The hand went back up. “And point number four, the most pertinent point. Mr. Deering’s statement was inconsistent.”
My spine lost a little of its starch. “But that has to happen all the time. It’s easy to get a couple of details mixed up, especially in . . . in a situation like that.”
Detective Inwood didn’t appear to care. “Initially Mr. Deering claimed there was thunder and lightning that day. Later, he said there’d been none. Then Mr. Deering said he went out to check on Henry because he thought he’d heard a strange noise. Later, he said he went outside to get some fresh air. At one point Mr. Deering said he’d seen someone else in the woods, someone wearing a brown jacket. Later, he said the jacket was dark green. Even later, he said it was navy blue. Later yet, he said it was plaid.”
The intellectual part of my brain knew that what the detective was saying made sense, that Adam’s emotional and physical state had been clouding everything to the point where his statement couldn’t be trusted, but the other part of my brain, the part that cared deeply about puppies and kittens, wasn’t convinced at all.
“But none of that means he was wrong,” I said, trying to be calm and rational. “Even if he’d said the man’s coat was bright purple with fluorescent green polka dots, that doesn’t mean a man wasn’t there.”
Inwood smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Ms. Hamilton. Of all people, I would have thought you’d be open to gender possibilities.”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Adam said he’d seen a guy. I was just going with his impressions.”
“The same impressions that seemed to change every time we talked to him?” The detective sighed and looked at the ceiling. I wondered if the dragon looked like something else from that side of the table. Maybe next time I’d break out of my rut and sit in his chair.
A man about my age—a very good-looking man—hurried into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I got a phone call and . . . oh.” Deputy Ash Wolverson looked at me. “Hi, Minnie. Is something wrong?”
“Ms. Hamilton stopped by to tell us that we should pay more attention to our eyewitnesses.” Detective Inwood stood. “Please show her out.” He gave me a marginally polite nod and left the room.
Ash settled into the vacated chair. “Is that why you’re here? Did you witness a crime?”
Once again, I wondered how such a stunningly handsome man could be so unaware of how his good looks could affect the women around him. I, of course, was immune since I was dating Tucker, but surely Ash had grown up with girls throwing themselves at him. In my experience, that tended to make men annoyingly sure of themselves, but Ash came across as humble and almost shy.
I smiled at him. “No, I stopped by to drop some books off for Adam Deering and heard what he’s saying about Henry.”
Ash folded his hands on the table and stared at them. “Mr. Deering stated, in various ways, that he’d seen a figure running away from Mr. Gill and himself.”
“And you don’t believe him,” I said. “At least that’s what Detective Inwood implied.”
“Inwood is—” Ash stopped abruptly. Looked at his hands some more.
“Is what?” I asked. “Encouraging and sympathetic? Willing to take the time to teach you all you’ll need as a detective? Supportive?”
Ash laughed. “Have you had Hal as a boss? Because it sounds like you know him pretty well.”
No, but I did have a boss named Stephen. “I’m sure he loves his wife and children dearly and wouldn’t dream of kicking a dog.”
“Grandchildren, too,” Ash said. “Have you seen the pictures? Cute kids.”
The idea of Detective Inwood dandling babies on his knees was a little much even for my overactive imagination.
“But the problem,” Ash went on, lowering his voice and leaning forward, “is he’s city.”
“He’s . . . city?”
“Yeah. Hal grew up downstate in a big town, spent twenty-five years on a big-town police force, and moved up here to work until he got old enough to retire for good. So he’s from the city and thinks city.”
“I’m from Dearborn,” I said a little stiffly.
“Really?” He caught himself and started again. “And that’s just what I mean. You’re from the city, but you think small town. Hal Inwood, he’s big city inside and out.”
I wasn’t understanding this at all. “What does this have to do with Henry and Adam?”
“Because once Hal gets out of town, he doesn’t always see the possibilities.”
“Like what?”
“Like the possibility that someone could have set up that tree to fall.”
“Set it up?”
“Sure.” Ash nodded. “Wouldn’t be that hard. Find a tree rotted in the middle, tie a come-along to it, and start winching it. Bring it almost to the falling point, then back off and unchain it. Rig up a block and tackle to some upper branches, wait for your guy to get into the right spot, give a good yank, and the tree comes down.”
I stared at him. “But you’re talking about . . . about something worse than leaving two injured men behind. You’re saying it was—” I didn’t want to think about it, let alone say it out loud.
“I’m not saying anything,” Ash said, shaking his head. “I’m just saying there are possibilities that need to be looked into.”
“Possibilities of murder,” I said.
“And another thing.” Ash looked into my face, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were almost gray. A little blue, but if I had to choose a color, it would have been gray.
“Another thing?” I asked faintly.
“If it was a setup, I’m not sure about the target.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The light was bad,” Ash said. “It was rainy and windy and cold and all-around crappy. If someone knew Deering was helping clean out the sugar shack, that someone could have expected Deering to go out to the woodpile, not Henry.”
My mouth moved, but nothing came out. Finally I stopped trying and stared at Ash mutely.
He nodded. “If it was murder, Adam Deering could have been the intended victim.”
“Wolverson!”
I jumped backward, Ash jumped to his feet. We’d leaned so close, talking so quietly, that our heads had been almost touching.
“Yes, ma’am!” Ash stood ramrod straight.
Sheriff Kit Richardson stood in the doorway, looking from him to me and back again. “Please tell me this little scene has to do with an investigation.”
I stood and started talking, but Ash spoke over the top of me. Which was easy enough, since he was almost a foot taller to begin with.
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated. “Ms. Hamilton here had some information regarding the death of Henry Gill.”
“Hamilton?” The sheriff faced me and I felt myself squaring my shoulders and standing as tall as I ever had in my entire life. “Minnie Hamilton?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ash and I said simultaneously.
If I hadn’t been at eye level with her teeth, I might have missed the short, tiny quirk that one side of her mouth made. “Wolverson, you’re still working the accident-by-design angle?”
He nodded, and a part of me loosened that I hadn’t even known was tight. Ash wasn’t keeping anything from Detective Inwood; he was being up-front about his theory and had taken it all the way to the sheriff. The detective must not agree with Ash’s theory, and that was why Ash had been whispering to me.
“All right, then,” Sheriff Richardson said. “Carry on, you two.” She nodded at us and as she turned away, she looked at me. “I’d date him myself if I wasn’t married,” she said softly, and this time her smile wasn’t hidden at all.
• • •
I left the sheriff’s office directly after that little incident, and spent the rest of the evening on the couch rereading The Stand. After all, there was nothing like eight hundred and twenty-three pages of a postapocalyptic Stephen King horror/fantasy novel to make you forget that not only did your county sheriff know your name, for unknown and probably scary reasons, but she might also be trying her hand at a little matchmaking.