I imagined Antonio and Shayla and smiled. “They’re characters that’s for sure.”
Luke quirked an eyebrow at me. “Law enforcement types?”
“More like mall cop, but in a good way.”
Luke let out a burst of laughter and a bit of the tension between us seemed to melt. “What do you mean by mall cop?”
“I don’t know. Not so serious. More laid-back. No guns or handcuffs.” Every word I said elicited more laughter. “What? Stop laughing.” Now I was laughing too. “They’re good people. I’m sure they’re very good at what they do. And I’m one of them now.”
“Oh you are?” His laughter died down, and he put on a mock serious face. “Forgive me Miss Mall-cop.”
I swatted at his arm.
“Hey! Have you forgotten rule number seventeen?” His tone took me right back to high school and our flirtatious banter. “No hitting the driver.”
“I’d barely call that a hit. More like a lo—”
His phone rang and my face felt like it would burn up. Thankfully, I hadn’t finished the statement, but Luke’s expression told me that he knew exactly what my next words were going to be—love tap.
“Hannah,” he said bringing the phone up to his ear. After a series of uh-huh’s and got it’s, he said goodbye.
“What was that about?” I asked hoping he’d forget what had transpired before he’d gotten his phone call.
“That was Jerry. He spoke with Jackson today, and he has an air-tight alibi. There’s no way he was the killer.”
I figured as much. “Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s about it.” He didn’t look at me when he said this but kept his eyes trained on the growing city out the windshield.
“You sure?”
“Yep. I’m sure.”
I wanted to push it, but we were finally back on good terms and that meant more than whatever he was hiding. For now.
Patricia was on the front porch of her trailer house when we pulled up. She sat in a plastic lawn chair on the grass turf porch sipping what looked to be a Bloody Mary.
“It’s abou’ time you showed up.” Her voice was slurred, and her eyes were bloodshot. They darted from me to the trailer across from us. “Let’s go inside. The damn neighbors are always watchin’ us . . . me.”
Luke and I followed her inside the trailer and sat together on a couch that looked like it’d been upholstered in the seventies—yellow with brown and orange flowers, cigarette burns all over, and smelling of must and smoke.
She plopped into an armchair across from us. “So whaddya want?”
Luke looked at me. Apparently this was my interview.
“Well, uh,” I cleared my throat. “I know you said you think Dave’s the killer and all, but I’m not so sure.”
“Dave did it, that bastard. He took my Ronniekins away from me.” She forced out a dramatic sob and nearly spilled her drink down her front.
“How exactly do you know it was Dave?”
“Who else coulda done it? Dave hated Ronnie. After Ronnie caught that stupid fish, Dave was a bully. And Clark done runnoft.”
Something about the way she said Clark’s name set off my radar. “What exactly happened between Ronnie and Clark?”
“I dunno, stupid fishin’ shit.”
She looked away.
“You know, we saw Clark yesterday. He was very broken up about Ronnie’s death.”
She perked up. “Did he ask about me?”
“Well, no,” I said and her face dropped.
“Not even to see how I’s doin’ without Ronnie?”
“He had other things on his mind,” Luke offered with a shrug.
“The tramp. That’s what was on his mind.” Her face was turning purple. “If Ronnie hadn’ been a complete asshole, Clark wouldn’ta left at all.”
I circled back. “And where were you when Ronnie died?”
“You mean when that SOB murdered him?” She took a swig of her drink. “I already told him”—she jabbed a finger in Luke’s direction—“I’s just here in my house, doin’ my nails.”
“And you thought Ronnie was . . .”
“Fishin’.”
I glanced over at Luke. “You told Officer Hannah you thought Ronnie was in the garage.”
“Well, yeah, I did. I mean, I—I don’t know—” she let out a sob that sounded like a pissed off cat. It took every part of me not to roll my eyes. Did she really think I would let this go because she cried? Luke shifted uncomfortably next to me. Typical guy, can’t handle a girl crying. These tactics may have worked on Luke and his partner, but I knew a fake when I saw one.
“Patricia, do you like to fish?” I asked.
“I, well, I—” She blew her nose on a stained handkerchief she’d pulled from her bra. “I use ta like going with Ronnie and Clark. But when Clark left, it wasn’ so fun anymore.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t fun anymore?”
Panic washed over her face.
“It’s okay,” I said in a softer voice. “We’re just trying to find out who killed Ronnie.”
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s just, Clark was a bit of a shield between me and Ronnie. When he was gone, me and Ronnie fought all the time.”
“Did you and Clark ever spend time together when Ronnie wasn’t around?” I asked. Luke shifted on the couch next to me.
“You can’ possibly think . . . no.” She shook her head violently. “We wasn’ nothin’. I mean, I woulda been there for him, but he had that stupid little strung out bimbo from the slums he’d always run to.”
Her voice cracked. So much for being so in love with her Ronniekins.
“So you were home painting your nails and Ronnie was fishing.” I changed the subject.
“Yep. Apparently he didn’ care that I didn’ want him to go. Snuck out, he did.” She looked at Luke. “I didn’ wanna tell ya, because I didn’ want ya to think I killed him.”
“We’re just trying to get all the facts, Mrs. Tilsdale,” Luke said. “If there’s anything else you left out in your first interview, please tell us. It may help us find Ronnie’s killer more quickly.” He flashed her the same smile he’d given the girl at the motel.
She blushed. “Well, don’ take this
