Chapter Thirty-Nine
DAY TEN
WEDNESDAY
Teague didn’t wake me when he left the next morning, but the dogs did when they returned to the bedroom after seeing him off.
It was barely light.
I went back to sleep, enjoying the renewed Teague scent on his pillow.
* * * *
It was a gorgeous day at the dog park, with bright sun and brisk breeze that kept fluffy clouds moving and the dogs energized.
Like they needed that.
It brought out a lot of dog park irregulars. That meant paying more attention to our dogs’ interactions with the newcomers and talking more with the additional humans.
It was relaxing and we spent more time there than usual.
On the flip side, it intruded on our murder-discussing time. We did, however, decide what came next.
Drop off all the dogs at my house, then head back to the Georgers’ house.
Clara had a plan. Again.
* * * *
“We know how busy you must be—”
“Too busy to—”
Zoley was no match for Clara, who kept talking while opening the door, since Zoley failed to. “—so we came to pick up the casserole dish and spare you the trip to bring it back. One less thing to worry about.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
Zoley said that to our backs, because Clara walked past her and I stayed on her heels.
“You’ve been on TV,” Zoley said, “about murders and stuff.”
I had multiple reactions.
First, déjà vu from Blanche Todd Alsup.
Second, selfish relief that talk of TV was directed at Clara. I stayed clear of interviews.
“Now and then.” Clara looked toward Pammy, this time seated on a sofa, in the process of closing a laptop. “I’m glad you’re here, Pammy, so I can give you the list I promised.”
“List?”
“Of funeral homes.”
Pammy appeared slightly at a loss, which surprised me.
Clara took a paper out of her purse and held it out to Pammy, who took it automatically.
“Thank you.” No longer at a loss. “I hadn’t realized your background when you came here Saturday. Are you investigating?”
Clara so often took the lead in talking to people, I was surprised to hear myself say, “How could we not be interested in seeing justice done for Damon after meeting him at Zepke’s? And bringing that justice to you as his widow, as well as to his friends.”
I tossed a look toward Zoley on the last phrase, but immediately came back to Pammy.
“Justice has been done,” she said. “Bryon’s been arrested. As difficult as it is for Zoley and me to accept, Bryon murdered Damon.”
“Mmm.”
The sound came from Clara and me in unison.
Zoley twisted around to Pammy, then to us, “What do you mean, mmm??”
“The sheriff’s department is talking to Bryon, yet many questions remain.”
Zoley pulled in a breath and Pammy gripped her friend’s forearm. Giving support? Or needing it? She looked from me to Clara and back. “You mean you think Bryon didn’t kill Damon? That would be such amazing, wonderful news.”
“Amazing.” Zoley looked blank.
“I’m so sorry, but it’s not clear he’s not a murderer, either. As I said many questions remain.”
“And you think . . . you think . . .” Pammy appeared to be trying to work through possibilities. “We can help you answer those questions?”
“Yes. You’re the best people to ask how Damon and Bryon got on, for instance.”
Zoley said, “Bryon felt inferior. He was convinced Damon was trying to show him up. That’s what he said. Kept saying he wasn’t a game-player. Damon was. That he was a man of action. Damon wasn’t. I tried to tell him he was being an idiot, but obviously, he didn’t listen to me.”
“What do you mean?” Clara asked innocently.
“Obviously—” She gave it talking-to-an-idiot emphasis, “He went off to Gallows Path to finish things. He used that phrase.”
I looked past Zoley and asked Pammy, “Do you think Bryon killed Damon?”
She paused in apparent thought. “You never think someone you know is going to do something so horrible—” Back to that word she’d overused at training Monday. “—but the evidence . . . And no one knows him better than Zoley.”
We couldn’t very well argue that Zoley didn’t know her husband.
Time to switch gears.
“We’ve heard people weren’t satisfied after doing business with Damon. Wanted their money back, but it was nowhere to be found.”
Pammy looked at each of us. “I have not heard that. I stayed well away from Damon’s business.”
Clara pointed out, “He had no outside office. He had to do business at home.”
“Yes, but he kept them separate — our home and his business.”
“He must have talked to you about business things that affected you at home, like the theft at your house.”
“Theft? We didn’t have a theft.”
“No? Papers taken from Damon’s office?”
“Of course not. What makes you think we had a theft?”
Without answering her question — and not wanting to leave it all on Clara — I asked, “Did you suspect Willow of stealing from you?”
“Who?”
Was she truly as unaware of the dog walker as she seemed? But why would she pretend?
“Willow Yost,” I repeated.
“The dog girl?”
I refused to confirm her phrase dog girl. “Your dog walker, Willow Yost.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised — if she was given a chance. But she dealt with the dog in the garage. She was not inside, certainly never upstairs, where Damon’s office is.”
