by Nancy Basile
“First of all,” Chris held up a hand to stop the torrent of words pouring out of her, “he didn’t die because of you. He died because someone shot him in the back of the head with a .22.” When Robin opened her mouth to continue, he silenced her with a stern look. “Second of all, this is a murder investigation. Which means, there’s a murderer out there and we don’t know who it is yet. What if Jodi’s the murderer? And then you show up, spouting off about Roy, and she decides you need to go too?”
Robin stared at Chris. Her arms dropped to her sides. “I never thought about that.”
Chris released an enormous sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Look, I understand how you feel. It’s kind of why I became a cop.” His eyes softened and the tension in his shoulders eased. “But you can’t go digging around in this. You’re the only witness to Roy’s murder. And even though you didn’t see anything, that doesn’t mean whoever killed Roy knows that. For all they know, you can name them or pick them out of a line-up. You have to be careful.”
“You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m sorry.” She blew out a breath and stared at the space under the bench, wondering if she would disappear if she crawled underneath. When she was a teenager, she wanted to impress Chris. Talking to Jodi had not been impressive.
He sat down next to his gear. “You might as well tell me what happened when you went to see her.”
She sat on the bench opposite him and described her conversation with Jodi, and how Jodi flipped her lid, then threw Robin out.
“She didn’t tell you why she was so upset?”
“No.” Robin shrugged. “I just figured she was upset that I know about the two of them, because if I know, then everyone probably knows, including Bruce.”
“The state forensics team is supposed to have a report done first thing in the morning.” He gazed past Robin to the river. “I was waiting until I had a chance to look at that report before bringing in anyone for questioning, but if Bruce or Jodi is the killer, then the other one may be in danger.”
“What makes you think one of them might be the killer?”
“Well,” he tilted his head back and forth, “it sure sounds like Jodi has a secret, and it has to do with Roy. If they were having an affair, something could have made her mad enough to get rid of him.”
“Like,” Robin squinted at the ceiling of the gazebo, “maybe Roy wanted to go public and she didn’t?”
“Something like that.” Chris nodded. “On the other hand, maybe Bruce found out, got jealous, and took care of Roy.”
“I see what you mean. They both have motives.” She nodded toward the monument. “I read about the memorial online at the library when I Googled Jodi.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Why were you looking up Jodi? And how did you end up reading about Mark’s memorial?”
“I wanted to see when she and Bruce married, because if it was recently, I thought that might be why Roy came back from wherever he was.”
“But they weren’t. They married a few years ago.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “So, that blew my theory out of the water.”
“I’ve been wondering why Roy came back after disappearing for ten years, too. It’s got to be part of why he was killed.” He quirked an eyebrow. “And the part about Mark and the robbery?”
“That was one of the search results that came up, because Jodi was listed as a surviving relative.”
“Your whole job is looking up data on the internet, right?”
She scrunched up her face. “More or less.” Chris taking the time to know something about her job made her stomach flutter.
“Then maybe there’s a safe way you can help with the investigation.”
“Anything I can do to help.” She bit her lip. “It would make me feel like I didn’t completely fail Roy.”
He stood up and began gathering his stuff. “You didn’t. And I’d be a fool to let a mind like yours go to waste, if you’re offering to help. Our force is small, and no one on the team is much of a whiz with computers.”
She stood, too, and they strolled side by side to the parking lot. The sun had dipped lower behind the hills, and the sky had faded to lavender. Cool air blew in from the river. She needed to get home.
They reached her car. Chris opened her door for her. “I’ll call you if something comes up and I need your help.” The corners of his mouth lifted. He glanced away, then brought his eyes back to hers. “Did you know I used to have a crush on you?”
Her stomach flipped like she was riding a roller coaster. “No, I had no idea.” He suddenly seemed very close. She had to raise her head to look him in the eye; he was almost a foot taller than she was.
“So many times I wanted to ask you out, but… I don’t know. I was an idiot.” He shook his head.
