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A fact of life: Arguments are unpleasant. Arguments resulting in death—well, that’s a whole nother story. Especially if there’s a witness. “It was an accident,” I said to him. The witness’s name was Virgil Gray, sort of a handyman I’d hired several days earlier to build a small addition onto the back of my already oversized home. Because of that, he’d been in and out of the house often, and at this moment Virgil and I were standing together in my living room and staring down at a tall blonde woman named Janet McQuailen, who was staring up at the