Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Summer
W e left the farm and headed back out to the Brewer property, taking a survey of the property that Dixie had pulled up. We arrived around eleven o’clock and walked around for an hour, not finding anything useful. And as predicted, despite the fact that it was fall—and supposedly cooler—we were hot and sweaty. But this was southern Alabama, which meant it wasn’t out of the ordinary to see temperatures over eighty degrees in October. I was just about to call the search off when something caught my eye.
I pointed to a bundle of cut flowers lying on the ground just inside the edge of a small grove of trees. “What’s that?”
Only a few feet in front of me, Dixie turned around and gasped. “Someone’s been out here.”
“And pretty recently,” I said, bending over to pick them up. “Look how fresh those flowers are.” I knew by touching them that I could be destroying evidence, but I was realistic enough to know that no one was going to be searching them for fingerprints.
After giving the bouquet a thorough once-over, I glanced up, then noticed a path through the grove. “Let’s check that out.”
Dixie trailed after me as I headed down the path. We only had to walk a few feet before we found a stream of water that had carved a deep rut through the trees. The path continued on the other side.
“It’s heading east,” Dixie said, “toward Rachel’s property.”
“She doesn’t own the land adjacent to the Brewer property anymore,” I said, “which means she’s cut through somebody else’s land to get here.”
“If she’s the one who left the flowers,” Dixie said. “It could be somebody else.”
“True,” I said, looking the flowers over—a mix of daisies and roses that appeared to have been cut from a bush. The bouquet was wrapped with a piece of twine, the ends of which were tied in a bow.
“A woman did that,” Dixie said. “No man’s gonna take the time to tie up some flowers that nicely.”
I cast a glance over my shoulder to her. “Do you think these were left for Bethany?”
“Maybe,” Dixie said, “but why wouldn’t they leave them over by the stock pond?”
That was a question neither of us had an answer to. We both spent several minutes examining the ground, trying to find some sort of clue as to why the flowers had been left. The bundle had been in a small circle of smashed-down grass surrounded by overgrown weeds, all about ten feet from the creek. I had no idea why it had been left in this location, but I’d bet money that Rachel was the one who’d put them there.
Dixie walked over to the creek. “We’re already out here. I say we follow the trail and see where it takes us.”
I hesitated but only for moment. We would likely be trespassing on somebody else’s land, but if we got caught, I figured we could just tell them what we were up to, or at least some version of it. We spent the next ten minutes following the trail, climbing a couple of fences, and walking through weeds. Neither one of us was surprised when the path ended in a copse of trees with Rachel’s house several hundred feet to our right.
“Okay,” Dixie said, wiping the sweat off her brow. “We know that Rachel’s the likely source of the flowers. Now what do we do about it?”
“I say we stick to the original plan,” I said. “We get cleaned up at Luke’s place, then concentrate on finding out Tim’s last name and figure out if we can talk to him.”
“We should call Linda,” she said, holding up her phone. “She texted me about ten minutes ago, saying she got my number from a mutual friend and feel free to call or text if I had any more questions.”
I frowned. “A mutual friend? That sounds shady. I hope it wasn’t Maybelline.”
“Nothing to be done about it now.”
“True,” I said with a sigh. “And having her number will save us some time.”
Less than an hour later, Dixie and I were showered and back in our original clothes, heading back to town. Dixie had called Linda, who said Tim’s last name was McCree. He worked at the feed store in the center of town, a couple of blocks east of Main Street. We decided we could stop in and talk to Tim and then head over to Maybelline’s for lunch. I texted Luke to let him know we expected to be at Maybelline’s around one o’clock. If he had time and hadn’t eaten lunch yet, he was welcome to drop by.
I pulled my car into a parking spot in front of the feed store, but I didn’t get out right away as I noticed Dixie making no move to open her door. Instead she was studying the entrance with a thoughtful look. After a moment, she said, “I think I know the guy we need to talk to. I’ve been here with Teddy a few times and he talked to a guy name Tim. He’s definitely around the right age.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Still, I was worried about the execution of said plan. Was Tim going to talk to us while he was at work? And if he did, would he be likely to tell the truth? I wasn’t certain he hadn’t lied to cover for Chuck, but I wasn’t sure approaching him with a bad-cop routine, as a means to convince him to tell the real version of events, was the best way to get him to come clean. Especially since, if he’d lied, he might worry about being charged for impeding an investigation—although, he was likely past the statute of limitations. Bethany had been murdered a long time ago. All things considered, we might be able to convince him to talk, especially if we promised to protect his identity.
Dixie reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed a plate of cookies. “A little bribery might help, right?”
“Luke is fond of saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” I said with a shrug, “so it definitely can’t hurt.”
We headed inside the store and scanned the space. There were a couple of employees in the front—one was a middle-aged woman and the other was a man in his twenties—so I quickly ruled them out. Dixie started walking past endcaps, looking down each aisle as she passed.
She stopped, then looked back at me. “Found him.”
Then she took off down the aisle without waiting for me.
I’d nearly caught up with her just as she was heading toward a friendly-looking man with gray hair. He stood at the end of the aisle, wearing a red apron. His name tag was in the shape of a pig and had the name Tim in large letters. He and a customer were discussing what to feed her chickens. After a short discussion about her chickens’ poop, he loaded a bag of feed onto her cart. As she headed to the register, he spotted us standing to the side and said, “Can I help you ladies?”
Dixie offered him a bright smile. “I sure hope so. And we have a plate of chocolate chip cookies for your trouble.”