“You were a teenager.” Seeing Chris get flustered sent tingles all through her. “We were all idiots back then.” That made him chuckle. She worked her throat, trying to swallow. “I… had a crush on you, too.” Her face burned.
“You did?” He was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think you paid any attention to a dumb jock like me.”
“You weren’t — aren’t — dumb.” She popped her hip and rested her fist on it. “You’re the freakin’ sheriff. I know you’re smart.”
He rolled his eyes. “Now. Not then.”
She reached out and playfully shoved his shoulder. It was like shoving a cinderblock wall. “You weren’t dumb then, either.” She raised her eyebrows. “And, hello, you were the star quarterback of the River Sutton Otters. How could I not pay attention?”
He blinked at her. “Huh. Well, how about that?” His eyes, the color of denim, swept over her face, then focused on her eyes again. “I wish I would have known.”
“Me too.” Her heart pounded at a pace that put hummingbirds to shame. She turned to her car door and broke the spell. “I have to get home for dinner. I’m surprised Mom hasn’t released the hounds.”
He stepped back toward his truck. “Tell your family I said ‘hi.’ And I’ll be in touch about the research.”
She waved, slammed the door, and started the car. She gripped the steering wheel to stop her hands from shaking. The hot air from the vents roared in her ears. Blood pumping, she turned her car around and pulled out. Chris Payne had carried a crush on her. And she had known exactly zero about it. She wanted to scream.
Chapter 10
On her way home, Robin decided to take a shortcut. The one-lane road didn’t have a sign; she couldn’t even remember the name. She looked for the whirligig mailbox shaped like a duck that sat at the end of a driveway next to the road’s entrance. How would county residents ever find it when that family moved and the duck disappeared?
She bumped onto the shortcut, gravel popping and asphalt crumbling. The Subie fought its way up the steep hill and took a switchback with no problem. When the road leveled, open hay fields spread out on both sides, stars fading into view.
She drove slowly to protect her axle and her tires and scanned the gorgeous scenery, with long, green grass and rising hillsides. Just before nosing down the other side of the ridge, a hand-drawn sign caught her eye. “Firewood 4 Sale - $5 per bundle.”
She pushed the brake. This was where Roy and his mother used to drop off wood for extra cash. While her engine idled, her fingers tapped the steering wheel. She glanced in the rearview mirror to check that no one was coming. Before she could chicken out, she turned into the long driveway and rolled toward the old farmhouse at the end of the lane.
Even in the dusk, she could tell the farmhouse had seen better days. Its siding and shutters needed fresh paint. Window screens were patched with duct tape and rusted where they held together. More rust corroded metal equipment littered around the separate garage.
She parked the car and climbed out into the humidity. She spotted an enormous stack of wood, topped with a tarp, in the lee of the garage’s south side. Before she could climb the steps and knock on the front door, a large man
came out and met her in the front yard. He wiped his hands on a greasy red banana. “Can I help you?”
She flashed him her best smile and sank into her right hip, bringing out her West Virginia side. “I sure hope so.” She squinted at the firewood pile. “I wanted to ask you about a bundle of wood.”
He came closer and she could see white stubble on his florid cheeks, one of which resembled a chipmunk’s cheek, no doubt because he packed it with chewing tobacco. He took off his denim ball cap, wiped his forehead with his arm, and replaced the cap. “Awful early to be stocking up for winter. And that batch ain’t had time to cure. Come back in August or September. There’ll be plenty.”
He squinted into the distance and gazed at the surrounding fields under the purple sky. “Not like there’s ever a waiting line.” He cackled, which turned into a hacking cough. Then he twisted to spit over his shoulder, away from Robin. She supposed that was his attempt to be polite, but she was still disgusted.
She nodded. “I got you.” How in the world was she going to bring up Roy? There was no good segue, so she just went for it. Corporate life had toughened her. “Didn’t Roy Cooter used to bring his wood here? I always wondered why he didn’t sell it himself.”
