Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Matthias noticed the puzzled look Winslow gave him, but the foreman didn’t question his close proximity as Fergusson began the interview.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Jones?”
“Almost a year. That’s how long he’s owned North Star. I’d worked for the previous owner for close to ten years before that.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Jones?”
“He left the site about five o’clock yesterday.”
“You were still here?”
“Yes, sir. I packed it in around six. That’s after I told the rest of the crew to go home, too. We’d been working since dawn.”
“What was the situation over there at that time?” Fergusson gestured toward the grave, from which the coroner was currently removing Jones’s body.
“There was no ‘situation’ then. Just a bare lot.”
“You didn’t see Mr. Jones later yesterday?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
Fergusson made a note and flipped the page. “How was Mr. Jones to work for?”
The question gave Winslow pause. “Okay, I guess. He had big plans to take the company places. As long as he kept me on, I was good with that.”
“What kind of places?”
“Huh?”
“You said he planned to take the company places. What kind of places?”
“You know. Bigger developments. Fancier houses. More money flowing in.”
Matthias noted the foreman kept his tone even. No enthusiasm. No disapproval.
“And you got along well with him?” Fergusson asked.
“Yeah. We got along great.”
Matthias cleared his throat, drawing Fergusson’s attention and a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Excuse me for interrupting,” Matthias said and turned to Winslow, “but I witnessed you having an argument with Jones yesterday morning.”
Fergusson raised a second eyebrow.
Winslow glared at Matthias. “All right, yes. We had a disagreement. A business disagreement. People who work closely together have them all the time. It doesn’t mean we didn’t work well together, because we did.
” Winslow’s gaze skated from Matthias to Emma, who still stood on the road where Fran had been parked.
“Now, you want to talk about a disagreement,” Winslow said to Fergusson, “you should ask that woman. This guy’s girlfriend.
The two of them were here yesterday, and she was ready to choke Sonny. He was seriously pissed at her, too.”
“Oh?” Fergusson shot a glance at Matthias before coming back to Winslow. “Why was that?”
“She was reneging on a land deal to sell her property to North Star. Sonny had the sales agreement all ready for her to sign, and she backed out at the last minute.”
Fergusson faced Matthias, his arms crossed.
Matthias swore to himself. He’d told Emma to keep quiet, and here he was, giving the cops all the ammunition they needed to consider her a suspect. “She wasn’t reneging. She never said she’d sell. Jones was strong-arming her.”
“Really?” Fergusson had a light in his eyes—one that Matthias recognized and didn’t like. Not when it was aimed at Emma.
“That’s not the impression I had,” Winslow said.
Matthias glared at the foreman, who met his gaze with a smirk.
Fergusson raised a hand, silencing the foreman. To Matthias, he said, “You need to step back and let me finish questioning the victim’s employee alone, but don’t go anywhere. You and your girlfriend are next.”
* * *
Emma’s Nikon’s strap weighed heavy around her neck. She was giving serious thought to hiking down the hill to wait in Matthias’s Jeep when she saw him coming toward her. She didn’t like the anger brewing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she whispered once he was close.
“The foreman threw you under the bus.” Matthias winced. “And I may have helped.”
“What? How?”
She listened in stunned silence as he confessed to opening a proverbial can of worms by telling the trooper about the argument between Sonny Jones and Patrick Winslow… who then turned the tables by pointing the finger at Emma’s own heated disagreement with the developer.
“Now what?” she asked.
Matthias exhaled. “We wait here to be questioned.”
“We? Both of us?”
“Trooper Fergusson feels I withheld information.”
“You kinda did.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Am I gonna need that attorney you mentioned?”
“Just don’t answer any questions about your dealings with Jones. I’ll handle those.”
She eyed him and wanted to point out he hadn’t done a very good job of that so far. Instead, she agreed.
“I was with you the whole time,” Matthias said. “Fergusson has nothing on you. From what little I’ve learned about Jones, he had a tendency to push people around. I think there’s going to be a long line of suspects with a grudge against the man.”
Emma spotted the criminal investigator ambling their way. “I just don’t want to be anywhere near the front of that line.”
“Emma Anderson?” Fergusson asked.
“Yes.”
He held out a hand to her. “I’m Trooper Joseph Fergusson. I need to ask you a few questions.”
