“Where were you this morning between three and four?” The way Sheriff Bascom’s questions jumped from topic to topic seemed designed to confuse.

Sumner frowned as if he’d succeeded in befuddling her. “Asleep.”

“In your cabin?”

“No. Here in the clubhouse. Our cabin...I couldn’t.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Not when Graham died there.” She lifted her chin. “Not when it’s a crime scene.”

“Mrs. Geller worked as a nurse before she married?”

“Yes.”

“She took care of you yesterday. Did she say anything that might indicate why someone would want her dead?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

Sumner gave a tiny shrug. “She and Bill were having problems.” She glanced at me as if she expected me to back her story. “Bill cheated. Often. She was thinking about divorce.”

“I see. Did you hear anything untoward last night?”

“Untoward?”

“Someone trying to get into the clubhouse?”

“No. Buffy gave me some pills. I slept like the dead.” She winced. “I mean, I didn’t hear a sound.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Landingham. You’ve been very helpful.”

“That’s all?”

“For now.”

Sumner left us.

“Is it true?” asked Sheriff Bascom.

“Which part?”

“Graham’s estate.”

“I can’t speak to the insurance, but she’s right about the rest. Graham’s children with his first wife get half of everything. Roux’s divorce settlement may well be the only time Graham lost in court.”

“And the Gellers? Was Mrs. Geller considering a divorce?”

“She didn’t confide in me, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“What reason did Bill Geller have to want Graham dead?”

“Graham was doing due diligence for a deal—I’m not clear on the details—and discovered accounting irregularities. I think the deal is still moving forward, but the questions raised were awkward.”

“How awkward?”

“Mistress on the Country Club Plaza awkward.”

“I see. So Mr. Geller appears to have motives for two murders.” He stared at the calendar featuring the German shorthair. “I wonder, will anyone else?”

Chapter Fourteen

Thatch leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. His gaze traveled Randy’s office, and he smirked, as if he found his surroundings and the country sheriff, who dared ask questions, amusing.

Sheriff Bascom mirrored Thatch’s movement. He leaned back in Randy’s desk chair and steepled his fingers. Unlike Thatch, he didn’t smirk. “I understand you’re an attorney, Mr. Cooke.”

“Yes.” Thatch stretched out his legs, and his smirk deepened. Being polite, being helpful, being concerned—all options. Instead, Thatch was behaving like an arrogant ass. He was an arrogant ass, but usually he was smart enough to hide it. Why not make the effort with the sheriff?

“You were partners with the deceased, Mr. Landingham?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Buffy Geller?”

“She and my wife are—were—friends.”