as I toweled off, and I padded out to answer it. Surprisingly, William Marrano’s name popped up on my digital readout along with a St. Augustine number. “Hello, Quint Mitchell here,” I said in my best business voice.
“Mr. Mitchell, this is Erin Marrano.” She paused, but before I could respond she said, “William Marrano was my husband.”
The statement resonated with a sense of sorrow, but her voice had a soft, hopeful note and an underlying strength. “Yes, Mrs. Marrano, I’m very sorry for your loss. How can I help you?”
“I understand you found his body.”
“That’s right. I’ve been working with Dr. Poe as a volunteer on the Trinity Church survey.” I prepared myself for another Buck Marrano-style blast against Poe.
“Dr. Poe didn’t do this terrible thing.” I caught a slight tremor in her voice.
“I’m on your side there, Mrs. Marrano. Jeffrey and I are close friends, and I know he could never murder anyone. But the police seem to have the investigation under control. I’m sure they’ll sort it out.”
“The police questioned me yesterday, and I had the feeling they’ve already sorted it out. They’re building a case against Dr. Poe.”
“It’s only natural they start with him because of his differences with your husband. They’ll expand the investigation when they realize there’s no evidence connecting Jeffrey to your husband’s murder.” A picture of the Spanish bayonet sticking out of Marrano’s chest burst into my head.
“Mr. Mitchell, I’ve only lived in St. Augustine for seven-and-a-half years, but I’ve learned there are several versions of justice in this city.”
“It’s a small town.”
“Yes, and your friend needs an advocate. I’d like to hire you to prove his innocence and find the real murderer before they send the wrong man to prison.”
The lady knew which buttons to push. “I am his friend, but the police have the equipment and experience to—”
“You are a private investigator?”
“Yes, but murder is more than a few compass points off my usual investigations. I specialize in tracking down people who are lost for one—”
She interrupted me again. “Someone butchered my husband, Mr. Mitchell. Jeffrey Poe is under suspicion only because he stood up for his principles. I want you to find the animal that did this and make sure he’s brought to justice.”
Her breath seemed to push itself through the phone and my ear tingled with the phantom sensation. “Please, Mr. Mitchell, you have to help me and help your friend.”
I tried to put a face to the angry widow who I assumed was in her fifties since William Marrano had been fifty-six when he died. “I’ll do what I can,” I finally said.
“Good. How soon can you meet with me?”
“My morning is pretty well tied up. How about after lunch? Say, two?”
She gave me her address. I told her I looked forward to meeting her, and I meant it. Her voice had been hypnotic in its intensity. I wanted to see the woman who owned it.
***
Charla Huggins was already at work when I entered the office. Young and well-organized, Charla ably filled the role of office manager and part-time associate. This morning, though, I hoped to tap into her knowledge of the old city.
Charla’s family had lived in St. Augustine for generations, and she seemed to know everyone who was anybody. She greeted me with a broad smile displaying both uppers and lowers. She reminded me a little of Kyra Phillips, the news anchor on CNN.
I told her about my conversation with Erin Marrano.
“I’ve never met Mrs. Marrano,” Charla replied, “but I remember seeing her picture in the paper after they were married. She’s a lot younger than he was, maybe twenty years younger.”
“What’s she look like?”
Charla arched an eyebrow. “You want to know if she’s a hottie, don’t you?”
“Of course not. I was only wondering what kind of woman marries a man who will be trading his Jockey shorts for Depends before
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley