Shane released a low whistle. “I take it Hammy’s not a gas station attendant.”
“He’s not. But I’m afraid Hammy can’t take the credit. This is the legacy of Carlton Driggers. He started Driggers Porcelain and Pottery forty years ago and built it into an international business. It’s just past here, right next door, actually. The old man died a year ago, according to Carolyn, so everything belongs to Hammy and his brother, Spike, now.”
“Carolyn?” Maybe someone else with useful information.
Jess eased the car to a stop. “Platt. She makes it a point to know everything about everyone in Harmony Grove.”
“She’s like the town historian?”
“More like the town gossip.”
When they rang the bell, one side of the double door swung inward to reveal an older man in a dark suit, the epitome of the starchy English butler. “May I help you?”
Jess stepped forward. “Is Hammy here?”
“Who may I tell him is calling?”
“Jess Parker. I’m Priscilla’s sister.”
He invited them into the foyer and excused himself with a nod that was more of a half bow. In less than a minute, he was back. “Come with me.”
He led them through the house, then pushed open a set of wooden double doors. The room appeared to be a den, with bookcases lining two walls and a lavish entertainment center built into a third. A leather sectional wrapped a square piece of thick beveled glass held up by two porcelain black panthers.
Hammy occupied one end of the sectional. He obviously wasn’t expecting guests. And he obviously didn’t care that he looked like he wasn’t expecting guests. He sat slouched, legs sprawled in front of him, his hair unbrushed. He hadn’t bothered to don a shirt, either. In fact, he probably hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch for some time. A half-eaten sandwich lay on the coffee table, an open bag of chips next to it. Several had found their way out of the mouth of the bag, forming a haphazard trail over the edge of the tabletop and onto the floor. Two bottles of scotch added to the disarray. One was half empty, the other completely drained. There wasn’t a glass in sight.
Jess approached the motionless form. “Hammy?”
He didn’t acknowledge their presence at first. His glazed eyes rested on the big screen TV at the other end of the room. Some kind of action flick was playing. Thriller, sci-fi, spy movie, Shane wasn’t sure. Hammy probably wasn’t, either. Though his gaze was fixed there, his attention appeared to be elsewhere. Finally, he dragged his eyes from the television and nodded toward the other end of the sofa.
Jess settled into the padded leather, leaving room for Shane to sit at the end. “This is my friend Shane.” She drew in a deep breath. “Thanks for seeing us. I know things aren’t good for you right now.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “This is so unlike Priscilla. I was hoping you might be able to help me understand why she did it.”
“I don’t know why she did it.” The words were slurred. The man was drunk, which wasn’t any big surprise.
“Did she seem depressed at all?”
He shook his head. “I never saw Prissy depressed about anything.”
“She didn’t seem upset or worried?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Do you know if she was involved in anything…illegal? Was there maybe something she had that someone might want?”
His eyes met Jess’s, and concern flashed in their watery depths. “What do you mean?”
“Someone ransacked her house. They took the hard drive out of her computer. Any idea what they would have been looking for?”
His gaze fluttered away to settle on the television, and he ran a hand over his stubble. “No idea.”
Shane mentally ticked off the two telltale signs of lying. Hammy knew something. Now if Jess could just loosen his tongue. The scotch should help.
“I was told she OD’d on oxycodone. Did she do drugs?”
“Yeah, some. Nothing hard. Mostly weed.”
“How about oxycodone?”
“Once or twice.” He leaned forward to grasp the scotch around the neck of the bottle and brought it to his mouth. Several drops dribbled down his chest. Yep, just what Shane thought. The man was measuring his drinks by the bottle rather than the glass.
“Can you think of anyone who would want to see her dead?”
He looked at her sharply. “She killed herself. What are you talking about?”
“There are things that make us think she might have been murdered.”
Shane cringed. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word covert. But he didn’t have time to concern himself with her boldness. Hammy sprang to his feet, then staggered sideways until he found his balance. “That stupid, opportunistic woman! Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?”
Except for a soft intake of air, Jess didn’t react. He was impressed. Maybe she was better at this than he thought.
“What do you mean?” She kept her tone level. “What did she do?”
Hammy set the bottle back on the table and sank onto the couch, once again in control. Even drunk, he probably knew he’d said too much. “I don’t know. That’s just how she was. She talked too much and might have ticked off the wrong person.”
Shane watched him. Recognizing his slip had sobered him up better than a cold shower and a strong cup of coffee. But Jess persisted. “How is that opportunistic?”
“I don’t know. She took advantage of every situation. No matter what happened, she always came out on top. You never wanted to argue with her. No way you’d ever win.”
Jess gave him a wry smile. “I figured that out a long time ago.” She pulled a receipt from her purse and scrawled something on the back. “Here’s
