“Is there any connection to Roger Lawson?” Maggie asked, her voice taut.
Peter exhaled just slowly enough that her heart dropped with a thud.
“Not to Roger,” he said, the words somehow feeling unfinished as the two women stared at him. “But…” He swallowed, appearing to brace himself before continuing. “His arrest was a rather elaborate setup, assisted by an informant. An undercover agent, if you will, worked closely with the FBI to lure Cotton to the meeting location and lead him into the trap.” He lifted a brow as if…as if accusing someone.
“Roger was in prison then,” Maggie said. “So if you’re?—”
“It was Artie,” Peter said quietly. “Arthur Wylie was the informant.”
For a long, breathless moment, no one moved. Not until Maggie found the strength to turn her head and look at Jo Ellen, who was ghost white, wide-eyed, and slack-jawed.
“What?” she croaked the word. “No. That’s not…no. He would never…”
Maggie dropped back on the sofa cushion and crossed her arms. “Apparently, Artie made a second career out of tipping off the police.”
Jo Ellen glared at her. “At least he didn’t make a second career out of…fraud!”
Maggie bristled and closed her eyes, refusing to get hurt by the comment. Jo Ellen was in shock. Frankly, they all were. What on God’s green Earth were these men up to when they were supposed to be vacationing with their families? The Mafia? The Feds? It was preposterous!
“I’m sorry, Jo Ellen,” Peter said. “I checked it repeatedly. I don’t know what his involvement was with this group of mobsters, but for whatever reason, he opted to turn them in. They had to have trusted him enough?—”
“Stop.” She held up a trembling hand. “Just stop, please. I…I can’t…take this.”
“I understand this is upsetting,” Peter said gently. “But he didn’t break the law. His name’s not in any public record, but the internal files confirm it. He was cooperating with federal agents.”
“But…after Roger was already in prison?” Jo Ellen said on a rasp, still pale and stunned. “So he was involved with these men…”
Maggie’s heart shifted at the tone in her friend’s voice. “It’s okay,” she whispered, putting her hand on Jo Ellen’s arm. “You’ll be okay, Jo.”
“But…but…I didn’t know,” Jo Ellen whispered. “I had no idea. He never said a word.”
“Neither did Roger,” Maggie said hoarsely, remembering the pain of that betrayal and feeling it all over again. And people didn’t think she was empathetic! If not, what was this overwhelming need to comfort Jo Ellen?
Peter leaned closer, his face etched with compassion. “I know this is a lot. It doesn’t answer your questions as to why your husbands would demand your silence or that you don’t speak to each other, but it is surely part of the reason.”
Jo shuddered, fighting tears.
Maggie slid her hand down to Jo Ellen’s, clasping her fingers like they had when they were girls, when everything had felt safe and certain.
“Thank you, Peter,” Jo said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I appreciate you going the extra mile for us.”
Peter nodded, quiet for a second, then rose. “This might be it, though. I don’t know how much more information I can get you. Have you been able to get any of Artie’s files?”
“Kate shipped his fishing rods,” Jo Ellen said. “But she thought it would be safer to bring the file box in person when she comes down for the Celebration of Life.”
Maggie lifted a brow. Did Jo Ellen still want to celebrate Artie’s life? Which one—the one she knew about or the one he kept hidden?
“And, Maggie, you’re positive that Roger doesn’t have anything tucked away?”
She sighed, thinking of the old lockbox in Crista’s garage. “There was one box that I kept full of papers and old memories. I haven’t even looked in it since he died, but he told me to keep it no matter what, so I did.”
Peter gave her a look of disbelief. “You should get it,” he said. “There could be something in there.”
“It was pictures and…I don’t even remember. Nothing from his business or his…” She swallowed. “Criminal activities.”
“Eli’s coming down when Kate does,” Peter said. “Ask him to bring it. You should look at it again with fresh eyes.”
She nodded, knowing he was right.
