“I just…Don’t get mad at me, Hollis, okay?”
“What?” I asked, my voice low and wary.
She squirmed for a second more. “It’s just…Don’t you think it would be pretty dumb to kill a guy right after you told everyone you were going to kill that guy?”
“Nobody ever said Paulie Henderson was a genius. He signed an email Unanimous, remember?”
She nodded her head. “True. But he’s not stupid, either. He could have followed Farley to somewhere much less public and run him over there. Or strangled him. Or…or killed him with a frozen hot dog. Whatever. The point is, doing it somewhere else would have been a much better plan.”
“Maybe it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. Maybe Paulie was mad because they lost, he had this huge grudge on this guy, he saw him walking in the shadows of the lower lot, and took his chance. Bam. Done. No more stolen plays.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. But she said it in that same doubtful way.
“It’s entirely possible,” I said. “And right now it’s all we’ve got.”
She chewed her lip. “But here’s the other thing. Even if you think Chief Henderson would cover for Paulie.” She put her hand out as if to hold me from talking. “And I totally see how you’d think that, given how many times Paulie has magically skated out of charges, and I agree that’s super sketchy. But…well…do you think Brooks would be complicit in that?”
I opened my mouth to tell her, yes, that was exactly what I thought. But something stopped me. She was right. Brooks didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would cover for a murderer. He was genuine, and sweet, and probably felt really sorry for Farley’s widow. But more than that, he was honest. That was not the kind of guy who would go along with a cover-up.
Unless, of course, he didn’t know about it.
“We still need to talk to Paulie,” I said, pulling into the Farley driveway. “If nothing else, just to cover all of our bases.”
“You haven’t had much luck getting to him,” she said.
“The football team has to practice, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“And they have to finish practice at some point, too.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” she said.
“Daisy, do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then don’t worry about Paulie. Everything will be fine. Here’s the house.”
I parked at the curb. Daisy and I looked at the front of the Farley house, and then at each other.
“I’m nervous,” she said.
“Why? You’ll be fine.”
“I’ve never questioned a widow before. It seems invasive or something. Like it’s the last thing she needs. And I don’t have any food to offer.”
I unhooked my seatbelt nonchalantly, even though on the inside I was feeling exactly what Daisy was feeling. Questioning someone in new, raw grief was always difficult. “If it makes you feel better, most people want to talk,” I said. “They want to know who killed their loved one. We’re helping her.”
“I wish I’d brought some muffins,” Daisy said. “You’re supposed to feed the grieving.”
She took a deep breath and wrapped her hand around the door handle. “Let’s go.”
Nobody answered the door, and all the shades were pulled. The house was buttoned up tight. So much for finding out more about Farley’s home life.
“She’s not there.” We turned to find a neighbor coming across the lawn toward us, rake in hand.
“Any idea when she’ll get home?” I asked.
The neighbor shook her head. “I haven’t seen her much since the funeral. Really sad what happened, isn’t it?”
“Definitely sad,” Daisy said. “You don’t happen to know where she went, do you?”
The neighbor cocked her head, giving us a curious look. “Who are you, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”
“We’re podcasters,” Daisy said brightly. “The Knock ‘Em Dead podcast. Where murder and muffins meet.” I was pretty sure that in our job delineations, Daisy was the PR department.
The woman brightened. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about you. They say your recipes are to die for.”
“That is so on brand,” Daisy said. “I really need to start using that more consistently.”
“We’re reporters,” I said. “We were just hoping to find out a little bit more about Mr. Farley’s life. What did he like to do with his spare time? Where did he go? Did he have any enemies?”
She waved her hand. “I never really had anything to do with him, so I don’t know what his personal life was like. He never bothered me and I never bothered him. I thought he died of natural causes. Some sort of heart attack or something.”
“That’s definitely what they’re saying,” I said, busily jotting down notes.
“What about Wilma Louise?” Daisy asked. “Are you close?”
The neighbor wrinkled her nose. “We chat every now and again. But we don’t have a lot in common, so it’s usually pleasantries. Neighbor stuff. What do you think of this heat? Did you get to the HOA meeting? That kind of thing.”
“How’s she holding up, though?” Daisy asked. “Does she need muffins?”
The woman shrugged, nearly losing her rake in the process. “I have no idea. She hasn’t said a peep.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She comes and goes all day long, but never stops to chat. I even called out to her and she kept going. A couple other ladies brought her a casserole and we all saw the curtains flutter when they knocked, but she never answered. They ended up leaving the food on her porch, and in the morning, it was still there. Stayed there until one of them came back and picked it up. I figure she’s just grieving. Everybody does it differently.” True, but the idea of poor Wilma Louise grieving all alone in that closed-up house, not answering the door or even eating, was just too sad to think about.
“Probably,” I said. “One more thing. Have you seen anyone unusual hanging around?”
“Only you two,” she said. “This is a really quiet neighborhood.”
We thanked her for her time and headed back to the car.
“Oh, come to think of it,
