“I’m not really just visiting,” he admitted. “I’m here on business.”

He pulled out his ID and held it up for her to see. She peered at it, her face frozen carefully blank.

“I’m with the FBI,” he said. “I’m here helping out with the investigation.”

“What could you possibly want with me?” she asked, crossing her arms tightly against herself.

“We just have a few questions,” he assured her.

“About what?”

“Is your husband home, ma’am?” Mendez asked.

“Not at the moment. Why?”

“Do you know where he is by any chance? We have a couple of questions for him as well.”

“He’s playing cards. Friday is his night to play cards.”

Lie, Vince decided from her body language and the way she repeated the statement as if to confirm that it sounded good.

“Who does he play cards with?” Mendez asked, pen poised over his notebook.

“Friends. Men he plays golf with. I don’t know them.”

Vince arched a brow. “You don’t know your husband’s friends?”

“Not all of them,” she said defensively. “I don’t play cards, and I certainly don’t have the time to play golf. Those are Peter’s hobbies and Peter’s friends.”

“You must have met them, at least,” he said. “Don’t they ever come here to play cards? You don’t stick around to serve them snacks?”

She was getting her back up now. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I’m not a barmaid or a waitress. I make a point of not being here when Peter entertains his male friends.”

Mendez bobbed his eyebrows and hummed a little while he made notes.

“So you must have hobbies of your own,” Vince said. “That’s very healthy, I think. Couples don’t have to do everything together.”

“I serve on a number of committees and boards here in town,” she said. “I don’t have time for hobbies.”

Vince frowned. “All work and no play—”

“I don’t understand why you’re asking me these questions,” she said abruptly. Her tone of voice was changing, the cadence of her speech becoming more clipped, curt. “I heard you have a suspect in custody.”

“We’re really not at liberty to discuss the case, Mrs. Crane,” Vince said.

“I don’t see how I can help you.”

“Where was your husband on the night of Thursday, the third of October?” he asked.

“He was here. He and our son like to watch a television program together Thursday nights.”

“Yes, Cosby. We know,” Vince said. “Your son mentioned that to his teacher, Miss Navarre.”

“She had no business asking Tommy those questions,” she said, her temper rising another notch. “He’s terribly upset.”