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datatime: 2022-12-05 19:24:11 Author:xzfbmZdF

Pregnant? asked Agnes."

I tried my answering machine again, and there were two new calls. The first was Max, who said, "John, this is Chief Maxwell. Maybe I didn't make myself clear about your status. You're no longer working for the township. Okay? I got a call from Fredric Tobin's attorneys, and they're not happy people. Understand? I don't know exactly what you and Mr. Tobin discussed, but I think that's the last official conversation you should have with him. Call me."

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

Pregnant? asked Agnes."

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

The next call was from my ex, whose name is Robin Paine, which fits her, and who also happens to be an attorney. She said, "Hello, John, this is Robin. I want to remind you that our one-year separation ends on October first, at which time we are legally divorced. You'll get a copy of the decree in the mail. There's nothing for you to sign or do. It's automatic." She put a light tone in her voice and said, "Well, you can't commit adultery after October first unless you remarry. But don't get married before you get your decree or it's bigamy. Saw you on the news. Sounds like a fascinating case. Be well."

She said, "I reached Emma at her florist shop, and she's on her way to the Peconic Historical Society house."

Maybe I should find out why Mr. Tobin lied.

The house, as I said, was large, circa about 1850s, typical of the home of a rich merchant or sea captain. The foyer was big, and to the left was a large sitting room, to the right was the dining room. The place was all antiques, of course, mostly junk if you want my opinion, but probably worth a bunch of buckos. I didn't see or hear anyone in the house, so I wandered about from room to room. It wasn't actually a museum in the sense of exhibits; it was just a decorated period house. I couldn't see anything sinister about the place, no paintings of burning churches on the walls, no black candles, no needlepoint pentagrams or black cats, and the kitchen had no bubbling witch's cauldron.

You know how these young girls are. I shook my head sadly then said, "Okay, thanks again." I exited quickly, got back into my Jeep, and drove off.

Thank you. I think she hung up before I did.

I tried my answering machine again, and there were two new calls. The first was Max, who said, "John, this is Chief Maxwell. Maybe I didn't make myself clear about your status. You're no longer working for the township. Okay? I got a call from Fredric Tobin's attorneys, and they're not happy people. Understand? I don't know exactly what you and Mr. Tobin discussed, but I think that's the last official conversation you should have with him. Call me."

The next call was from my ex, whose name is Robin Paine, which fits her, and who also happens to be an attorney. She said, "Hello, John, this is Robin. I want to remind you that our one-year separation ends on October first, at which time we are legally divorced. You'll get a copy of the decree in the mail. There's nothing for you to sign or do. It's automatic." She put a light tone in her voice and said, "Well, you can't commit adultery after October first unless you remarry. But don't get married before you get your decree or it's bigamy. Saw you on the news. Sounds like a fascinating case. Be well."

About a month, I replied. "Okay-"

Remember, don't talk to anyone except Chief Maxwell, me, and Detective Penrose.

About a month, I replied. "Okay-"

About a month, I replied. "Okay-"

Apparently Mr. Fredric Tobin had been at the Gordons' on at least one occasion. Yet, he didn't seem to recall his June visit. But maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was another brown-bearded man in a white Porsche.

I tried my answering machine again, and there were two new calls. The first was Max, who said, "John, this is Chief Maxwell. Maybe I didn't make myself clear about your status. You're no longer working for the township. Okay? I got a call from Fredric Tobin's attorneys, and they're not happy people. Understand? I don't know exactly what you and Mr. Tobin discussed, but I think that's the last official conversation you should have with him. Call me."

You know how these young girls are. I shook my head sadly then said, "Okay, thanks again." I exited quickly, got back into my Jeep, and drove off.

Presently, I found the gift shop-Gift Shoppe-which had once been a summer kitchen, I think, and I went in. The lights were off, but sunlight came in through the windows.

Over the causeway and onto Main Road, heading back toward the hamlet of Cutchogue. I called Margaret Wiley.

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

Thank you. I think she hung up before I did.

That's very nice of her to give up her time.

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