He eyed the plate and licked his upper lip as he took it. “While the cookies are appreciated, they aren’t necessary. It’s my job to help you. I know just about everything when it comes to feeding animals or fertilizing your garden. Which one do you ladies need help with?”
“Neither, actually,” Dixie said. “We need help with a little history about Sweet Briar.”
He set the plate on top of a bag of dog food and scratched his neck. “Well, I ain’t never been one for history, so I’m not sure how much I can help.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Actually, I think you’re the exact person we need to talk to. We’ve heard you were friends with someone we’d like to learn more about.”
“And who might that be?” he asked, looking wary.
“Chuck Petty.”
His eyes shuttered, and he paused before he asked, “Why do you wanna know about that asshole?”
“We heard that you went fishin’ with him the night Bethany Brewer was murdered.”
His face paled as he swallowed. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“So what were you fishin’ for?” she asked in an eager tone.
He stared at her in disbelief. “Say what?”
“I wanna know what you were fishing for. It was in April, right? Were you fishing in a creek?”
“Uh…” he stuttered. “I was fishing for catfish in a friend’s pond.”
“From what I heard, Chuck Petty was never really into fishing much, so it seems kinda weird that he would be fishing with you.” We’d heard no such thing, so obviously she was trying to bluff him in to fessing up.
“Well, everybody’s gotta start fishing some time,” he said. “Then they learn to love it.”
“Well, did he?” she asked.
He stared at her with a blank expression. “Did he what?”
“Did he learn to love it?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t really stick around long enough to find out.”
“How long did you two fish?” Dixie asked.
His expression hardened. “Why are you asking so many questions about Chuck Petty and our fishing outing?”
“We’re tryin’ to figure out why he would have left town immediately afterward,” Dixie said. “Maybe he had such a disastrous fishing experience with you that he decided he was givin’ up on Sweet Briar altogether.”
“I don’t know,” Tim said, starting to look agitated. “He wasn’t very talkative. He just hung out with me and fished, and then left.”
“What time did he leave?” I asked.
He turned his attention to me, as though just now realizing I was there too. “Around midnight.”
“And what time did you start fishing?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “around nine.”
“On a school night?” I asked. According to Linda and her friends, this had all happened over spring break, but I wanted to see how Tim would respond to my question. If he didn’t remember the tiny details, I might be able to catch him in a lie.
He blinked at me. “Well, why not on a school night? Neither Chuck nor I were much into school.” Then a knowing look filled his eyes. “But it wasn’t a school night. We were on break.”
“That still seems strange to me,” I said. “You were fishing at midnight in April? What was the weather like?”
“How the hell am I supposed to remember what the weather was like?” he snapped.
“I heard it was rainy and cold,” I fibbed. I didn’t know that either, but I did know the weather in Sweet Briar in April, so there was a good chance it had been raining. “We’re just curious why you’d be out fishing on a night like that.”
“It may’ve been cold,” he said, “but it wasn’t rainin’ that night. It had rained a bunch earlier in the day.”
“The creeks would’ve been overflowing if it was raining around that time,” Dixie said, “so I’m not sure it would’ve been good fishin’.”
“I done told you we weren’t fishin’ in a creek,” he protested. “We were fishin’ in a stock pond.”
“For catfish,” Dixie said as she snapped her fingers. “That’s right. So you decided to go fishin’ at a stock pond for catfish when it was cold. And you just so happened to bring Chuck Petty with you.” She was merely stating the facts he’d agreed to, but her tone held a hint of challenge.
Tim’s face reddened, and his hands fisted at his sides. “Are you callin’ me a liar, little girl?”
“I’m doin’ no such thing,” Dixie said cheerfully. “I’m just trying to get the story straight, is all. Here’s what I think,” she added, leaning closer. “I don’t think you went fishin’ with Chuck Petty. I think that you were found at the convenience store buying a gallon of milk for your momma or a pack of cigarettes, or something so that the clerk remembered seeing you there. But when you left, you didn’t go fishin’. You went home. And then a few days later, when the police came knocking, for some reason you told them you’d been fishing with Chuck Petty. What I can’t figure out is why you’re covering for him.”
Tim was quiet for a minute, looking flustered. Then finally, he said, “Look. I’m not the person you need to be talkin’ to. If you want answers about all of this, you need to be talkin’ to Rachel Swan. She asked me to tell the police we’d gone fishin’, and she promised to make out with me if I did.” He scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks turning crimson. “So I did. I was seventeen, okay? I was stupid. Then I was afraid to tell anybody because I’d lied to the police. Plus, Chuck left town, so I figured it didn’t make no matter anyway.”
“Seems like it matters quite a bit. If Chuck murdered Bethany Brewer and then left town,” Dixie said, “that means he got away with it.”
Tim scoffed. “Chuck Petty may’ve been a bully, but he ain’t no murderer. There’s no way he murdered that Brewer girl.” He glanced over at a customer who was waiting next to a shelf of dog food. “I gotta get back to work, and that’s all I have to say about the matter. But if you wanna know more about it, you’ve gotta go talk to Rachel Swan.”
He didn’t waste any time hurrying over to a woman with a toddler.
I studied him for a moment before I turned to my cousin. “We need to make a call to Magnolia. We need to press Rachel Swan, and I suspect the only way we’re gonna get her to talk is if we come clean and tell her what we really want to know.”
Dixie gave me a grim look. “Then I guess we better go make that call.”