Chapter 5 #2
But William Jasper Huber had been far from a model citizen.
His criminal record included two arrests for driving under the influence, shortly after Caleb’s death.
There had also been assault charges filed after a bar fight, but those charges had been dropped.
Again, within weeks of the baby’s death.
Then his criminal record had become clean.
However, there were several civil suits filed as well.
One was over an altercation with his neighbor during a dispute about the placement of a fence.
Huber had ended up paying restitution and promised to move the fence, so the situation had been resolved.
In the other, one of his two brothers had sued him for non-payment of a personal loan, a year after the fence incident, around the time of his wife’s death. That suit had never gone to court.
Nikki leaned back in her chair and studied the notes she’d taken, including the names and addresses of people she wanted to interview, especially anyone who might harbor a grudge against William Huber.
He was no saint, but he wasn’t exactly a sinner, either.
Most of his transgressions had been after a life-changing experience.
But if, as Kendra had suggested, Linda-Sue’s death hadn’t been an accident, then all bets were off.
Surely, the police had checked and looked into any life-insurance policies that Billy Huber had held on his wife.
She’d double-check as well as talk to the neighbor who’d had the argument about the fence, if he still lived on the abutting property.
Then she would check with Billy’s daughter and brothers.
And with the man who’d accused Billy of assault in the bar fight.
Her cell phone pinged and she saw the text from Lily:
Heading home. I don’t know who is more worn out: Mom, Chloe, Phee, or me. Oh, wait. It’s me!
Nikki responded with a laughing smiley face emoji and a quick reply:
Thx. I should be home in an hour or so.
To that, Lily texted, with her usual sarcasm:
I won’t hold my breath.
The response bugged Nikki more than she wanted to acknowledge, but probably because the remark hit a little close to home.
Nikki hated to admit it, but she did tend to lose track of time when she was working, though she didn’t feel her daughter was missing out.
“Quality over quantity,” she said, hoping to believe the old saying, trusting that it wasn’t a cop-out.
Fortunately, Kendra wasn’t at her desk, and Nikki escaped another conversation.
But as she stepped into the hallway, she spied Fink and Norm Metzger getting off of the elevator.
Great.
She braced herself. Coming face-to-face with Metzger was never pleasant.
He was big and a little sloppy, with eyes that could cut right to your soul.
He was prone to jeans and baseball caps and never tried to fake friendliness.
Unlike Fink. They were like Mutt and Jeff, she thought, outwardly opposites and yet both members of the “Good Ol’ Boys Club,” despite the women’s movement.
Fink was lean, his neatly trimmed hair more salt than pepper these days, and dressed, usually, like today, in a polo shirt and pressed khakis.
Metzger might be sloppier, but he was Fink’s go-to crime reporter.
It didn’t seem to matter that long ago Metzger had lost his edge.
Though Nikki knew she was a better investigative journalist than the big man, Metzger and his boss went way back.
Golfed together.
Hunted together.
Played poker together.
Well, fine.
Again, she was better off as a freelancer, as she didn’t have to deal with office politics. And she felt satisfaction that both men harbored barely concealed envy at her growing independence and success.
She gave a nod to them and hoped to avoid any conversation. But Fink peeled off and caught up with her at the door to the stairs. “Hey, I heard about Billy Huber,” he said. At this point, who in Savannah hadn’t? The homicide was all over social media.
“You were at his place last night,” Fink continued, “at the scene of the crime.”
Bad news traveled fast.
“I was.”
Fink’s brow furrowed. “So he was murdered. That’s what the cops think.”
“They’re investigating.”
“Pierce is in charge?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, but neither Metzger nor Fink stepped inside. Fink offered what he thought was a winning smile. “Of course you do.”
“Look, Tom, you know he won’t tell me anything. He never does. In fact, he suggested I talk to the new PIO.”
“You want me to hold this?” Metzger called, motioning to the elevator car, where the doors were beginning to shut.
Fink waved him off, his gaze never leaving Nikki’s. “We both know there’s always pillow talk, right? Bedtime tête–à–têtes.” His eyebrows raised suggestively, and she wanted to slug him.
“Inappropriate,” she stated flatly. Thank God, she didn’t work for him any longer. He was her editor, yes, but her eight-to-five boss? Never again. If she didn’t need the contacts the paper provided, she would cut all ties with the Sentinel once and for all.
“Oh, come on,” he cajoled. “I was just kidding around. You know that. But seriously, you and Pierce, you must talk about—”
“We don’t.” She yanked open the door to the stairs. “I’ve got to go.” But she paused long enough to add, “You should be a little more careful, Fink. All your ‘kidding around’ could easily be interpreted as sexual harassment.”
“Misinterpreted, you mean.” His smile faded. “That’s the trouble with you, Gillette. The main reason you didn’t fit in here. You take everything too seriously.”
“And all this time I thought the news was serious business.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t relax a little, take a joke.”
“Right.”
She swept into the stairwell and heard footsteps echoing on the floor below. “I’ll expect a story on the Huber homicide in the morning. Or maybe tonight,” Fink called after her, his voice fading as she hurried down the steps.
She couldn’t really argue, much as she’d like to. She used the office and contacts of the newspaper for her articles as well as research for her books.
Quid pro quo.
“My ass,” she muttered as she pushed the exterior door open and felt the heat of the afternoon hit her full force.
Once in her car, she slipped on her sunglasses and peeled out of the lot, all the while telling herself to cool off.
She knew Fink was a jerk, so why did she let him get under her skin?
She needed to forget Fink and concentrate on Billy Huber’s murder.
She had new information, so she should use it.
She drove back to the house with her window rolled down, the wind catching in her hair.
No one else was home, so she hurried up the spiral stairs to the attic space under the eaves that she’d converted to her office.
Mikado tagged after her. “How would you like to have a brother?” she asked and saw his tail wag slowly.
His coat had lost a lot of its shine, and his muzzle had grayed with the years.
“Don’t worry. You’re still the best, my number one dog,” she assured him and rubbed the top of his head. “You always will be.”
As Mikado curled at her feet, she synced her phone to her laptop, then viewed the pictures of Billy Huber’s place, studying the spot where he’d died, near the barn, with the torn, dangling gutter and downed ladder.
“Who did this to you?” she said as if the dead man were standing next to her.
Slowly, she sifted through the shots, seeing nothing new.
She was about to turn her attention to pictures of his house when it struck her that something was missing.
What was it Swanson had said last night?
Something about finding a rock with a number on it?
And hieroglyphics? Yet she found no picture of any marked stone.
She checked again through over a hundred digital images.
No rock. Obviously the police had taken it, so they thought it was something significant.
What? she wondered, absently reaching down to scratch Mikado behind his ears.
Maybe nothing.
And yet, it seemed odd. Out of place. And those little details that didn’t fit sometimes were a clue.
Or else she was making a mountain out of a molehill.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
And, she thought, probably not the last.