Jane Barr had made beef barley soup in case the lawyers stayed for lunch, but they were gone by quarter of twelve. She was glad that she’d had a reason to cook—she needed something to distract her. Gary had been asked to stop at the prosecutor’s office, and he was there now. Why did they want to talk to him? she worried. After all these years, they’re not questioning him about Susan Althorp, are they?
Please, don’t let it be that, she prayed.
Kay Carrington had a cup of soup before she went to visit Peter at the jail. It’s funny about her, Jane thought. She didn’t come from money, but she has an air about her, not haughty, but knowing. She’s perfect for Peter. And I think she’s pregnant. She hasn’t said so, but I bet she is.
Where was Gary? she wondered, checking the time. What kind of questions were they asking him? How much was he telling?
After lunch, Jane normally went home to the gatehouse for a good part of the afternoon, then would return to the mansion to turn on lights, draw curtains, and prepare dinner. Today when she arrived home, she found Gary there eating a sandwich and having a beer.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were home?” she demanded. “I’ve been a wreck waiting to hear what they wanted.”
“They dug up some stuff about me from the time I was a kid,” Gary snapped. “I told you about it. I was in a little trouble when I was a teenager, but the records were supposed to be sealed. There was some stuff in the newspapers at the time, though, and I guess they found out about it that way.”
Jane collapsed into a chair. “That was so long ago. They’re not holding what happened back then against you, are they? Or are they reading more into it now?”
Gary Barr looked at his wife, something approaching contempt in his eyes. “What do you think?” he asked.
Jane had not yet started to unbutton her winter jacket. Now she reached for the top button and slipped it through the buttonhole. Her shoulders sagged. “I’ve lived in this town all my life,” she said. “I never wanted to be anyplace else. We’ve worked for nice people. Now all that is in jeopardy. What you did was so awful. Did they ask you about it? Do they know about it? Do they?”
“No,” Gary replied angrily. “They haven’t figured out anything, so stop worrying. The statute of limitations means I’m clear now. They can’t file charges because too many years have passed. And even if they try to pin something else on me, I’ve got an offer for them they can’t refuse.”
“What are you talking about?” Jane asked, her dismay apparent. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder!”
Gary Barr sprang up from his chair and threw the sandwich he was eating at his wife. “Don’t ever use that word again!” he shouted.
“I’m sorry, Gary. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” Tears starting to well in her eyes, Jane looked at the smear of mustard on her coat, the broken pieces of rye bread, the slices of ham and tomato on the floor in front of her.
Clenching and unclenching his hands, Barr made a visible effort to control himself. “Okay. All right. Just remember. It was one thing to be there; another thing to kill her. All right. I’ll clean up the mess. Anyhow, that sandwich was lousy. Any of that soup left that you were making this morning?”
“Yes. Plenty of it.”
“Do me a favor and get me some, will you? I’ve had a tough day. And I’m sorry I lost my temper. You don’t deserve that, Jane. You’re a good woman.”