Where, presumably, Damon kept his treasures. Or should I say his swindles.
I controlled my snark instincts.
“Damon didn’t say anything to you about a possible theft?”
Pammy shook her head.
“Or about someone being in his papers?”
Both of them shook their heads. Did Zoley realize her head shake indicated she had an expectation that Damon would tell her such things?
Clara shot me a we’re not-getting-anywhere look.
Might as well swing for the fences.
“Zoley,” I said, “you mentioned Bryon was possessive—”
“And volatile.”
“Could that have been sparked by Damon hitting you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You had a bruise on your cheek—”
“He didn’t hit me. Ever.”
It sounded like the answer of a spouse, possibly one who’d been abused.
My peripheral vision caught Pammy’s change of expression.
Her straight-line lips puffed her cheeks and jutted her chin, mimicking a kind of smile.
It reminded me of something . . .
A snippet of video I’d seen of a corrupt politician who failed to recognize he’d been caught. Or didn’t care he’d been caught.
Smug.
But how did that make sense?
Unless . . . Did she know Zoley was lying and she felt superior because Damon never hit her?
That was a heck of a low bar for smugness.
Especially considering Zoley betrayed their long-time friendship.
“If that’s all . . .” Zoley didn’t realize she’d lost control of when we left when she opened the door.
A stubborn part of my brain said if I extended this something might come up.
“Your husband’s family has been in the county for quite a while, hasn’t it?” I asked Pammy.
“I suppose.” She showed no interest in the topic.
“I understand the Swindell family was involved with some—” I avoided the word scandal, which I thought was quite tactful of me. “—history early in the previous century.”
Her lack of interest combusted into anger in a blink.
“You’re bringing up that old trash now — how dare you. It was lies, all lies by lowlifes who could never make anything of themselves. And don’t you start pulling out that old thing about the pronunciation and putting it on TV or I’ll sue you so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
Too late. My head was already spinning.
“I have no intention—”
Zoley talked over me, telling Pammy, “It’s the other one who’s on TV. She’s the one you have to watch out for.”
Clara didn’t miss a beat. “The only people who have to watch out for us are murderers.”
Zoley’s face edged toward purple. “Are you saying we—?”
Pammy broke across her words. “This is all beside the point. Simply the result of strained nerves.”
An unsubtle way of saying Zoley was hysterical.
“I’m sure you can understand, with all the stress, we need to end this now,” Pammy added.
A more subtle way of saying get out of here.
As tempting as it might have been to go for an aggressive approach, keeping lines of communication open with the two women won.
Pammy said, “Don’t forget your dish.”
Darn.
* * * *
“Let’s go back to Gallows Path.”
“Okay,” my friend said immediately, proving she was the best friend, ever. Then, proving she is also as curious as I am, she added, “Why?”
“Hoping for inspiration? Revisiting the scene of the crime? I have no idea? Take your pick.”
“Don’t need to pick. Any reason, no reason would do.”
We grinned at each other.
We didn’t speak again on the trip, except when Clara pointed out a turn I nearly missed.
We reached Gallows Path.
No sheriff’s department vehicle, no murder victim’s truck, no police tape. No sign that anything happened here at all.
And no reason not to creep past as slowly as I wanted.
It just didn’t do any good.
As before, I drove past, turned around at the same spot. This time noticing a broken street sign as we neared Gallows Path. The only remaining letters were —ndle Street.
Could it be Swindle Street, named after the family?
“Want to turn in this time?” Clara asked.
“Might as well.”
Gallows Path drove exactly the way it looked, rough and rutted.
I drove past where the vegetation had already started rebounding from being beaten down by activity. Spring could do that. We followed the turn in Gallows Path, going between thicker stands of trees.
“Definitely private from the highway,” Clara observed.
“Confirms what we figured.” I started what turned into a five-point turn. “Also confirms that Gallows Path is an unlikely place for Damon to meet someone for business.”
“For pleasure?”
“Then why not turn into the woods?”
Back on the highway, Clara asked, “Other thoughts?”
“Nothing. Can you direct me to the Swindell house again?”
“Yup.”
* * * *
The grass at the Swindell’s house had been cut recently, with immaculate edging and cleanup. The fountain burbled on schedule.
“Pammy must be back home,” Clara said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Look.”
Lucifer was on a long leash on the side of the house.
He’d tangled the leash around a bush that would have surrendered if it could have. Lucifer practically vibrated with excitement at the sight of our vehicle slowing down. At the same time, he appeared forlorn — hoping for something to happen, but not truly believing it would.
We had to confirm his disbelief by continuing past, because there was still an occupied sheriff’s deputy vehicle there.