“The truth has to be better than what I’m imagining.”
“Not necessarily,” he said, but he must’ve understood that she needed to assert her will on something.
Taking the seat across from her, he spoke in a somber voice. “Les is an oily bastard. An attorney.”
Claire couldn’t remember Mr. Weaver ever telling her what he did for a living. But he’d handed over quite a chunk of money—five thousand dollars—so she assumed he wasn’t hard-pressed. “And that makes him untrustworthy from the get-go?” she said with a weak chuckle.
“It was more the look of him. He just…didn’t fit the stereotype.”
She grimaced at the taste of the tea, but he leaned forward and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Then it wasn’t too bad. “Not every hunter does.”
“Exactly. So I ignored what my instincts were telling me and asked him a few questions.”
“Like…”
“Had he been in the area before? Did he still hunt? That sort of thing.”
The hot liquid soothed her despite the suspense. “And?”
“He didn’t talk like a hunter, either. I asked him about previous hunts, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Every hunter I’ve ever met can give you a list of where he’s been and what he’s bagged.”
“Maybe killing David soured him on the whole experience.”
“That’s what he wanted me to believe. He even told me that after David died he got rid of every gun he owned. Said he can’t bear to even look at a firearm.”
“I can understand why.”
“Me, too. Except…”
She shifted, trying to brace for what he had coming. “Except…”
“He’s still got a whole gun cabinet filled with them. That’s hardly getting rid of all his guns.”
Cradling the mug, Claire concentrated on the smooth ceramic and the way it transferred warmth to her cold hands. “How do you know he has that many if he told you—”
“I saw them through the back window. They were right there in the living room, next to the couch.”
“Shit… Why would Weaver lie?”
Isaac rubbed his chin as he answered. “He wasn’t expecting me to check.”
“But he volunteered that information, correct?”
“I believe he wants to appear more contrite than he feels—”
“Prick!”
“—so that no one looks any closer.”
She studied Isaac from beneath her lashes. “He killed David on purpose.”
“That’s my guess.”
“This changes everything.”
“It could.”
Or it could lead nowhere. She’d learned, long ago, not to get her hopes up. “We’d have to prove it, find someone in Pineview who has some connection to him. And that might be easier said than done.”
“Not if we get the sheriff involved again,” he said. “Someone needs to take a look at his phone records, and that requires a subpoena.”
“Do you think one lie over whether or not he still owns guns will be enough to get a judge to sign off? It’s such an invasion of privacy. He’s an attorney. That’ll make everyone cautious.”
“I’m going to do some more research first, see if I can come up with more on him.”
With a nod, she forced herself to finish her tea. But when she stood to carry her cup to the sink, he took it from her and rinsed it himself.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.” It was true. But she was pretty sure his presence and his support had more to do with it than anything else.
Demo version limitation
14
Dust motes swirled in the late-afternoon sunlight pouring through the window. Claire watched them shimmy above the table as she sat in April’s kitchen, awaiting the glass of iced tea April had offered her. Far too warm, even in her skirt, sandals and lightweight top, she shifted uncomfortably. If April had air-conditioning, she wasn’t using it. She’d turned on a fan when they walked through the living room, but it wasn’t enough.
There were other signs of cost-cutting. Drab, well-worn furniture. Sheets in place of blinds. Tattered rugs covering the wooden floor. The house itself was so old it still had a cast-iron stove in the corner. But it was clean and well-maintained and smelled like fresh paint. And it was only a block off Main Street. Grandma Bigelow, who’d taught piano lessons most of her life, had owned it for sixty years before she passed away. Now April rented it from Roger Bigelow and his son Clyde, who also owned a big cattle ranch outside town.
“I can’t believe it’s taken you so long to come to me.”
It was April who’d broken the silence, but this wasn’t even close to what Claire had imagined she’d say. “Excuse me?”
Ice clinked against glass as April put her drink down. “After what I told the police years ago, I expected to hear from you sooner.”
Claire wasn’t sure how to respond to this. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing in the case files about you or anything you said.”
April’s expression bordered on belligerent. “My statement has to be there. I signed it and everything.”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing from or about you.” At least not in the accordion file Claire had found at the studio. She’d read everything twice.
She blinked. “How do you know? The police might not be telling you everything.”
“I’ve seen the files.”
“All of them?”
“I think so. What I read seemed pretty exhaustive.” When she explained about what she’d discovered at her mother’s studio, disgust curled April’s lip.
“Why should I be surprised my statement went missing?” she said.
“What does that mean?” Claire asked.
“We live in a small town where everyone knows everyone else.”
“You’re saying you think someone deep-sixed it? On purpose?”
“As a favor to a friend, namely your father. He’s an important figure around here these days.”
Since the inheritance. He hadn’t been important before he became wealthy. He’d worked by the hour in a gun shop. But Claire didn’t like the tone of April’s voice; it made her defensive even though April was right—Tug had more power now than he’d ever possessed. “What did it say, your statement?”
She pursed her lips, studied Claire, then smiled. “You can’t guess?”
“That Roni was responsible for my mother’s disappearance?” Maybe the police hadn’t bothered to keep her statement since it was so obviously sour grapes.
She chuckled as she took the seat opposite Claire. “Bingo. But you’re wrong about everything else.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think I said it just because I hate her and would love to get her in trouble.”
Claire sipped her iced tea. “There’s never been any love lost between you.” Especially after April’s father hanged himself in Copper Grady’s old barn.
“No kidding. Don’t know how you’ve been able to stomach her.”
Roni had her moments, but she could be sweet and surprisingly generous, and she’d been consistently supportive. Even when she was difficult, Claire muddled through for the sake of keeping peace in the family. What good would it do to reject her stepmother? Did she want to end up like April? Bitter and lonely and estranged? “Leanne and I have both gotten along with her.”
She shrugged. “No accounting for taste, I suppose. Still, I expected you to have more sense than your silly sister seems to—”
Claire stood. “I didn’t come here so you could bash my sister.”
April’s palm smacked the table. “You didn’t come here for the truth, either. Your mind’s already made up, so why’d you want to talk to me?”