That was it.
And now the deputies thought he’d hurt that Bond woman.
What if he had? No, that wasn’t possible. He refused to believe he attacked Cecilia Bond and tossed her into the river. Yet horrors drifted through his head. He pictured himself as Frankenstein’s monster, tossing a little girl into the pond after she offered him flowers. What had he become? A killer? A devil?
He leaned his head back and guzzled the last of his beer. Then he caught the fat waitress’s eye and snapped his finger over his head. She rolled her eyes and stomped to the bar for another bottle.
As Tillery waited for the server to return, a dark figure blocked his view. He squinted up at the lights and recognized Carl Middleton looming over the table. Without asking, Middleton sat across from Tillery and set his meaty forearms on the table, jiggling two empty bottles. Tillery considered Middleton a friend. But he didn’t appreciate the man’s hard stare or the challenge in his eyes.
“You’ve been talking to the sheriff’s department, Garrick.”
It wasn’t a question.
The fat waitress set his beer on the table, took one look at Middleton’s glare, and got the hell out of there.
“Who told you that?”
Middleton snatched Tillery’s beer and twisted the cap off the bottle. He took a long sip.
“Everyone around town is talking about it. Did you tell the cops about the brick, Garrick?”
“What brick?”
“Don’t play stupid. The sheriff’s department grilled me about the brick. Seeing as you’re the only person I told, that makes me think you’re the one who ratted me out.”
Garrick remembered. Two winters ago, Middleton threw a brick through Lincoln Ramsey’s window after the banker turned down Middleton’s loan. Middleton had been damn proud of himself, and Garrick got a laugh out of it, until the deputies banged on his door, wondering if Garrick had anything to do with the vandalism. Garrick never liked Lincoln and Kay Ramsey. A couple of snooty assholes for neighbors. But he wouldn’t shatter their front window over money.
“Your little stunt almost got me arrested.”
“All the more reason for you to go to the cops.”
“Two years later? You’re not making sense, Carl. What’s gotten into you lately?”
“I’ll tell you what’s gotten into me. That prick, Lincoln Ramsey, made my life a living hell. And I’ve still got the sheriff and his deputies accusing me of harassing him. You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to dig that old bastard out of his grave and see if he has any blood left to spill.”
Middleton pushed the beer across the table, and Garrick slid it back to him. He wasn’t about to drink it after Carl slurped from the bottle.
“He’s dead. Let it go.”
“The son-of-a-bitch got everything he had coming to him.”
What did that mean? The rumor around town said Lincoln Ramsey hadn’t died from COPD. Someone killed him. Tillery narrowed his eyes.
“Wait, did you—” The server set another beer in front of Tillery, interrupting him. Suddenly, Tillery lost his taste for alcohol. “I didn’t order this. Take it back.”
“Compliments of the lady,” she said, pointing toward a brunette woman at the end of the bar.
Middleton turned to look and whistled.
“Wow, get a load of that one.”
Tillery rubbed the grit from his eyes. The woman wore a black leather miniskirt that barely touched her thighs. Her makeup matched the pitch of her hair and skirt, and her low cut top angled past her breasts and stopped just above her navel. She had the body of a fitness model, the face of a goth angel. There was something familiar about the woman. Someone from high school? A woman he hooked up with and forgot? She kept her back to Tillery and concentrated on her cocktail.
“Hey, Garrick. Stop staring at the bitch.” Tillery swung his eyes back to Middleton. “We’re not finished here. What did you tell the cops?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You spent the night in jail. Call it a coincidence, but the deputies accused me of stalking Lincoln Ramsey after they released you. I’m guessing you cut a deal. Is that what happened, Garrick? Because if it is, you and I are gonna have this out.”
Tillery shook the cobwebs out of his head.
“You’re insane. All this bullshit is in your head. Whatever you did to Lincoln Ramsey, leave me the hell out of it.”
Middleton shoved the table into Tillery’s belly. Pinning Tillery between the table and chair, Middleton rose and pointed a meaty finger into Tillery’s face.
“If I find out you’re lying, you’re a dead man. You got that, Garrick? I’ll fucking slit you from ear to ear. And you better not run to the cops again.”
Middleton strode away, carrying the bottle he’d stolen from Tillery. The music stopped. Everyone was staring at Tillery, expecting a fight. He wanted to throw the table aside and go after Middleton. Tackle him from behind and drive his head against the floor. Instead, he stayed glued to the chair, stunned Middleton would turn on him.
His eyes trailed back to the bar. He pounded the table when he realized the woman was gone. Tillery hadn’t even gotten her name. He waved down the waitress and motioned her to the table.
“The woman who bought me the beer. Where did she go?”
The server chomped her gum. The fruity stench did little to cover the cigarette smoke on her breath.
“How would I know?”
As the woman turned to leave, Tillery snatched her arm. She scowled at his hand and shrugged it off.
“You didn’t get her name?”
“She paid cash. I don’t give a shit what her name is. That’s for you to figure out, honey.”
Tillery slapped his money on the table and shrugged into his jacket. On his way out, he scanned the crowded bar one last time, searching for the sexy stranger.
The night thickened with humidity as he staggered through the parking lot. He punched the air, imagining it was Carl Middleton’s face. Everything sounded muffled, as if someone stuffed cotton in his ears. His shoes scuffed through
