“I did just finish putting up a website with pictures of the whole place, so I’m hopeful that will help me get some new business. For now, what can I help you with?” She dusted off her hands on her jeans.
“I’m working on a case involving the discovery of a couple of bodies,” I said with as much authority as I could manage. “It hasn’t hit the news yet, which is stunning, but one of the bodies was Richard Basanelli.”
She paled slightly. “Richard’s body? They found him?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you know he was dead?”
“No.” She covered her mouth with one shaking hand and then dropped it to her side. “I kind of thought he’d come back to me or at least call, so Ihavewondered through the years. How long has he been dead?”
“About fifteen years,” I said. “I don’t think he made it out of town.”
She wiped at one eye. “That’s terrible. I hope they arrest that asshole son of his.”
I gulped. “Excuse me?”
“Yes. If anybody killed him, it was that Nick Basanelli. Lately, I’ve seen him in the newspaper a lot. He’s some hotshot lawyer now.” Fury had her lips peeling back. “I know if anyone killed Richard, it was him. You wouldn’t believe the fights they got into.”
“Fights?” I asked. “I thought it had just been one.”
“Oh, no. One time, I remember Richard telling me that he was concerned about his eldest son. That if he ever ended up dead, people should look at Nicolo.”
I wouldn’t be calling this woman as a witness if we went to trial.
“Was that young and way-too-skinny bitch found with him?” she asked.
I blinked, surprised. “If you’re referring to Imogen Wilson, then yes, her body was found with his.”
“Where?” Lisa asked, a small smile now lifting her lips.
I took a step back. “They were found in the basement of the old Marsh Mansion.”
“Seriously? God, what a place to put a body, huh? Everyone always thought that house was haunted. I guess it was.” She threw back her head and cackled, the sound echoing through the store.
I swallowed. “I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about Richard and his mindset. Was he afraid of anybody? Did he have any enemies?”
She narrowed her gaze. “Why do you ask? You said you’re investigating, right?”
I nodded.
She looked me up and down. “You don’t look like a cop.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m a lawyer.”
She drew up to her full height. “You’re a lawyer? Whose lawyer?” Her tone darkened.
I sighed. “I’m Nick Basanelli’s lawyer. They’re investigating him for the murders, and he did not kill anybody.”
She stared at me for several long moments. “Get the hell out of my place.”
I jerked back. “What? I can subpoena you, but I’d rather just talk now.”
“Subpoena me? You think you can subpoena me?” Her voice rose. “I’m telling you to get out now.”
I held up a hand. “We can talk quickly about this. I just have a few questions.”
“I don’t have any answers.” She grabbed what appeared to be a vintage perfume atomizer and stomped toward me. “Now, get out.”
I frowned, stuck in place. Why was she so angry?
