I held up placating hands before they could gather a good head of protective steam for the Trading Post’s elderly proprietor.
“It’s not official yet, but he doesn’t have to worry. They know it wasn’t him.”
“Really?”
“He’s a feisty old guy, isn’t he?” I asked. “Bark worse than his bite?”
“Exactly!” said May. “He’s really a sweetie, Deborah, and at his age, he doesn’t need to be hounded by deputies.”
“At his age, wherever he is, don’t you think he’d probably be more comfortable in his own bed?” I cast a jaundiced eye toward the pressed tin ceiling, beyond which lay nothing but spiders and mice and dirty old junk were one inclined to believe what they’d told me yesterday.
They both looked at me sheepishly, but before they could blitz me with more twinspeak, Carla came through the door with a dazed expression on her face. “I just heard someone say that Sunny Osborne killed Dad! She and Mom play tennis together. Why would
By the time I adjourned court for the week, the buzz was all over town, and George confirmed it for me when I stopped by his office and found Dwight there.
“It was like you thought,” he said. “Ledwig arranged for Osborne to be tested down in Winston back in August and the tests indicated the onset of early dementia. That’s when he planned the merger so that he could maximize his holdings. The way his condition was deteriorating, he knew he wouldn’t have time to liquidate everything himself and he’d have had to take a huge loss with the economy so soft right now. The easiest thing was just to stick it to the Ashes. When Ledwig heard about the merger, he called Osborne and told him to cancel it or he’d tell Bobby Ashe. Osborne was in such despair that Sunny went over to Ledwig’s the next day to try to persuade him to keep quiet. When he wouldn’t back off …”
“Sunny told you all this?” I asked. “Her attorney let her?”
“He couldn’t stop her once I laid it all out. All she cares about right now is helping us build a case against Bobby Ashe for killing her husband. She’s still trying to protect him.”
“What about Ashe?”
“Claims he didn’t have a clue, doesn’t know what Sunny’s talking about, and, on the advice of counsel, has nothing more to say.”
I shook my head. “He’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?”
“Unless we can find someone who saw him follow Osborne out onto that terrace Monday night, we don’t have a real case. No fingerprints on the candleholder. No proof that he knew what Osborne had done to him.” George gave an exasperated sigh. “Sloppy work on our part. We should’ve confiscated the shoes and clothes he was wearing that night, checked them for blood spatters. There’s another search team up there right now, but he’s had four days to dispose of anything incriminating.”
“Tough luck,” Dwight said sympathetically.
As Dwight and I stood to go, I hesitated. “Jason Barringer. Is he from around here?”
“Louisville, Kentucky. We couldn’t get hold of his parents till late and they’re driving over today.” George looked at his watch. “Should be getting in anytime now.”
“Do they have to be told how he died?” I asked. “I mean, yes, of course, they have to know he lost control when his truck hit a deer, but do they have to know why he was up there? It’s bad enough to lose a son without hearing he tried to kill somebody.”
George nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll pass the word,” he promised.
CHAPTER 33
Driving down from Cedar Gap was an unsettling experience. Visibility was about three inches in front of the grille on Dwight’s truck. We couldn’t see behind us. We couldn’t see ahead.
Which was pretty much how I was feeling.
It took us almost an hour just to get to the Tennessee border, and we were past Johnson City, heading north on I-81, before the fog dissipated into misty rain. Not that I noticed. By then, I had made myself a pillow with Dwight’s jacket and slept most of the way.
At the east juncture with I-77, we pulled off to find a place to eat supper.
“You sure you want to do this?” Dwight asked when I picked out a motel at the same juncture.
“I’m sure,” I said. “Halloween’s right around the corner, and if Cal saw this face, he’d think he’s getting a real witch for a stepmother. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to cut in on his time with you. You need to focus on him this weekend and I need to veg out for a couple of days, sleep off this soreness, do some serious thinking.”
“Not
His voice was light, but the truth was, we were awkward with each other. Our old-shoe easiness had evaporated.
Along with the passion.
He had slept on the couch last night and he’d barely touched me today. Even when he carried my things up to my room at the motel, he merely set them inside the door, brushed my forehead with his lips, and told me that he’d see me Sunday.
More like one of my brothers than a lover.
I slept twelve hours the first night, took a midday nap on Saturday, and slept another ten hours that night. By Sunday morning, even though my bruises were in full flower, it seemed to me that the deep blue-black places were slowly turning purple.