The man humphed and spat brown juice behind him again. At least he didn’t carry a plastic bottle to spit into, like a lot of men did. That was a nauseating sight. “He and his mama couldn’t have sold wood themselves unless they made a deal with the devil.”
“Why not?”
“Who would’ve bought from them?” He chuckled and shook his head, like Robin should have known better. “No one trusted those sidewinders. I wasn’t surprised when the boy up and left. Now he got himself killed. Not surprised at all.” He spit again.
Robin furrowed her brow, staring at a tire in the yard that had once been a flower planter. “I don’t know. They didn’t have much and kept to themselves, but I never knew them to be dishonest.”
He brought all of his focus on her, narrowing his eyes. After a moment he said, “What did you know about them?”
She shrugged. “I went to school with Roy. Like I said, he didn’t have a lot of friends and kept to himself. I know he wasn’t a good student, but he wasn’t mean or backhanded.” She narrowed her eyes in return. “What did you have against him?”
The large man looked away, wiping his hands on his red bandana again. “All I know is they was always broke. They would bring me the puniest, greenest cuts and expect full price. Other times, they’d ask for an advance weeks before winter was even on the wind. I’d have to remind them I only paid on delivery.” He brought his bloodshot eyes back to hers. “They were more trouble than they were worth.”
“Last I checked, it wasn't against the law to be poor.” She made a point to look up at the dilapidated house, then back at him. His chest swelled and he stood to his full height. She realized just how large he was.
“Why’re you asking all these questions about the Cooters? You related or something?”
“No, no. Like I said, I went to school with him. Just a shame he died so young.”
His shoulders shook as he laughed and hacked. “I know they say the good die young, but in his case, I rightly don’t think so.”
She tilted her head up to look him in the eye as best she could. “Did they owe you money? Is that why you’re so teed off at Roy?”
He dropped his head and spit, this time in her direction, too close to her sandals. She glared at him underneath her eyebrows. He was much bigger than she was, but she would bet folding money she was faster. “As a matter of fact, they did owe me. I was fool enough to advance Roy quite a bit of money before he disappeared. After him being gone a couple of weeks, I stopped by their trailer, but his ma didn’t know anything about no advance. I asked for my money, but she was broke and cried and cried, begging me not to hurt her.” His lip curled. “Like I’d hit a woman. What did she think I am?” He hissed between his teeth, and Robin glimpsed his brown enamel. She barely stopped herself from wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“Then,” he picked up his tale, “I see Roy down at the casino, waving bills around like he’s Jim Justice or something. And I think, I’m going to get my money. But before I can reach him, he sees me and takes off. I lost him in the crowd.” The corners of his mouth sank toward his chin, and he shook his head. “Next thing I know, he’s dead and I still don’t have my money.”
“How much did he owe you?”
Now his face reddened and his reddened eyes grew round. “It’s not about the money at this point. It’s the principle.” He pointed his finger in her face, but she stood her ground. “No one takes advantage of me, little girl, and gets away with it.”
He stood so close to her she smelled hamburger grease and beer and sweat. Her heart knocked against her ribs. Stepping backward, she kept her eyes on him. “I can see why that would upset you. I know it would upset me, too.” Although his face seemed to soften, she still kept her eyes focused on him, kept her feet moving toward her car.
“Yeah, well. I have to put it behind me, don’t I? Won’t do me any good fuming about it.”
“I suppose not.” Her plump butt bumped against her car. She popped open her door and heard the “ding ding” of the bell inside. “Well, thanks for your time. I’ll be back in August or so for the wood.”
All the fight seemed to drain from him. His shoulders slumped a little, and he nodded, turning away, spitting again into the grass.
She hopped into her Subie and backed out as fast as she could without damaging her car. With a man like that, a few hundred dollars might not be enough to spur him to kill someone, but men had done worse over their pride.
