Mr. Willard arched his bony fingers and began to tap his fingertips against each other. Olivia knew the gesture and hoped it meant he was taking her plan seriously. He was probably making an organized mental list of all the dangers. Mr. Willard’s fingers stopped tapping, and he said, “I, too, know what you are capable of accomplishing once you are determined to do so. As your attorney, I cannot officially sanction your plan; however, time is of the essence.” His long body unfurled as he stood and offered her his hand. “And time is, as they say, a-wasting.”
Sheriff Del Jenkins plowed his fingers through his already well-furrowed hair. “Livie, I swear to you, Jason barged in here and confessed to murdering Geoffrey King. I wasn’t even considering him as a suspect, at least not yet.”
“What do you mean, ‘not yet’?’ If you have any evidence, I have a right to know.” Olivia had refused to take a seat in Del’s office, which allowed her to glare down at him from across his desk. Mr. Willard, silent and even taller, stood beside her.
Del looked more helpless than angry. “I agree,” he said, “you have a right to know. Once Jason confessed, I had to start investigating. It’s my job. I checked his alibi for yesterday evening, up to the time you found King.”
“And?”
Del rolled his office chair sideways toward Deputy Cody, who sat across the room at his computer, trying to look as if he were working. “Cody,” Del said, “bring Olivia and Mr. Willard some coffee, will you? Cream and sugar for Livie.” He directed a questioning glance at Mr. Willard.
“Black, thank you. I drink milk only in cappuccinos.”
Del’s mouth twitched for a moment. “Our budget doesn’t stretch beyond a ten-year-old Mr. Coffee, I’m afraid.”
By the time Cody brought their coffee, Olivia had decided to take pity on Del. He loved Chatterley Heights, and he wasn’t likely to take pleasure in arresting someone he’d known for years. He was, however, more than likely to put up his guard if he realized how determined Olivia was to identify the real killer. She accepted her cup and slid into a chair facing Del’s desk. Mr. Willard followed her example. She could almost hear Del’s sigh of relief as he dropped into his own squeaky desk chair.
“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Del said to Mr. Willard. “That boy needs to understand the trouble he’s gotten himself into by confessing. I was following a lead that suggested the killer might be from out of town, but now I have to investigate Jason. And I have to tell you, his alibi isn’t solid.”
Olivia sat forward in her chair. “What lead were you following? Could it clear Jason?”
Del hesitated, then asked Mr. Willard, “Are you here in your official capacity?”
Mr. Willard nodded. “Olivia has placed me on retainer to assist in her attempts to protect Jason. As I have reminded her, I am not a criminal attorney, but for now I am representing Jason’s interests.”
Del sipped his coffee and appeared to come to a decision. “Okay, I’ll tell you what we have so far. You might want to hire your own investigator.” His brown eyes darkened as he leaned toward Olivia. “Livie, I don’t want to hear that you have taken on any investigating by yourself, okay?”
With a slow nod, Olivia said, “I understand.”
Del held her eyes a moment longer before reaching toward a file on his desk. “Okay, Jason’s story goes like this: Charlene Critch confided in him that her ex-husband, Geoffrey King, showed up at her store a few weeks ago.” Del glanced up from his notes. “We’ve interviewed both Charlene and her brother, Charlie, and they agreed with Jason’s summary of his movements yesterday up until about eleven p.m.”
“Wait,” Olivia said. “They were all together yesterday evening?”
“Right, at least that’s what they claim. They all agree that King—who, by the way, Charlene insists was not really her husband because her father got the marriage annulled. Anyway, King had recently been released from prison after serving a sentence for robbing a jewelry store. He tracked down Charlene because he knew she had come into her trust money. He figured she’d pay him to go away. Charlene says she gave him some money, but he kept hanging around.”
“Big surprise,” Olivia said under her breath.
“Charlene admitted that King hit her on several occasions. She claims he did so when she refused to give him more money.”
“But you don’t believe her?” Mr. Willard asked.
With a shrug, Del said, “I don’t have a strong reason not to believe her. It certainly fits King’s MO.”
Olivia said, “I’m not convinced Charlene’s story explains what I saw and heard while King ransacked the kitchen in The Vegetable Plate.”
Del riffled through his file and extracted one page. “According to my report, you heard him say, ‘I’ll kill her,’ by which we assume he meant Charlene. Is that accurate?”
“First he said ‘Damn,’ and he sounded furious,” Olivia said. “At the time, I thought he might be looking for something important to him, maybe something he thought Charlene had taken from him. And don’t forget that the cash register was untouched. If all he wanted was money, it doesn’t make a lot of sense for him to break a lot of valuable objects and ignore the cash register.”
“Maybe the break-in was meant as a threat,” Mr. Willard said. “Or, given the swearing and the vow to kill her, it might have been an expression of extreme frustration at Ms. Critch’s unwillingness to meet his financial demands.”
“Maybe. . . .” Olivia thought back to that morning and pictured the scene in the kitchen. Rage, frustration . . . certainly King’s violence expressed those emotions. But it sounded more like desperation. She had no proof, so she kept her idea to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if Charlene possessed something, maybe a document or an object, that could endanger Geoffrey King.
Mr. Willard cleared his throat. “Sheriff, may I ask how Mr. King was killed? I can promise you, by the way, that any information you are willing to share with us will be both appreciated and kept to ourselves.”
Del hesitated a moment, then asked Olivia, “Will your silence extend to Maddie and your mother? Never mind, don’t bother to answer. Of course it won’t, and it wouldn’t matter, anyway. The entire town will have heard some version of the story by this evening. I don’t know how they do it.”
Olivia almost choked on her coffee. “I think it’s something in the water. How about this, Declass="underline" Mr. Willard, I’m certain, will maintain his professional silence.” She glanced toward Mr. Willard, who nodded. “And I’ll use my very best judgment. I’ll bite my tongue if someone passes on a rumor that Jason is an axe murderer. And I do understand that there may be details you want to keep secret even from me. As you say, I’ll probably find them out, one way or another.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute.” Del retrieved the coffeepot. As he topped off their cups, he said, “King was stabbed. Time of death hasn’t been established yet. We found a knife seemingly flung away from the scene. The crime scene unit is working on it. The storm messed up the scene pretty badly, but if there’s anything to find, they will find it. All we can do is wait.”
“What kind of knife was it?” Olivia asked.
“Next question?”
“Ah,” said Mr. Willard. “One of those details to be kept secret. I have a question concerning my client, if I may, Sheriff. I assume you have more than young Jason’s fondness for Ms. Critch, as well as his unfortunate confession, to indicate that he might be a viable suspect for Mr. King’s murder?”
Del selected another page from his case file. “As I mentioned, Jason was with Charlene and Charlie until about eleven yesterday evening. According to Charlene, King had physically assaulted her earlier in the day—she claimed not to know why—and then he threatened to return to The Vegetable Plate that evening to ‘torch the dump.’ Charlene decided to guard the store all night. As if we didn’t have police and a fire department.” Del rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, apparently seeking divine assistance to understand human behavior. “Jason and Charlie offered to help guard both the store and Charlene. Just before eleven p.m., Charlie reminded Jason that he had an early shift at Struts & Bolts Garage the next morning. Charlene insisted Jason go home and get some sleep.”