I believed the incident was something much more sinister. I believed someone had been trying to intimidate me by deliberately activating my security lights, knowing they’d wake me.
I believed tonight’s visit had been a not-so-subtle threat.
Coming up empty after walking the perimeter of my house Wednesday morning for signs of an intruder hadn’t reassured me. I was out of sorts after the early morning scare and the deputies’ flippant attitude in response to my emergency.
Anna May’s warm welcome as I purchased my usual from On A Roll helped settle my nerves. Hopefully, my doctored café mocha and Floyd’s pleased expression—“pleased” was a relative term for the grumpy old guy—when he saw the peach cobbler would further lift my spirits.
As I neared the exit, I finally registered the oddly familiar reaction of several other early morning customers. Just as on Monday, a handful of them kept shooting furtive and unsubtle glances across the dining area. Following the direction of their interest, I spotted Willy seated at the same front table. He was with Bobby Hayes. The two appeared to be in the middle of a heated exchange. Interesting.
Like the other café regulars, I wanted to listen in on their argument, but I was too far to hear anything over the competing sounds of conversations, laughter, and espresso machines. Anna May’s café opened early and filled fast. Most of the tables were occupied. The customers who weren’t focused on Willy and Bobby were reading, chatting with friends or family, working on laptops or tablets, or sitting alone people watching.
As I maneuvered closer to Willy and Bobby’s table, I noticed a narrow coffee station that offered napkins, stirrers, various packets of sugar, creamers, and other coffee and tea additives. I pounced on it. Standing in profile to the two men, I forced myself to appear casual and aloof. I first pretended to go through my carryout bag, which had only the one small box of peach cobbler. Then I examined my café mocha with extra espresso—which was already sweet enough. I plucked a few napkins from their holder to do I-didn’t-know-what with.
Although I strained to tune out other sounds, I still couldn’t decipher their dispute. I could only hear their tightly controlled, angry voices as they threw words at each other. Waves of hostility rose from their table. Their body language was combative. Fingers jabbed the air between them. Arms flew up and out like overly dramatic band conductors.
Seconds after I’d settled into my performance at the coffee station, Bobby surged from his seat and stormed out of On A Roll. He walked right past me. His strides were so quick, they generated a breeze that ruffled the napkins beside me. What had their argument been about? Could it impact the deputies’ case against Jo?
Squaring my shoulders, I approached Willy. “Good morning.”
He gave me a polite smile as he briefly rose to his feet. Tension shimmered around him. Angry color marred his pale cheekbones. “Good morning, Marvey. How are you?”
“I should be asking you that question.” I studied him with concern. His eyes were shadowed and bracketed by dark circles. Like me, he must not have gotten much sleep last night. But whereas nerves had pulled me from bed early, I suspected grief was the reason for his restless night.
Willy gestured toward the spare seat at his table, the one Bobby had just vacated. “Do you have time to join me, or do you have to get to work?”
His change of subject didn’t escape me. I decided not to push him. Yet.
I checked my watch before sitting. “I have a few minutes. Is that your breakfast?”
The white porcelain mug he embraced with both hands looked like it contained regular black coffee. Anna May must’ve been disappointed. She loved making the fancier drinks.
Willy shoved his broad hand through his thick hair. “I’m not very hungry.”
I sat back on my chair, aware of the frequent and furtive attention we drew. “How long will you be in Peach Coast? You must be anxious to return home.” Back to people who could be supportive as he grieved. Being here couldn’t be helping him process Fiona’s death, especially if he had to endure scenes like the one I’d witnessed between him and Bobby.
“The sooner, the better.” Willy’s knuckles turned white as his hands tightened around his mug. “But I want to do whatever I can to help the deputies catch Fiona’s killer first.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry.” I felt bad that I may have upset him, but his response triggered another question in my mind. What had Willy given the deputies as his alibi? Granted, they didn’t require much, unless your name was Jo. Betty had been cleaning. Bobby had been watching TV.
Willy claimed he’d driven his own car straight to To Be Read, and hadn’t arrived until shortly after four PM. Had the deputies found a way to verify that? Note to self: Ask Spence to verify the time Willy had checked into the Peach Coast Inn. The hotel was one of his family’s many holdings.
“I don’t know how much help I can be to the deputies.” Willy looked around the café as he drank his coffee. Did he notice the attention we were getting? “I reckon there’s a whole town full of suspects they can pick from. But they don’t seem to think their investigation will take long.”
Was that because they were only focusing on one suspect, Jo—who, by the way, was innocent?
Frustrated, I turned my attention to the scene outside of the window beside us. The sky was a blinding shade of blue. A few old live oaks, Georgia’s state tree, flourished along the sidewalk.
Turning back to Willy, I sipped my mocha. The creamy, sweet, caffeinated drink sent a jolt through my system. A couple more sips, and I just might wake up. “I’d think the deputies would appreciate having you here. It must be
