Sand Sharks

us when Stone Hamilton came in, but it wasn’t his table and we got him back. Speaking of Hamilton, what about the dog leash?”

“He showed us his and it wasn’t a brand-new one, either. We’re thinking now that the leash that strangled Jeffreys was a piece of litter. Somebody’s dog probably chewed the lead off and they just threw it away. It was frayed and sun-bleached and caked with dirt, like it’d been outdoors for a while. One of the waitresses said she saw a faded blue length lying in the bushes out front when she came to work. The killer must have just grabbed up the handiest thing possible to choke him with.”

“You’re saying that if someone hadn’t littered, Jeffreys might still be alive?”

“Not necessarily. If it hadn’t been the leash, he could’ve had his head smashed in with a rock or something. It might not have been premeditated, but we’re pretty sure it was done by someone who did mean to kill him.”

Our breakfast plates arrived and everything was wonderful. It’s always risky to order soft-scrambled eggs because they often come out as dry and tasteless as if they’d been sitting on a steam table for an hour. These were moist and creamy with streaks of yolk still visible amid the white. The biscuits were hot and flaky, the grits were perfectly seasoned, and the sausage tasted homemade.

“Mmmm!” I said blissfully.

Edwards grinned as he poured redeye gravy over his grits and dug into his own ham and eggs. “Told you they know how to do breakfast.”

The waitress came back to refill our mugs. “Y’all need anything else, just holler,” she said.

After a couple of mouthfuls to ease my hunger pangs, I said, “The thing that sounds odd about all this is that Jeffreys wasn’t all that tall, but he was well built and looked like he worked out.”

Edwards lifted an eyebrow at that.

“I saw him on the beach that afternoon,” I explained. “In a bathing suit.”

“Your point is?”

“Well, Kyle Armstrong didn’t strike me as somebody who spent any time in a gym. He’s almost skinny, in fact. Would he have been strong enough to strangle Pete Jeffreys and then throw him in the river?”

“Maybe. He seems to be a cyclist.” Edwards told me about the waiter’s specialized license plate and that he owned a bicycle. “Cyclists can be stronger than they look.”

“Like Cynthia Blankenthorpe,” I mused. “She’s a cyclist, too. Brought her bike down with her and rode from the hotel to the Cotton Exchange in all that heat Sunday.”

A sudden thought struck me. “Did you see her hands?”

“What about them?”

“One of them had four deep scratches on the back. She said it was from a run-in with a yucca plant, but…”

“But you’re wondering if it could have been Jeffreys when he was struggling to get free?”

“Did anybody check his fingernails?”

“You’ve been watching too much CSI,” he said with a wry grin. “But yes. We did bag the hands. They were in water for at least an hour though, and our ME didn’t get anything useful from the fingernail scrapings. Besides, Judge Blankenthorpe was in somebody’s view from the time Jeffreys left their table till she rode back to the hotel with the Fitzhumes. And that reminds me.”

He pulled out a list of names and handed it to me. “You know those four that aren’t marked through?”

I put a dab of blackberry jam on my biscuit and took a bite as I looked at the list. “I know Bill Hasselberger and Judge Feinstein. Not the Beechers. He’s brand-new to the bench, appointed last month, I think.”

“Mrs. Fitzhume says these are the ones at Jonah’s Saturday night that she wouldn’t recognize and doesn’t think her husband would either. What’s your opinion?”

“She’s probably right about the Beechers,” I said slowly, stalling for time by cutting up my sausage and eating a piece with a forkful of egg. “I’m pretty sure that Fitz and Feinstein were on a committee together last year.”

“What about Hasselberger? He’s on your list of people at the restaurant next door. Along with your cousin.”

I gave a reluctant nod. “But Fitz would probably recognize him. He was on the bench for four years till Jeffreys ran against him and took his seat.”

“Really? Not much love lost there then, right?”

“No, but as you just said, he was at the restaurant next door. What would he be doing near the restroom inside Jonah’s?”

At Jonah’s, the men’s restroom was diagonally to the right of the front door. What if that door opened about the time Fitz and Jeffreys were passing each other? Even if Bill Hasselberger had been walking past out on the sidewalk at that exact moment, would Fitz have noticed him enough to remark on it?

“Besides,” I argued, “how could he be driving Kyle’s car when it hit Fitz? And why would Kyle have cleared out if he’s not the killer? I should think you’d be trying to find the connection between him and Jeffreys.”

“Jeffreys was from the Triad and the car is registered to Armstrong’s home address in Myrtle Beach.” He pulled another crumpled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. It looked like a computer printout. “Here’s what we’ve learned so far: graduated high school in Myrtle Beach, then enrolled in the drama program at Cape Fear Community College downtown. Dropped out in the third semester. Lived with an aunt when he first came here—”

“Right!” I interjected. “That’s what he said when Martha was telling us about his wanting to act. He said his aunt lived here and that she knew someone on the Matlock show. She got him into a courtroom scene as an extra when he was a child. Have you questioned her yet?”

“My partner’s on his way out to Castle Hayne right now,” he said, referring to the next town up from