says. Someone wants me off the case, and it’s not Raymond or Irene.”
    “Who?”
    “Obviously someone who knows I was working the case. Stephen Emerton. The employees at Kennel-Up. I’m betting on Stephen Emerton, though.”
    “Why?”
    “Yesterday he admitted to me that he believed Alison was having an affair with Raymond because he believed Alison had had an affair with an unidentified employee, possibly a doctor, while she was employed by the health-care organization. That makes him a stronger suspect, and it could be he’s afraid I’ll pass it on to the cops or his insurance company.”
    “That’s bullshit,” Truman insisted. At first I thought he was defending Emerton. A moment later I knew better. “That’s absolute bullshit. There’s no fucking way Alison would do that. He’s lying.”
    “He has no reason to lie,” I reminded Truman. “It hurts him more than it helps him.”
    “That’s real bullshit.”
    “Maybe it’s bullshit that Alison was having an affair”—I thought of the photograph, the black and white number that made her look like a cat on the prowl and the word caught in my throat—“but if Emerton believes it’s true …”
    “Yeah?”
    “That’s motive,” I concluded. “He didn’t admit it to the cops but he did to me, and now I’m thinking that last night he lost a lot of sleep over it.”
    “And put the note on your windshield?”
    “It could have been someone else,” I admitted. “But he’s my only suspect right now.” My inner voice was speaking to me again. It whispered, Alison couldn’t possibly have done it if she’s in Bermuda .
    “You think we should look into it,” Truman told me.
    “Yes. But it’s your nickel.”
    Truman made clicking sounds with his tongue; over the phone it sounded like the ticking of a clock.
    “I don’t know,” he finally said. “If Irene or Raymond or both of them really did kill Alison, digging up another suspect could only help them at trial, am I right?”
    “Possibly,” I agreed.
    “But you think we should look into it, anyway?”
    “Yes.” Although a small part of me wanted Truman to say no.
    “Why?”
    “Because someone doesn’t want us to.”
    “T here’s a New York actress named Holland Taylor; pretty good one, too,” Marie Audette reminded me when I met her in the lobby of a downtown Minneapolis recording studio.
    “So I’ve been told,” I said.
    “Any relation?”
    “No,” I answered, without adding that I’ve always wanted to meet the woman.
    After speaking with Hunter Truman, I located the names of Alison’s two best friends in my notes. The first was Marie Audette. Her agent told me she was recording a voice-over for a TV spot, and I arranged to meet her before the session began.
    “I heard on the radio coming over here that a woman was arrested for killing Alison. Do you know anything about that?” she asked.
    I told her that I did, told her I was partly responsible for apprehending the woman. If Cynthia had been there, she would have accused me of grandstanding. I assure you, my motives were pure. I wanted Marie’s gratitude, yes, but only because I figured it would make her more receptive to my questions. The lovely, affectionate smile she bestowed on me was merely a bonus.
    “Alison and I were very close while we were at the