Brad came into the kitchen and said, “Winter, this FBI agent says she knows you.”
When Alexa Keen entered, Winter grinned, jumped up, and embraced her. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was just in the neighborhood?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I knew you’d tell me not to,” she said.
While Winter shook his head, his cell rang. He opened the phone and saw ProCell Labs on the ID.
“Massey,” he answered.
“Mr. Massey, John Jolly at ProCell. I just finished those prelims. Now, once again, the test is not yet proven so it isn’t acceptable for legal purposes.”
“I don’t care about that. Do
“So far accuracy of the results is moving in the right direction, but in lay terms it’s because we’re doing a fast cook, forcing things. Not square pegs in round holes, exactly…We have it down to about a twenty percent negative error read after the other testing is completed for comparison accuracy, and I’d say we’re closing the gap.”
“What do they say?”
“Your sample matches the one Sheriff Barnett sent.”
“So it’s eighty percent.”
“No. There is no difference between the two. I’d say it is one hundred percent.”
Winter hung up, and looked from Brad to Alexa. “That was ProCell. It’s a match.”
He noticed that Alexa was staring at him. Knowing her as he did, it was obvious that she was pissed off.
“So,” she said. “It’s Paulus Styer?”
“Yes,” Winter admitted.
“That’s interesting,” she said simply. “Do go on.”
“Styer shot Sherry Adams, and he killed a man named Jack Beals,” Winter said.
Winter shrugged and felt his face flushing like a kid caught shoplifting candy. “I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have.” Alexa put her hand on Winter’s forearm. “Well, now we know for sure what we’re up against.”
The call wouldn’t change anything. Maybe having Alexa there would help, if only because she fully understood Styer’s game.
Winter and Brad filled Alexa in on the investigation while the trio had a breakfast of cold cereal. When the front doorbell rang, Brad answered it and returned with Leigh Gardner.
“Just coffee for me, Brad. And thank you for asking,” she said, taking a seat at the table across from Winter.
“Morning, Ms. Gardner,” Winter said.
“Call me Leigh and I’ll call you Winter.”
She smiled at Alexa and offered her hand.
“This is Alexa Keen,” Winter said. “She’s an old friend of mine. She’s also an FBI agent.”
Leigh raised her eyebrows. “The FBI is interested in Sherry Adams’s murder?”
“No. I’m strictly here as a friend of Winter’s and to help if I can,” Alexa said. “Unofficially.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met an FBI agent before. Nice to meet you. Do I call you Agent Keen?”
“I answer to Alexa.”
“Coffee,” Brad said, placing a cup before Leigh.
She frowned, lifted the mug, and sipped gingerly. “Not bad brew, Brad. For a man.” Her fingers were shaking as she set the cup down.
“I’m glad you think I can do
“Well, Sherry is dead, so no.”
“Sorry,” Brad said, nodding.
Leigh looked down and back up at Brad. “That and Cyn didn’t come home last night. I’m sure she’s fine. This isn’t unusual for my daughter. She does as she pleases. She went to Memphis yesterday and I wanted to go along. I should have insisted, but I had a lot on my mind. I got a text message from her late last night saying she’d run into a friend from school. She was supposed to be staying at her grandmother’s, but I just got Adelle’s machine. I’ve been trying to call her this morning and she sent a text, she always does when she knows I’m angry. It said, ‘Get over it. GOD!’ She’s fine…” Her words trailed off.
Brad patted her shoulder but she drew back. “Can I do anything?”
“No. She’ll come home dragging her tail and I’ll yell at her. She’s just like her father in some ways.”
Winter saw the look of concern on Alexa’s face.
“This thing with Sherry. It’s got all of us crazy. It’s Cyn’s way of trying to hold on to normalcy and dealing with grief. Except for my father, nobody close to her has ever died,” Leigh went on.
“I can start running her down,” Brad said. “Get the Memphis PD to locate her.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it,” Leigh said, straightening. “You know as well as I do that this is just like her. There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
Brad nodded.
She picked up her coffee but didn’t drink from the cup. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about me being the target, and all I could think of is that if I had been killed, my children would not be able to continue my operation. And since their father has proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that he couldn’t boil water in hell on their behalf, they would have to sell the land to ensure their futures. Jacob would not receive anything if I died, and I can’t imagine he could have hired a professional killer.”
“Okay,” Brad said. “But he would be their guardian.”
“I have made arrangements for my attorney to handle my estate, and to handle my children’s financial interests if I die.”
“Jacob would fight that, and he is their father,” Brad said.
“This is very personal,” she said crisply, finally taking a sip. “If Jacob fights my will, my attorney has certain papers that prove he is as crooked as a wisteria trunk.” She patted the side of her cheek and frowned.
“That’s fairly common knowledge,” Brad said.
“Anyway, although I certainly don’t believe Jacob hired a hit man, I may have some idea why someone shot Sherry. A few years ago I once again paid off a collection of Jacob’s debts, and I made him sign over some land he inherited from his father. I paid him three times what it was worth because it was the only collateral he had. Six hundred and thirty-six acres of bottomland that isn’t good for a damn thing except duck hunting, which is what Jacob’s father and then Jacob used it for. I made him a loan secured with that property and when he didn’t repay me or make any attempt to do so, I foreclosed on it, figuring I’d leave it to the children, since it was the only way to ensure he would leave any legacy, even if I paid for it.”
She took another sip of her coffee. “A few months ago Jacob mentioned that he wanted to buy it back from me. I told him to go piss up a pole. Since then, he has become more and more insistent, whining that it was his sole inheritance from his father, and he wanted it back. His father actually left him a small fortune that he went through in a matter of months. When I pressed him, he said he wanted to duck hunt on it and I said he could shoot ducks there until there wasn’t one left on the face of the earth, but I’d never sell it to him under any circumstances.”
“You don’t think it’s sentimental?” Winter asked.
“Jacob is as sentimental as a hungry possum. I told him that he’d had ample opportunity to pay me off, and didn’t, and if his children wanted to sell it to him after I was gone, fine. But I said as long as I had air in my lungs, I was keeping it.”
“And he dropped it?” Brad asked.
“No. He didn’t. Last night he told me that some corporation was interested in buying it for four hundred thousand with a plan to turn it into a duck-hunting club along with the land around it, saying I could use the profit to make things right with Sherry’s family.”
“So,” Winter said, “do you think it’s possible Jacob hired someone to kill you?”
A look of concern crossed her features. “It’s more likely the potential buyer would. Mr. Massey, did you know Tunica before the gambling joints came here?”
“I know it was the poorest county in the state.”
“It’s the richest now,” Brad added.
