Chapter 4
I was standing outside Sweet Hearth Bakery with Cade, talking to Chester Briggs, the town sheriff. The dead man had been identified as Gideon Belmont, son of the late Betty Belmont. Briggs and Gideon were the same age, and he mentioned they’d gone to school together.
“How’d you two stumble upon Gideon in the first place?” Briggs asked.
“We did the haunted history walking tour tonight,” I said. “After it was over, we were heading back to our RV park, and we passed the bakery. I stopped to read Betty’s tribute on the shop door, and then I noticed a man on the floor inside the shop.”
“And you decided to let yourself in?”
“The door was unlocked. So yeah, I did.”
Cade narrowed a brow and turned toward the sheriff. “Your tone makes it seem like Sloane going inside is an issue. She saw a man she thought was in trouble, and she stepped in to help.”
“I find it a little unusual, is all,” Briggs said.
“I don’t,” I said.
“You touch anything?”
“Gideon was facedown when I found him. I thought he may have fainted. Cade turned him over, and that’s when we noticed he’d been shot.”
Briggs rolled his eyes. “You should have left well enough alone and called the police.”
“When we realized he was dead, we did.”
Briggs leaned over, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth, and shouted to a fellow officer inside. “Harlan, will you get Grady on the phone, find out what’s taking him so long to get here? I need to know the approximate time the murder took place.”
“I can tell you,” I said.
Briggs gave a humorless laugh. “I doubt that.”
I glanced at Cade, who looked poised to jump to my defense, but I had my own words for the small-town sheriff.
“I’m a private detective, and Cade is a retired chief of police,” I said. “Here’s what I observed: when I checked Gideon, he had no pulse. After we turned him over, as you saw, it was clear he’d been shot.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Gideon’s early postmortem. His jaw and fingers are stiff, and his skin is pale and waxy. I also noticed corneal cloudiness in his eyes. He hasn’t been dead long, less than three hours I’d guess.”
I waited for Briggs to come up with a snarky comeback, but he didn’t.
“Not bad,” he said. “How long have you been a private investigator?”
“A long time. Never thought it was the career path I’d take.”
“So, why’d you go down it?”
It was a story I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell.
“My sister was murdered by a serial killer in Park City, Utah,” I said. “When the police couldn’t identify her killer, I decided I’d find him myself.”
“About your sister—I’m sorry. You catch the guy responsible?”
“I did.”
He paused, then said, “Everyone knows each other in Hollow Pines. When it comes to this town, I know everything that’s going on in it. And since I’ve never seen the two of you before, I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”
“We’re not. We’ve been traveling around for a while in our RV. Cade knew I’d always wanted to attend Spooktember Fest, so this year we made it happen.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
He tried to sound indifferent, like my answer wouldn’t change a thing. But he wasn’t fooling me. He was determined to keep me out of his investigation.
“We haven’t decided how long we’re staying yet,” I said.
Briggs frowned, then ran a hand along his jaw. “I need both of you to come down to the station so we can take your statements. And then … well, thanks for the call, but I’m here now. What I mean to say is, I think it would be best for the two of you to be on your way. We’ll take it from here.”