“If you gave a false statement to the police—” I began.
“I never lied,” she said. “I never pretended she was me. I always referred to her as ‘my cousin’ or ‘she.’”
“I assume you attended the funeral,” I said.
“Heavily veiled, and leaning on poor Dwight for support,” she said. “We were much the same height, Annabel and I, and since she was known to be such a recluse, everyone pretty much left me alone.”
“And what about your cousin’s estate?” I asked. “Does she have beneficiaries who might not be too pleased with you?”
“She never married, and I never had any other children,” Cordelia said. “I’m her beneficiary, as she would have been mine if I’d gone first. And Dwight’s the executor.”
“And since I’m not keen on going into court under false pretenses—” Dr. Ffollett began.
“He’s been dragging his heels, on my orders,” Cordelia said. She sighed and shook her head. “It was never supposed to last this long. But maybe now’s the time to come clean. Whether Weaver did it or this person the chief has locked up, I should be out of danger.”
“Or maybe you’re in just as much danger as ever,” I said. “What if Mr. Williams isn’t the killer either? But yes, I agree—you need to come clean. To the chief, if nothing else. If she’d known the truth before, maybe she’d have taken your evidence more seriously.”
“Why?” She sounded puzzled. “Am I a more credible witness than Annabel?”
“Where were you when you saw Weaver?” I asked. “Here in the house? Or out by the fire?”
“Out there,” she said. “Almost at the fire.”
“The way I heard it—and the way the chief heard it—you were here in the house. Much farther away, under conditions that weren’t exactly optimal.”
“You have a point,” she said. “Conditions weren’t optimal for observation out there, and from way up here in the house? And I’m beginning to wonder if I only thought it was him because whoever it was ran straight toward his house.”
“And even if it was him, what if he wasn’t the killer?” I suggested. “What if he saw something going on and ran out to see what it was—he loved to snoop, I’ve noticed that already. And then when he saw Annabel dead, maybe he thought, ‘Holy cow! What if they blame me?’ He’d have run away, back to his house, right?”
“Instead of trying to administer first aid or at least save her body from the fire?” she asked. “Yes, probably. And that makes more sense. Because I’m pretty sure it was Weaver.”
“Pretty sure,” I echoed. “Not positive. Still, even with pretty sure, do you think maybe Chief Heedles might have taken your identification more seriously if she’d known that you were within five or ten feet of the fleeing figure, rather than forty or fifty feet?”
“I realized a few days later,” she said. “But by that time it was too late. I couldn’t very well go down and give a different statement. I couldn’t go down at all.”
“And Heedles wasn’t going to buy another washcloth-draped interview,” Dr. Ffollett put in.
“But if I confessed why I lied, maybe she’d believe me,” Cordelia said.
I nodded.
“And if she doesn’t believe me and thinks I killed Weaver because he tried to kill me and got Annabel instead, then I could probably get off on self defense,” she said. “Might be interesting.”
“Good grief,” I said. “You sound just like Dad. He always finds it fascinating to be a murder suspect. I’m so glad I don’t seem to have inherited that peculiar trait.”
“It’s too late to talk to Chief Heedles tonight,” Cordelia said. “I’ll sleep on it.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “is it okay if I tell one other person about your real identity?”
“You mean your father?” She sounded a little wistful.
“Actually, I was taking it for granted that you’d tell him. I meant one person in addition to Dad. We should definitely tell him right away.”
“Are you sure this is the right time?” she asked. “With all this going on?”
“I think it’s long past time,” I said. “How about I break it to him gently tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said. “And before you tell Chief Heedles, if that’s who else you have in mind. James deserves to be the first. Well, after you. But you guessed it. Who else were you thinking of telling?”