“I don’t know what you’re implying. But there’s no law against browsing. Maybe I needed to get out of the house after all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. Now, if you don’t move out of my way, I’ll slap a lawsuit on the county that will make your head spin.”
“When was the last time you replaced your tires?”
Leonard glared at Thomas.
“What kind of question is that? They’re legal. My car passed inspection last month.”
“Humor me, please.”
“Before spring. I use snow tires during the winter and change them out the first week of March.”
“So you haven’t switched your tires in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Why the hell would I? Move.”
As Leonard pushed the shopping cart around the sheriff, Thomas directed the pen light toward the rear tires while keeping his eye on the irate man. The rear tires matched the front tires. All-season radials. This wasn’t the car he was looking for.
Leonard popped the trunk and loaded the groceries. After he finished, he slammed the trunk and shoved the cart across the parking lot. It rolled through vacant spaces, clipped a hole in the pavement, and crashed onto its side.
“You should return the cart to the corral, Mr. Leonard.”
“Why don’t you do it? Earn your pay for once, simpleton.”
Thomas eyed the Passat as he screeched out of Barret’s parking lot. The tires on Ed Leonard’s sedan didn’t match the casts taken at the murder scene.
But Ed Leonard had no alibi for the attack on Leland Trivett.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
October 31st
7:30 p.m.
LeVar lifted the chicken and lettuce wrap from the bag and handed it across the car to Chelsey. Since they’d left the bus terminal parking lot, Chelsey had spoken little. They were tired, hungry, and stressed, and the night showed no sign of ending.
Unwrapping a hamburger, LeVar took a bite and chewed. They sat inside Chelsey’s Civic and watched the farmhouse from across the road, the cold growing as the sky cleared. The Civic sat hidden beyond a turnoff that once allowed access to tractors. The farm had long since gone defunct, and a meadow grew in its place, the grass and weeds tall enough to conceal the car as they waited in the dark. No lights shone inside the farmhouse. Maybe LeVar was wrong about Benson returning before he caught the bus to Detroit. He popped a handful of fries into his mouth and sipped a strawberry milkshake. Chelsey set her half-eaten meal on her lap and stared out the window, lost in thought.
LeVar realized Chelsey struggled with depression. But depression wasn’t the root cause behind her silence tonight. Something weighed on her mind.
“I have my first midterm next week,” he said, doing his best to ignite a conversation.
Chelsey set her elbow on the sill and leaned her cheek against her palm. A few seconds later, she swung her head toward him.
“Did you say something?”
“My midterm. No big deal. Just making small talk.”
She set the wrap aside and turned to face him.
“No, tell me what you said. Please. That was rude of me to zone out on you.”
LeVar placed the milkshake in the cup holder.
“Chelsey, do you like working with me?”
“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”
“You’ve hardly said a word since we left Raven and Darren at the bus station. I get it. You don’t trust me, and I deserve it. I ran with the Harmon Kings for too long and did things I’ll always regret. I’ve given you no reason to believe I’ve changed.” Her mouth hung open. “Anyhow, if you’d rather work with Raven, I’m cool cruising around with Darren. It’s just that I’d rather learn from you, because you’re the head cheese and all.”
“You think I don’t trust you?”
LeVar leaned against the headrest.
“That’s why you’re ignoring me, right?”
Chelsey rubbed her face. It wasn’t until her hands fell away that he realized she was laughing.
“I’m hopeless. I keep blowing relationships, even with people I just met.” She touched his shoulder. “LeVar, I trust you with my life. You lack experience, and you can’t become a private investigator until you turn twenty-five. But you’re ready. I value your opinion, your instincts. Hell, the reason we’re freezing to death in the middle of a field is because you believe Mark Benson will sneak into the farmhouse again.”
“Then why the cold shoulder?”
Chelsey stared at her hands.
“I never forgave myself for the way I treated you last spring.”
“Hey, you apologized. It’s over.”
“Not for me, it isn’t. I suspected you murdered Erika Windrow. And if it wasn’t you, it had to be another member of the Harmon Kings. I should have known better.”
“Why? We’d never met, and my reputation preceded me.”
“But you’re Raven’s brother. That should have convinced me you weren’t a killer.”
LeVar glared at the moonlit house across the road, remembering a different time. The Harmon Kings became more violent after Rev took control. Many nights, LeVar struggled to fall asleep, afraid Rev would thrust the Kings into a war, and LeVar would need to kill someone. He’d come close. Another month under Rev, and LeVar was certain the gang leader would have instigated a city-wide war with the 315 Royals.
“I was lucky. I got out of Harmon before things spun out of control. Had it not been for Shep, I never would have made it.”
“Look at me, LeVar.” He turned his head. “You’re here tonight because you made choices to better your life. You even earned your GED and enrolled in college. What you’re accomplishing is nothing short of amazing. I’m proud to know you.”
LeVar’s throat constricted. He didn’t take praise well. Wasn’t used to it. Growing up, he’d never heard it from his mother, though his gang earnings kept a roof over their heads.
He stuffed the hamburger inside the bag.
“Then stop apologizing for the past and be my friend. Or at least be my boss. Yell at me when I do wrong. Anything is better than walking on egg shells forever.”
“You
