“Terrible,” I said. That out of the way, I went on. “His wife asked me to go through his business files for tax purposes and I came across his report. I wonder if you could answer some questions.”

He shook his head. “I can’t help. I don’t have anything to say.”

“But you were a client of his.”

“Um, no. Not really. I mean, I knew him and we talked a couple of times, but that was it. More like friends.”

Baffling, wasn’t it? I looked down at the paper on my clipboard and allowed that little crease to form between my eyes. “According to his records, he collected approximately . . . I can’t read his writing here. It looks like two thousand dollars, which you paid him to follow your wife . . .”

He glanced over his shoulder and then eased out the door.

I leaned sideways and peered over his shoulder. “Oh, wow. Is she home?”

“No, she’s out. I don’t want to talk about this. My wife doesn’t know anything and I’d just as soon she not find out.”

“Is she at work?”

“She quit her job, if it’s any business of yours. She’s off at the supermarket. Look, I’ll tell you what I can, but you have to be gone by the time she gets back.”

“Then we better be quick about it. In Reno, she met twice with a man named Owen Pensky. I gather he’s an old high school friend. Do you have any idea what they talked about?”

Lines appeared on Willard’s forehead, and his upper lip lifted toward one side of his nose. “You said this was for tax purposes. I don’t understand the relevance.”

“Don’t ask me. I can’t begin to guess why the IRS is looking into it.”

“The IRS?”

“This Pensky fellow might be the focus of their investigation. I really have no idea. Pete was obviously concerned enough to make a note of it.”

“Well, yes. That was partly my doing. When she got back from Reno, she started shutting herself in the bedroom, making long-distance calls. When I told him about it, he thought there might be a problem.”

“Good guess on his part,” I remarked. I looked at him without comment, creating a small stretch of silence.

Willard shifted his weight. “So what happened was, he overheard a phone conversation between Mary Lee and Owen Pensky . . .”

“How’d he manage that?”

“What?”

“How could Pete overhear a phone conversation? I’m not following.”

He adjusted his crutches and stepped back. “I don’t think I should say anything more. Maybe someone else can help.”

“Wait,” I said. “Hold on. I’m probably out of line here, Mr. Bryce, but in my past association with Pete, there were occasions when he employed a phone bug. Any chance of that here? Because if you gave your consent, you may be facing a serious legal issue.”