“I found one Kittery. M. Kittery, North Road, West Tisbury. I glanced at my watch and figured that school should be out by now. I dialed and after two rings heard a woman’s voice say, “Merry Christmas.” “Mrs. Kittery?” “Yes.” “My name is J. W. Jackson. Is your husband at home?” She had a cheerful voice. “No, Matt isn’t here. He should be home a little after five. Can I take a message?” “No, it’s you I want to talk to. Do you have a few minutes?” “I’ve already done my Christmas shopping, and besi...des, I don’t buy things sold over the phone. Sorry.” “This is about Chug Lovell.” There was a silence. “I’m investigating his death, and your name came up.” The once cheerful voice was strained. “I haven’t had anything to do with Chug Lovell for years. I don’t know anything about his death.” “There were some photographs . . .” “Oh, God . . .” “Do you want to talk on the phone, or should I drive up there?” “Oh, I don’t know . . .”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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