“I think that’s crazy,” Connie says, shaking her head when I am finished.

“Paul didn’t know he was being taped, so why should he go to the trouble of setting up somebody who wouldn’t have had a motive? They didn’t make it look like a robbery, no money was taken that I’ve heard.

I haven’t heard that Class Bledsoe hated my father.

By all accounts, he got along with him okay. He obviously killed him for the money that Paul Taylor must have paid him.”

Or for the eventual ownership of Oldham’s Barbecue, I think, but don’t say.

“I think it’s a mistake to underestimate Paul Taylor,” I say, not having an answer for her.

“He’s more devious than you think.” She has a point. Why would somebody choose to set up Bledsoe? It occurs to me that maybe the person who did kill Willie hated Bledsoe for some reason and wanted to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. If that’s true, it doesn’t eliminate Paul from the picture.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Ting says quietly, her arms resting on the table, “why anyone would kill my husband if it wasn’t to get the plant.

Everyone respected him.”

i look at this frail, worn-out old woman and blanch at the thought of suggesting to a jury she killed her husband. I was her son’s friend and I can remember the shy but friendly smile she gave me whenever I came into the store. I don’t think I’ll be seeing it again.

“Paul’s lawyer wants me to argue,” I say, watching her face, “that you killed your husband, Mrs. Ting.”

“My God!” Connie gasps as her mother bursts into tears and stumbles out of the kitchen. Connie runs after her, leaving me alone for a moment as I hear her wailing behind a closed door.