She shook the hand. “Okay.”
Fergusson looked at Matthias. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”
The anger—or maybe it was distrust—flared in Matthias’s eyes again. “If you’re going to interview us separately, how about I go first?”
Fergusson shook his head. “You don’t get to make that choice today, Honeywell. This isn’t your show. It’s mine.”
Matthias’s upper lip twitched. His gaze met hers, and she thought he was going to say something, but didn’t. He gave her a barely noticeable nod before slowly walking away.
Fergusson’s gaze settled on Emma’s upper arm. He touched his own, indicating her bandage. “What happened to you?”
She decided revealing she’d been shot might cast her in a bad light. It would definitely bring on a plethora of questions she didn’t want to answer. “I fell getting out of a friend’s van.” True, she’d fallen from a van, but it hadn’t belonged to a friend.
He brought out a notepad and pen. “What brings you here today, Ms. Anderson?”
She’d been expecting him to ask how she knew the victim. This question instead threw her off. “Here? I used to live here.”
“On this property?”
“No. About fifteen minutes away.”
“Where exactly?”
“On Route 18. Do you know the farm where the old house burned down a couple of months ago?”
“As I recall, a smaller house on the farm burned down a while back, too. Is that your place?”
He was coming across as congenial. Emma knew better than to be sucked in. “Yes.”
“Is that the property North Star Developing was supposed to purchase?”
Matthias’s words echoed in her head. Don’t answer questions about your dealings with Jones. “No,” she said.
Fergusson eyed her. “No?”
“No.”
“I understood you and Greyson Jones had a rather acrimonious discussion about a land deal yesterday.”
Emma considered her words before speaking. “He had the mistaken idea that I wanted to sell. I didn’t. I don’t.”
“What gave him the impression that you intended to sell to him?”
Eric, she thought, and Nell. “He made an offer. I turned it down.”
Fergusson jotted some notes. “How well did you know Mr. Jones?”
“Not well. We went to school together, but I hadn’t seen or heard from him in over ten years.”
“You went to school with him?”
Had she volunteered too much? “Yes.”
“Which school?”
“High school.”
“So, you really have known him for quite some time.”
She thought about asking Fergusson how well he knew everyone he went to school with but decided to keep silent. He hadn’t actually asked her a question after all.
“Do you know his wife Ashley?
“I was acquainted with her. Again, in high school. Not since then.”
“You weren’t friends?”
Emma thought about the definition of friends. Ashley had been a cheerleader. Emma had been in the photography club. But to tell Fergusson they weren’t friends could be interpreted as the opposite. Emma liked the word she’d used and stuck with it. “We were acquaintances.”
Fergusson scribbled. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Jones?”
“Yesterday at about eleven a.m.”
“Where were you last night? Say between six o’clock and eight this morning?”
“On my property. This morning, we stopped at Eric Baker’s house—” Emma knew immediately she’d said too much.
Fergusson’s eyes sparked in interest. “Eric Baker? Who’s he?”
Emma sensed he knew exactly who Eric was, and he probably knew his part in Sonny’s attempt to purchase her farm. She shot a look at Matthias, who stood watching from about thirty feet away. He must’ve read help in her expression because he started toward them.
“Fergusson,” Matthias said, his voice sounding like a snake hissing through ground glass. “I think you’re done with her.”
“Not really,” he replied.
“Yes. Really.” Matthias fixed his gaze on Emma. “Wait for me in the Jeep. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Fergusson raised a hand, signaling stop. “I still have a few more questions for Ms. Anderson.”
“Not now,” Matthias said.
“Then when?”
“When she has an attorney present.”
A slow sneer spread across Fergusson’s face. “You want to play it that way, do you, Honeywell?”
“I’m not playing.”
Fergusson swung his gaze to Emma. “You letting him speak for you?”
She fought an urge to smile and say “Hell yeah.” Instead, she said simply, “Yes.”
Fergusson shrugged in capitulation. “Fine. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to Matthias. “Are you demanding a lawyer for yourself as well? Or are you going to answer my questions?”
He shot a look at her and tipped his head, signaling her to go. To Fergusson, he said, “I don’t need a lawyer.”
As Emma strode away, she overheard Fergusson’s next question to Matthias. “But your girlfriend does? Is that it?”