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He set his cup down on the side of a fairly messy desk and gestured toward the pair of comfortable seats facing him. “I’ve been following the case on TV and in the papers, but obviously I didn’t get all the information.”

“I still can’t believe it!” Jane said. “I haven’t seen you—since when? Middle school?”

Tobe nodded. “My dad got a job on this side of the river when I was a freshman. I wound up in a new school, made new friends, found new interests.”

Got a new name, Sunny added silently. “That’s right,” she said aloud. “I remember you wanted to go into science.”

“Law ended up paying better,” Tobe said with a wry smile. “That’s one of the reasons I changed my name. I kept hearing comments about pots of cash.” His voice got drier. “Or pots of bovine scatology, as what’s-his-name used to put it.”

He cast an admiring glance Jane’s way. “But then, you’re a vet. You may encounter the real stuff out in the field.”

She shook her head. “I don’t do that much with large animals, Tobe,” she said, almost as if she were tasting the name. “Most of the BS I put up with is figurative.”

Tobe grinned at her. “And what do you do these days, Sunny?” he asked.

“I was a reporter down in New York,” she began the same old story. “Had to come back home to take care of my dad, got laid off, though, so right now I’m in the tourism business.”

“Ah,” he said, obviously filing that under “Questions to Be Asked Later.” He turned back to Jane. “So, tell me a bit about Martin Rigsdale. Did you meet him professionally?”

She nodded. “I worked with him, married him, and ended up divorcing him.” She went on to give a pretty concise explanation of the reasons for each stage in that relationship and didn’t fly off the handle when describing Martin’s shortcomings.

While Tobe Phillips quietly took all that in, Sunny spent the time checking him out, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious about it. The studious boy she remembered had grown into an attractive man. His sandy hair had been cut in a style that suited his face, rather than the too-long mess she remembered. And the years had pared away some of the youthful softness from that face. Tobe didn’t have the drop-dead gorgeousness of a Martin Rigsdale, or even the chiseled features of a Will Price. But he was a good-looking guy, thoughtful, and judging from his reactions to Jane’s story, kind.

Sunny glanced around the desk and shelves. No pictures of a wife and kids.

He asked a couple of questions to clarify some details, then said, “So you had a marriage that didn’t work out and a divorce that wasn’t too contentious.” He raised a hand—no ring, Sunny noticed—to cut off any comments from Jane. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse. So why do you think you need me?”

“Because I get the feeling that the cops think I killed Martin,” Jane replied a little more loudly than she’d intended. She sat back in her seat, looking embarrassed.

“We have a mutual friend, a former Portsmouth policeman who’s now a town constable in Kittery Harbor,” Sunny said. “When the detectives started questioning him as well as Jane, he suggested we talk to you. His name is Will Price. Apparently he encountered you in court.”

Tobe sat back, thinking for a moment—and smiling. “I remember him,” he said. “A pretty savvy cop. If he thinks you may have trouble, I’d take it seriously. So back to the real question: Why do you think the police suspect you?”

“Well, we found Martin—the body.” Jane faltered a little over those words. “His receptionist immediately started accusing me.”

“Detectives Trumbull and Fitch took our statements,” Sunny said. “When we were finished, Will came to pick us up at the station, and Trumbull saw him.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Phillips turned to Jane. “Were you in the habit of seeing your ex-husband?”

Jane shook her head. “It was almost a year and a half since we’d even talked. Then he asked me out to dinner—but that was only so he could ask for money.” She explained about the foundation she was running and its generous funding. “He wanted a six-figure consulting fee, and he wanted it up front! Is it any wonder I threw that drink in his face?”

That was something Jane hadn’t mentioned before, but Sunny didn’t have a chance to ask any questions. Jane went on, “Then I heard from Sunny that Martin had been to see her, and I called him. He said to come over during his evening hours.”

Tobe turned to Sunny. “What did he say to you?”

“He wanted my help in persuading Jane to give him money,” Sunny told him. “And he suggested we might spend some of it together.” Sunny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve seen pictures of Martin, but he was a very attractive man, and he didn’t mind spreading the charm around.”

“Way too much,” Jane agreed grimly.

“Maybe even more than you know.” Sunny related her conversation with the diner waitress. “It sounds to me as if the receptionist, Dawn Featherstone, was involved with Martin. That would explain her reaction when we showed up—jealousy. And apparently he had at least one other lady friend.”