Price dropped into a chair in front of Cobb’s desk, waved Johnny to the next seat. “Why would Satterlee take that chance? Maybe he really was out with a calf last night. Maybe he heard the news, wanted to flex a little muscle as a newly rich man.”
“And St. Nick’s going to bring me a winning lottery ticket.” Cobb’s tone was sour. “I’ll lay odds that shell casing is there. If anything’s found, you take me out for a steak dinner.”
Price’s smile was easy. “If they don’t find it—and they might miss a single casing—nothing’s proved. Anyway, a casing is meaningless without a rifle. Say that Satterlee or one of the others was out last night with a rifle. How many places could they have disposed of a rifle after they left the brick plant?”
“I’m not counting on linking a casing to him or to anybody. What I want is proof that he took his horse this morning to the place where the shot was fired. When I’ve got that, I’ll know he’s either the killer or he knows something we need to know.” Cobb’s eyes glinted. “One way or another, I’m going to find out which of them killed Kim Weaver.” Cobb jerked his head at Johnny. “That’s where you come in.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnny’s handsome face also showed little effect of last night’s late hours. His thick black hair, combed hard to corral the natural curl, emphasized the sea blue of his eyes. His uniform was immaculate. He looked eager, excited, and proud to be chosen by the chief for special duty.
The chief’s expression was thoughtful, his face somber. “We have reason to believe Kim Weaver’s murder is connected to the murder of Susan Flynn. We have a tip that Susan Flynn signed a new will and Kim Weaver intercepted it in the mail yesterday morning.”
“A new will?” Johnny’s face furrowed.
“A will that leaves everything to Susan Flynn’s grandson. That will has disappeared.” Cobb leaned forward and stared at Johnny with gimlet eyes. “Kim Weaver called each of Susan Flynn’s heirs to tell them about the meeting at Farrell’s office at two o’clock. I’m guessing she told one of them about the new will and together they agreed that she’d keep it quiet. For a price. Or maybe she called Peg Flynn’s boyfriend Dave Lewis. Whoever she called, we know she had an appointment with someone at the old brick plant at eleven o’clock and she was to bring the will. You can help us find out which of Susan Flynn’s heirs”—he ticked them off one by one—“Jacqueline Flynn, Peg Flynn, Tucker Satterlee, Gina Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond, knew Kim Weaver well enough to conspire to prevent that will from reaching Susan Flynn’s lawyer. Or maybe the contact was with Dave Lewis. Peg Flynn should know whether Lewis knew Weaver.”
Johnny stiffened. “What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Peg Flynn. Find out from her how well all of them knew Kim Weaver.”
Johnny looked uncomfortable. “I’m a police officer. I’ll interview her as a witness.”
Chief Cobb’s expression didn’t change. “You do that.”
Johnny’s face furrowed in unhappiness. “Is there anything else?”
Cobb waved a hand in dismissal.
As Johnny opened the door, Cobb spoke, his voice gruff. “Somebody’s dangerous.”
Johnny stood in the doorway, his shoulders tight, listening.
“I’ll be straight with you, Officer. I don’t think Peg Flynn’s dangerous. You have a chance to take a bead on a copperhead behind the log. Copperheads don’t give any warning. Peg Flynn might be the one that steps on it.”
Johnny looked back, his eyes anguished. “I’ll do what I can.”
When the door closed, Price shrugged. “He’ll do what he can. Which won’t be much. You struck out, Sam. You got to remember, a good-looking woman twists a man’s guts, makes him forget he’s a cop.” He spoke with the wry authority of a man who’d been down that road. “You heard him. He’s going to tell her he’s asking as a cop. That will shut her up. But we can keep looking. I’ve got Kim Weaver’s address book. I’ll talk to Weaver’s friends and try to pick up a link between Weaver and one or more of the heirs or with the boyfriend.”
Cobb thumped the fingers of one hand in a rapid tattoo near his phone. “We know more than these people realize. Maybe I can do a little poking. I want to catch Peg Flynn before Johnny Cain gets to her.” He glanced at phone numbers next to a list of names. His eyes gleamed. “I like cell phones. Puts most folks on a short leash.” He turned on the speakerphone and punched numbers.
“Hello.” Peg sounded weary.
“This is Chief Cobb. If you have a minute, Miss Flynn, I have a few questions.” Cobb pulled a tablet close, picked up a pen. “When did you tell Dave Lewis that Susan Flynn was unlikely to provide a loan for his new clinic?”
She drew in a sharp breath, said hurriedly, “That isn’t accurate. Susan had asked for a business plan. She hadn’t turned Dave down.”
“When did you tell him?” Cobb was patient but inexorable.
“Saturday afternoon.” Her voice was faint.
“After dinner, Lewis learned you weren’t going to inherit. That night someone made sure Susan Flynn didn’t sign her new will.”
“Chief, that’s terrible. Dave wouldn’t hurt Susan. Besides”—there was a rush of relief in her voice—“he and I went for a drive after Susan went upstairs and Dave insisted I talk to her, smooth everything over, get her to agree to the loan. Don’t you see? He wouldn’t urge me to talk to her if she wasn’t going to be all right.”
Cobb looked at Price, whose expression was sardonic.
“I see. But now he won’t have to worry about money, will he? Since you are going to inherit.”
Price mouthed, “New will?”
The chief waved a hand in dismissal.
Peg was slow in answering. “Actually”—her tone was stiff—“Dave knows I don’t intend to use any of that money for myself. I tried to give it to Keith, but Wade Farrell said I’d have to pay too much in taxes, so I’m going to set it up where every penny of my inheritance is used for Keith. I told Dave that yesterday.”
“How did he respond?”
After an appreciable pause, she said reluctantly, “He doesn’t approve.”
“I see. Thanks very much, Miss Flynn.” He clicked off the phone.
Price gave a bark of dark laughter. “If Lewis is your man, he has to be pretty frosted to know he committed a murder and the money still won’t get to him.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Women change their minds. For now she looks innocent as a daisy. I’d take everything”—he spoke with emphasis—“that she says with a bucketload of salt. I’m not as impressed with her generosity as the lawyer. For sure, if she spiked the cocoa, she’d now pretend no interest in the money. So far, she hasn’t signed anything. It’s all words.”
I heard the chief’s dark analysis with a chill. I thought I’d judged Peg well. She was sweet and kind to Keith. Her response Monday afternoon when she tried to renounce her share had seemed utterly sincere.
A dark little voice whispered to me: Someone committed murder and none of them seemed likely, not house-proud Jake, debt-laden Gina, dedicated rancher Tucker, jovial but desperate Harrison, devoted Charlotte, self-centered Dave.