Chapter 11
“Well, well, if it isn’t the lady detective,” Greg said with a smirk. “Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”
“Nice to meet you, Greg.”
He swung the door all the way open, waving a hand as he turned. “Come on in, and let’s have ourselves a little chat.”
I followed Greg to the kitchen, noting several cans of beer in the trash can as I entered.
Greg cleared a few magazines off one of the barstools and offered me a seat.
Then he opened the door to refrigerator and said, “You want something to drink? I got beer, orange juice, water, and … well, not much else. If neither of those options sound good, I can make you a cup of coffee. Or, I have everything to make a tequila sunrise, if you’re so inclined. ”
“Water’s fine.”
He gave me a nod and said, “Water it is, then.”
He grabbed a beer for himself, then opened a cupboard door, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. Sliding it in my direction, he walked around the bar and took a seat beside me.
As I glanced around the room, my eyes landed on a framed, signed Billy Idol album on the wall, and I pointed at it, blurting, “Your frame on the wall—it’s crooked.”
He glanced at it, then back at me. “Maybe I like it that way.”
That made one of us.
“Why weren’t you at Gideon’s wake?” I asked.
“That’s an easy question to answer. I try to avoid gatherings where there’s an abundance of certain townsfolk I’d rather not see.”
“And what townsfolk would those be?”
“People I went to school with, for starters.”
“If you’re looking to avoid some of the people in this town, why not move?”
“I’m fond of Hollow Pines. I’m just not as fond of some of the people who live here.”
It made sense.
“When was the last time you saw Gideon?” I asked.
He took a swig of beer, then another, and then he wiped his damp hand on his shirt sleeve.
“I saw him two days before he died. We met up at the local bar to have a few drinks. Maybe a few too many,” he added, with a wink.
“What did the two of you talk about?”
“He told me about Cecilia, his wife. We also discussed the Sweet Hearth Bakery, and his plans to kill the business.”
“Was he already planning on closing the business at that stage, or was he still open to finding ways to keep it open?”
“I’d say he was about seventy-five percent in favor of shutting it down.”
“Did he talk to you about Camille and Martin and their feelings about the business?” I asked.
“Sure did. They were in favor of keeping it open, and while I understand, it was Gideon’s decision to make—not theirs.”
“Do you think the decision he made was the right one?”
“I do. You can’t keep a failing business open for nostalgic reasons if it’s operating at a loss. Doesn’t seem right.”
He had a point, though I understood the sentimental attachment Camille and Martin had for it.
Switching subjects, I said, “A few days before he died, the sheriff’s wife ran into Gideon at the park. While they were talking, Gideon received a call from Martin. She believed they had a heated exchange.”
“Martin has a history of being argumentative when things don’t go his way.”
Interesting.
Now for a fully loaded question.
“Do you think Martin could have murdered Gideon?” I asked.
Greg ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh, man. Of all the questions I thought you’d ask, that wasn’t one of them. Huh. Do I think Martin murdered Gideon? I’m going to say no.”
“Why?”
“For starters, he’s all talk, no muscle.”
Still, everyone had their breaking point.
“What about Camille?” I asked.
He blinked at me as if shocked for the second time. “She hired you, didn’t she? Why do such a thing if she murdered her brother?”
“To make me believe she’s innocent.”
“Not to question her character, but I don’t think she’s that cunning. I mean, I love the woman, but I can’t see her killing her own brother.”
“What about Gideon’s wife?”
He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Wow, you’re on a roll. I don’t know Cecilia all that well, but she seems like a real sweetheart. They were crazy about each other.”
“With Gideon dead, Cecilia stands to inherit money and property, doesn’t she?”
“Gideon had a trust, one Camille and Martin are part of as well. But let me be clear—if you think either of them killed him, I don’t believe that for a second.”
Learning Camille and Martin were in Gideon’s trust sharpened my focus on them. Money had a way of twisting family ties, and now, their possible motives seemed clearer than ever.
But Greg didn’t believe they were suspects.
If not them, then who?
“How can you be so sure they’re innocent?” I asked.
“Gut feeling, guess you could say.”
“Do you know how Gideon divided up the trust?”
Greg tapped a thumb against the counter, thinking. “I don’t. When we talked at the bar, he said he’d just amended the trust. I’m guessing he did it to include his wife.”
“Do Camille and Martin know they’re part of the trust?”
He paused, then said, “I’m not sure.”
“Did he tell them about his marriage to Cecilia before he died?”
“I’m guessing he didn’t. Cecilia approached them after the funeral service, and when she introduced herself as Gideon’s wife, they were shocked. I was standing there when it happened, and I’ll tell you one thing, it was awkward.”
I found it strange Gideon hadn’t told his siblings he was married. Maybe he planned on doing it before he left town, and he never got the chance. Or maybe he was going to tell them but for whatever reason, he changed his mind.
“Gideon used to get picked on for being overweight,” I said. “Then you came around, he slimmed down and bulked up, and the two of you took on the bullies.”
Greg grinned, chugged the rest of his beer, and then tossed the can into the trash. “Yeah, those were good times.”
“Sheriff Briggs was one of the boys who picked on him. Do you think he could have killed Gideon?”
“Briggs likes to flap his gums and shove people around but bend him in half and he’s bawling for his mama. Still, wouldn’t shock me if he pulled the trigger—taking the easy way out.”
At long last, someone had earned a spot on Greg’s suspect list.
“Aside from Briggs, who were the other bullies?” I asked.
“Gonna need another beer before I answer any more questions,” he said with a laugh. “How about you? Ready for something a little stronger yet?”
“I’m fine with water.”
“Suit yourself.” He grabbed another can out of the refrigerator and then leaned against the bar. “Let’s see now … aside from our deadbeat sheriff there’s Dwayne Sutton, Blake Dalton, and Vince Slater. There were a few others, but they weren’t as aggressive.”
“Do Dwayne, Blake, and Vince still live around here?”
“Dwayne and Blake, yeah. They’re still the same worthless wastes of space they were when we were in school. Blake more than Dwayne. He’s gotten a lot friendlier. They went into business together, opened a barbecue joint on Ravenwood Drive.”
“The Rusty Spur.”
He pointed in my direction. “That would be the one.”
“I passed by their place when I was on the haunted history walking tour.”
He slapped a hand to his knee, laughing. “You did Ichabod’s tour, eh?”
“I thought it was great. You have no idea how much I want the story he told about Esmerelda’s spirit wandering the streets of this town to be true.”
He looked me in the eye and said, “Oh, it is, believe me.”
“You say it like you’ve seen her.”
“I haven’t, but my dad swears he saw her once, and he doesn’t believe in ghosts. Or, I should say … he didn’t. Now, he doesn’t know what to think.”
I glanced at a text message I’d just received from Cade, realizing I was running late for dinner.
Time to wrap up.
“We’ve talked about Dwayne and Blake, but you’ve said nothing about Vince.”
He crossed one leg in front of the other. “I’m afraid ol’ Vince got what was coming to him in the end.”
Got what was coming to him?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He offered me a tight, uneasy smile, then said, “Vince Slater couldn’t have murdered Gideon.”
“Why not?”
“He’s dead.”