“I assumed it was because he was guilty,” I said, though, to be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought. My brother was dead, the love of my life was wrongfully accused of his murder. And then convicted of his murder. And then did all the things a guilty man would have done. Needless to say, I was a mess and there were a lot of other things I had on my mind.
Lizzie shook her head. “Nope. It was because he was at the scene of a different crime at the time and didn’t want to implicate himself. Stupid idea, really. Like selling crack is gonna get you more time than murder? Idiot.”
I frowned. It didn’t really make sense. “How do you know that?”
“Remember old Raff? The guy with the eyepatch who used to sleep at the bus station?”
“Yeah, I remember him. What happened to him?”
She brushed the question away swishing her hand to the side. “Don’t know, not relevant. Anyway, back then I was working at Spinner’s. Every night Raff would come by and I’d give him anything that we couldn’t keep overnight, like burgers and stuff that we had made but didn’t sell. The night that Hunter died, Raff was late. Super late, like I was about to throw the food away kind of late.”
“So?”
“So, I didn’t think anything of it until I heard what happened to Hunter. Then I started wondering, if, I dunno, one had to do with the other. Or maybe he saw something. I dunno. The next time he stopped by, I asked him why he was late that night. He put up a fight—you know how paranoid he was—but eventually he came out with it.”
She paused dramatically and I frowned at her. This was taking way too long and I didn’t want it to turn into one of those things where she stretched the story out over a course of days. Usually, that wouldn’t have been a problem. I was never really that invested in her gossip. But now, well, this gossip wasn’t just gossip, it was a chunk of my heart.
“Okay, okay. He told me he was late because there were a couple guys arguing over the price of a bag, and it came to blows. He liked to hang around fights because stuff would fall out of people’s pockets and they wouldn’t notice. He didn’t get anything that time, though.”
“What is the point of this story?”
“The point is that when Kash was arrested, his face was messed up like he’d been in a fight. The cops figured that he and Hunter must have fought. But I think it was the crackhead he was fighting with on the complete other side of town from where Hunter died.”
She smiled smugly and sipped her own coffee with triumphant flair. I waited, but she was finished talking.
“Are you serious? That’s all?”
“What do you mean, that’s all? That’s everything! Kash is obviously innocent.”
I shook my head in frustration. “It’s nothing, Lizzie! Kash was beat up. Hunter died. Some random hobo watched a fight. They found the murder weapon in Kash’s shed! Your theory is nothing. Thanks for wasting my time.”
I expected her to get huffy, but she was still smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know, for an aspiring librarian, you’re really not good at details.”
“What are you talking about?”
She sighed like I was stupid. “Think about it. Six years ago, how many people were selling crack in Danton?”
I frowned. “I don’t know.”
She held up two fingers. “Hunter. And Kash. That’s it. Don’t you remember? Dayle Jenkins was trying to edge in on their territory, but they shut him down when he tried selling to the kids at the bus stop. They kicked his ass. Nobody else had the balls to try after that.”
I frowned and shook my head. “No, there had to be somebody else.”
“There wasn’t. Kash and Hunter had the whole town.”
“Okay but how do you know that Raff really saw what he thought he saw? Maybe it was just a couple people fighting over something else. Or maybe he was high off his ass.”
She laughed. “Raff knew a crack fight when he heard it. You think he was waiting around for loose change to fall out of people’s pockets? Dude was a fiend. And whether he was high or not, he was still itching to get his hands on some free drugs.”
I frowned, letting the facts—such as they were—roll around in my head.
Lizzie shrugged. “And hey, if that doesn’t convince you—this last appeal? They showed the camera footage from across the street. Time and date stamped. Kash’s face, clearly visible. They let him go with time served.”
My eyes widened as I slapped her shoulder. “Why didn’t you lead with that?! God damn it, Lizzie!”
She burst out laughing. “What kind of story is that? Oh, they found a video that exonerated him, hurr durr. What kind of amateur sleuth does that make me look like?”
“A competent one,” I said primly. Tension left my body in dizzying waves. Damn it. Six years of torment, cleared by a video of Kash being a criminal. It was surreal. I hung my head between my knees and groaned.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” she said. “It’s not like you told him to never speak to you again or anything.”
I gave her a miserable look and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Her wide eyes twinkled gleefully.
“Oh God, you did.”
“You don’t have to be so thrilled about it.”
“I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t. Hey, when’s your break over?”
I checked the time. “Two minutes ago.”
“Onward and outward!” She brought the shaky beast to life coughing and choking, but managed to get me back to the library in one piece.
Lizzie liked a good story better than anything, which made her a gold mine of information—but also made her difficult to trust implicitly. If a story wasn’t spicy enough for her liking, she had no qualms about adding
