Susan looked up expectantly, not sure if she was waiting for him to continue or wishing for him to lean down and kiss her again.
“We know that Pap-pap was in those hills.” The young man ticked his first point off of a finger. “We know that he met with Sheriff Frazer at least on one occasion.” He held up another finger. “We know that my grandmother never believed the rumors that he was making and selling moonshine.” A third finger came in to play. “What does it all mean?”
Susan’s eyes grew wide as she puzzled out the questions. “David,” her voice was breathy and she rested her hand on his arm. “If your grandfather was working for Sheriff Frazer to identify the moonshiners, maybe one of them did shoot him.”
David shook his head. “I still think they would have just left. They could just as easily move to another location and snuck the hooch back into this county from anywhere.”
Susan nodded. “It had to be bigger stakes than just selling whisky then.” Her hand still rested on his forearm and she could feel the ripple of muscles under her palm. “Oh my goodness!” she gasped. “David, we’ve been looking at this all wrong. Your grandfather wasn’t making moonshine, he was trying to find out how it was still getting sold when the sheriff of the county had all but declared war on those who manufactured it.”
“How many arrests were made of people transporting the stuff?” David asked, his voice going hoarse. “How many actual arrests were made? This is a small county, there can’t have been that many men assigned to the case. If grandpa had discovered that one of them was working with the moonshiners…”
“That would be a reason to kill.” Susan’s blue eyes were huge as she met David’s gaze. “It wasn’t about the moonshine, it was about finding out who was letting the moonshiners function right beneath the sheriff’s nose.”
A cold shiver raced down David’s back as the pieces clicked into place.
“Did you ever take those shards of glass to my friend at the local garage?”
“Yes, but I haven’t followed up yet.”
“I think he might have the final piece of the puzzle.”
“Come on,” Susan said grabbing her purse and heading for the stairs. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, this isn’t over yet. A man’s legacy, reputation, and community standing might be in play here.”
David slipped his hand into Susan’s as they raced up the stairs and out of the building dashing for the Jeep and hopefully the last answers they needed. If his friend could identify the car that those broken shards had come from, they may have the last shred of evidence to prove their theory. Now if they could only identify who might have gone so far as to murder a man who was tasked with ferreting out who was behind keeping an age old activity alive.
“Kick back!” David practically shouted as the wind roared past his ears. “Someone was getting a cut of the profit.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Susan asked, peering out of the Jeep as she dropped David off at his apartment the next day.
“I’ll be fine. My head is good. I’ll see my doctor tomorrow, and I have to get back to work.”
“Give me a call if you need anything,” Susan found herself reluctant to say goodbye to the man she had spent so much time with recently.
David’s warm chuckle drifted back into the Jeep. “I will,” he smiled. “You be careful and let me know if you find out anything new.”
“Promise,” Susan agreed crossing her heart as he closed the door. She would head to the courthouse again following a new path she hadn’t thought of before. If it paid off, she would let David know, and together they could follow the trail to the truth.
A short trip through town and a trip to the archives had Susan squinting at old newspapers trying to make out the names, dates, and pictures of an array of people who were active investigators at the time of Mr. Watkins disappearance.
David’s friend had narrowed down the broken taillight to a few possibilities and Susan hoped that with a little work they could match the car to the killer. She would gather information on the men involved first then head for the driver’s registration office to see if they would let her compare notes.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Susan began snapping pictures of men who were loosely connected with the war on moonshine, lawlessness, and graft. As she studied each image, carefully reading the names in tiny printed captions and making notes, a pattern began to emerge. A thrill of excitement poured through her as she started to put more pieces together.
If what she suspected were true, the connection between the horses her grandmother had rescued and the disappearance of Harcourt Watkins was more sinister than she would like to admit.
Switching off the brightly lit magnifying glass, Susan slipped the notes into her bag and turned to go, gasping as a dark shadow loomed over her.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Mr. Coatins smiled at her. The bulky man dwarfed her, making her cringe at his sheer size. Though old, the man was tall, broad, and thick, appearing to be strong and intimidating, despite the bright smile on his face.
“I was just leaving,” Susan smiled backing into the chair she had just pushed under a desk. “What are you doing here?”
“I come down and go over old cases now and then,” the old man smiled. “You look like you have been busy.” He nodded his gray head at her bag.
“I’m just making notes.”
“Care to share?” the old man grinned again, easing his stance so one leg was slightly bent.
“It’s nothing at the moment,” Susan hedged. “None of it really makes any sense. There doesn’t seem to be any connection