Chapter 11
She ran in slow motion. Her feet were heavy as cement blocks. She strained to push through a thick lethargy that dragged her down.
A man lay ahead, bleeding in the middle of the road. But the harder she ran, the further away he was. Pain twisted his face while his blood spread beneath him. He turned his ashen face toward her and yelled her name. “Robin!”
Robin shot up from her pillow. The surrounding room was fuzzy and very pink. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and recognized the pink cabbage roses on the walls that twined up and down mint green stripes, and the cotton candy-pink curtains glowing in the morning light. She was in her childhood bedroom.
After a few minutes, when her gruesome dream lost its grip on her, she swung her legs out of bed.
Her mother had kept her room exactly as it had been the day Robin left for college, because she’d love nothing more than to hear Robin say she was moving home. Some days, when Robin’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing and client emails grew angrier and angrier, she thought about it. She would never admit that to her mother, though. Her mother was like a dog with a bone. Give her just a taste of something, and she’d bite down and never let go.
After showering and putting on a cotton romper, Robin followed the earthy scent of fresh-brewed English breakfast tea to the kitchen. Her mother stood at the counter again, clad in an apron that said, “The Secret Ingredient Is Love.” She turned toward Robin, a mixing bowl wrapped in her arms, whipping a big wooden spoon around like it had cussed at her. “You’ll have to help yourself to breakfast. I’m baking cookies.”
“Again?” Robin poured herself some tea from a kettle that was kept warm by a tea cozy shaped like a shepherdess. Then she grabbed two packets of oatmeal from a cabinet and poured them into a mug. She added water, stirred, then popped the mug in the microwave.
“People expect a lot of cookies at the reception.” She ceased manhandling the spoon and poured chocolate chips into the batter. Before her mother could empty the bag, Robin snatched it away. “Hey!”
“I just want a few for my oatmeal.” Her mother heaved a put-upon sigh and went back to the batter. “Couldn’t you just buy a bunch of cookies?”
“Ha!” her mother barked. Apparently not. That’s what Robin would have done. But then, domestic goddess, she wasn’t. Give
her numbers and spreadsheets, however, and she could work genuine magic.
“Where’s Dad and Jenn?”
“Your father is off in the woods, doing heaven knows what. You know how he gets when there’s too much hubbub in the house. Makes him antsy. So I sent him out to blow off the stink.” She began dropping spoonfuls of batter onto cookie sheets, while Robin retrieved her mug of oatmeal, dropping in her handful of chocolate chips. “And Jenn and Deb should be on their way back from the country club. They’re finalizing the menu and the bar. Which reminds me—” she pointed her goopy spoon at Robin, “You need to get ready for the spa.”
“I am ready.” Robin opened her arms to show her mother her romper. A messy top-knot held her hair off her makeup-free face. “We’re just going to put on robes when we get there.” Her mother rolled her eyes to the ceiling and turned back to her baking.
The front door thumped. Jenn and Deb walked in, muttering to each other, holding hands. Then Jenn’s eyebrows crinkled, and Deb’s mouth thinned. Robin’s eyes bounced between them. “What’s going on?”
They sat down at the table, sighing heavily. Jenn stuck her finger in Robin’s oatmeal before she could smack it away. “We thought we had ‘something old’ covered for the wedding. You know, ‘something old, something new…’” Robin nodded her understanding. “I have Grandma Pearce’s engagement ring, and Deb was going to get her grandmother’s ring, but Deb’s mom told us that they can’t find it.” Jenn wasn’t crying, but she was close.
“Oh no. What do they think happened?” Robin directed her question at Deb.
Deb shrugged and shook her head. “No one knows. My mom was sure it was in the jewelry box her mother gave her when she moved into the nursing home. But my sister swears my mom gave it to me already.” Deb rolled her eyes. “She’s kind of a trouble-maker, that one. I mean, I would remember if Mom had already given it to me.”
Robin swallowed a mouthful of oatmeal. “Do you think your sister took it?”
