“My hero,” Libby cooed, and it was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
This was not the same story I got from Dr. Steeler and Mrs. Winterthorne. “Um,” I said, trying to think of a good follow-up question, “Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”
“Duh—me,” Bennett said.
The shock on my face must have shown because Libby jumped in quickly. “Wanting someone dead and killing them are two different things, you know. We were home together all night on Monday, if that’s what you’re getting around to asking.”
Bennett’s eyes left the TV and snapped to me. “Is that what you’re after? ’Cause the sheriff’s already been here. We didn’t have anything to do with that scumbag dying—not that I’m sorry to see him dead. I won’t lie about that.” Between the flared nostrils and the hard-set jaw, Bennett looked like a man working awfully hard to control his temper.
“Can anyone else vouch for your whereabouts on Monday night at about 11 p.m.?”
“Seems like those are sheriff questions, not obituary-writer questions,” Bennett said, a challenge in his low voice.
“Oh, didn’t I mention?” I said. “I’m also a crime reporter for the Times.”
His face went from surprise to anger in about three seconds flat. Libby’s response was a little more controlled. “I think it’s time for you to go,” she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Let me show you out.”
Libby walked slowly as I followed her outside onto the driveway and the motion-sensor lights came on. Standing beneath the lights I could see dark circles under her eyes.
“Listen,” she said, her tone more conciliatory now that we were outside, “the truth is that Arthur was crushing on me pretty hard. Benny gets upset about it, understandably. When we’d go in for appointments, Artie would stare at me and make inappropriate comments. And then one day he called me and said he had some news about Benny that he wanted to discuss with me in private. I thought it was a little weird, but I was worried about my husband so I agreed to meet with him—actually invited him out here to the house because my car was in the shop. But when he got here, he had only one thing on his mind.”
I was pretty sure Libby was lying, but she had a confessional way of talking that drew me in. I didn’t necessarily believe her, but I was still interested.
“He got a little handsy. I would’ve had no problem kicking him out—but then Benny walked in and just went ape-shit. He got himself so worked up his heart went into overdrive and he passed out right on our kitchen floor. Artie had to do CPR on him till the ambulance came. It was crazy.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Word got out, as it always does in this town, and people were saying Artie and I were in bed when Benny walked in. None of that’s true. But it didn’t stop the gossip. I actually blame Benny’s mom for a lot of it. She never liked me—thought I was just after Benny’s money—so I think she almost wanted it to be true, you know?” Libby’s angelic face looked sad as she talked, the poor persecuted hot girl.
“So you and Arthur didn’t have a relationship then?”
She nodded toward the house. “That man doesn’t let me out of his sight. When would I have time enough for an affair?”
Fair enough, but it didn’t really answer the question.
“Look at me,” she said sweeping a hand down her long, lean frame. “Ever since I married Benny, people have been trying to figure out why. They can’t accept that I love him even though he’s a little bit older, even though he’s a little bit possessive. And so they talk, they make up gossip—but the truth is, Riley, I love my husband. Dr. Davenport thought he could get in between that and he couldn’t. But none of that has anything to do with how or why that man was killed.”
“So, do you have any theories on who might have wanted to hurt Arthur?”
Libby scratched the side of her cheek. “You know,” she said, as if the thought had just popped into her head, “now that you mention it, I remember Arthur mentioning an ex-girlfriend who’d threatened to kill him.”
Well that certainly seemed relevant. Of course it also seemed a little too convenient for her to have “all of the sudden” remembered such information. But I played along. “Anyone I might know?”
“Depends,” she said, a challenge in her eyes. “How familiar with local politics are you?”
I got a tingly feeling on the back of my neck.
“Does the name Mayor Shaylene Lancett ring a bell?” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “’Cause I’m pretty sure at one point, Arthur was ringing hers.”
CHAPTER 18
When I left the Nichols house, questions buzzed around my mind like fireflies in a jar. I wanted to know more about the relationship between Libby, Bennett, and Arthur, and if there was any truth to what Libby had just told me about Mayor Lancett. I knew better than to believe what she said without proof, but if she was telling the truth, it could shed a whole new light on the mayor’s eagerness to get this case wrapped up.
The Nichols house was on the outer west edge of Tuttle Corner, pretty close to West Bay, where Jay lived. It was almost time for our date, so I thought I’d just head over that way. I was keyed up and wanted to talk things over with him—he might have some insight into what was really going on here. It’d be good to talk through all of this with someone so I could figure out what my next move was going to be.
I turned out of the Nichols driveway, and after a few seconds I noticed a gray BMW pull out behind me from one
