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“Were things always so volatile between you?” asked Jessica.
“Yeah, honey, that’s how it is with most people. You may have lovers who politely ask you to take their member into your mouth, but most of us just have a dick shoved in between our lips and then get a mouthful of their nasty-tasting spunk.”
Trying to get the interview back on track and as short as possible, Thorn asked, “Can you tell me where you were at the time of the murder?”
“I don’t know when that was, but Gregory liked me to stay up here so that’s where I was.”
Thorn nodded. He would call the tech guys in Augusta and have them do a full rundown on Delilah Williams.
“Do you know any reason Mr. Thompson would have been in Ms. Murdoch’s room?”
“None that I can think of. No offense, Jessica, but neither of us are fans of your books. Gregory liked all that Fifty Shades shit, but that’s where I drew a line. Me? Give me a bloody serial killer—the gorier the better. So, I can’t imagine why he’d go up there.” She paused as if thinking about something.
“You look like you thought of something,” prodded Thorn gently.
Delilah nodded slowly. “Yeah. I did. He was here the night before it happened. He got a phone call and then left early in the morning. I asked about the call because he seemed upset, but he just told me to mind my own business.”
“Is there any chance he left the phone here? It seems to have gone missing.”
“That’s weird. Gregory never let that thing out of his sight. I picked it up once to move it—not like I was going to go through it or anything—and he had a hissy fit.”
Thorn stood and Jessica followed suit. “Thank you, Ms. Williams. You’ve been very helpful.” He handed her a card. “If you can think of anything else, please let me know. And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah,” she said, seeming to soften a bit. “I guess it is a loss. He might not have been the best man, and god knows he was a lousy husband, but he treated me better than anybody else ever did. Can you lock the door on the way out? I don’t want to have to do the stairs again this morning if I can avoid it.”
“Sure thing.”
They made their way down the stairs and back to the Range Rover. When he was in the passenger seat and buckling up, Jessica said, “And if he was the guy who treated her best, that’s so sad.”
Thorn nodded. “It is. What did you think of her? She wasn’t what I expected.”
“Me, either. I’m trying to think if I ever actually saw her in Badger’s Drift, and I don’t think I did. I don’t think she did it. She may not have liked him, but she likes the life he offered her, at least in terms of material things. I think she’s smart enough not to kill the goose who laid the golden egg.”
“Those were my thoughts, as well. Want to grab some lunch?”
“Sure. Let’s go to the Gates’ Bistro. We can kill two birds with one stone. The food is good and Sophie Gates’s family owns and runs it. We can eat and talk to Sophie. Miriam runs the front of the house, and Rick is the chef. He used to be a merchant marine until he married Miriam and settled down. The last I heard, Sophie worked there.”
“I thought she worked for Thompson.”
“She did, but she quit last month.”
Thorn nodded as he texted the background investigation unit in Augusta asking for a full work-up on Delilah Williams and Sophie Gates. They pulled into the parking lot of the small bistro. It was, at least from the outside, charming. Once inside, his nostrils were assailed with the most delicious aromas.
“It’s almost like walking into your house,” he said, leaning in close to her.
“I know. Miriam Gates is Sophie’s mom and a friend of Sudie’s. There’s a place in Portland that every so often offers a weekend, immersive cooking class. Sudie and Miriam usually go together.”
“I thought Rick was the chef,” said Thorn, confused.
“He is, but Miriam likes to cook and does a lot of it at home. Besides, I think it’s just a really convenient excuse for a ‘girls’ weekend away.”
“Jessica! Detective Wilder,” called an attractive woman with short, salt and pepper hair, dressed in a casual but stylish black wool-crepe dress. She crossed the restaurant to them, waving off the hostess with a flourish of her black cane with the ornate silver knob. She leaned on it heavily as she walked and had a decided limp. He must have looked surprised at being addressed by name. When she got closer, she shook his hand and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Small town, and Sudie is a good friend.”
He laughed. “I’m beginning to see how that works.” He’d had to negotiate his share of small-town politics, but this was the first time it had ever worked in his favor.
“Let me get you a table over by the window in the back. Sophie is working, but I’m sure you want to talk to her. For the record, I’m glad Gregory Thompson is dead. I hope whoever did it made it painful and gets away with it.”
Miriam led them to a small table that afforded them a little privacy, handing them menus and signaling to someone on the wait staff to get them water.
