“Hey,” Adam said. “Is that one of my books?”
I flipped it shut. “Not any more. You can have it when I’m done.”
He grinned. “Fair’s fair.”
“You’re all set?” I asked. “You know Irene’s going to want a full report.”
“The incision itself is fine, but they bandaged the crap out of it just to be sure.” He made a face. “All that tape is going to pull on my chest hair something fierce when I take it off.”
“Do it in the shower.” I squared the book on my lap, but didn’t stand. “So you’re ready to go?”
“Sure am. I didn’t even get a new prescription.”
“Then there’s only one thing to do before I take you home.”
Adam frowned. “What’s that?”
“Call the sheriff.”
• • •
Detective Inwood sat on the edge of the chair he’d dragged over from the Deerings’ dining table. “You say the car didn’t swerve, but was heading straight for Mr. Deering?”
I nodded at Adam. He was sitting up in his recliner, but I wasn’t sure how long he was going to stay awake. Actually I wasn’t sure he had stayed awake through the previous fifteen minutes of questions, but at least he was home where he belonged, and not in the sheriff’s office, which was where the detective had wanted to talk to him.
“Absolutely not,” I had said. “The man had emergency heart surgery less than two weeks ago. He’s exhausted. The last thing he needs is to sit in that little room for an hour, staring at the dragon on the ceiling tiles until you have time to show up.”
Inwood sighed. “And I suppose you have an alternative plan.”
Of course I did. “I’ll drive Adam home. You can come and talk to him.”
“And this can’t wait until morning why?”
“No time like the present,” I said briskly. “Besides, he shouldn’t be driving and his wife can’t take time off work to bring him to you. You’re going to have to come out here one way or another. Might as well get it done now.”
“My wife has dinner waiting.”
I felt a pang of guilt, but squashed it down. “I’m sorry for that, but I’m sure she’s used to warming things up.”
He sighed. “We’ll be out in half an hour.”
And indeed, half an hour later Deputy Ash Wolverson knocked on the front door. Detective Inwood was behind him, his shoulders drooping. We settled into the living room in short order, and now I could feel the questions coming to a close.
“Absolutely,” I said, nodding toward Adam. “It wasn’t a gentle swerve that was corrected with a jerk, you know, like sometimes happens when you’re reaching for something on the floor of the passenger’s seat and drift over a little, then realize what you’re doing and . . .” The three men were looking at me with identically disapproving expressions. “Not that I’ve done that,” I said quickly. Not lately, anyway. “What I’m saying is that it looked intentional. Not like a mistake.”
The detective gave a faint sigh, and I remembered the conversations I’d had the last time I showed up at the sheriff’s office. About eyewitnesses, and how they can’t be trusted to get details right.
I decided to go at it a different way. “I know this isn’t proof of anything, but it just didn’t feel like an accident.”
Though Inwood kept looking at his notebook, his eyebrows went up. “Didn’t feel like an accident,” he said slowly, writing down the words. Or at least that’s what I assumed he was writing. If he was writing “Minnie Hamilton shouldn’t be allowed out by herself,” I didn’t want to know about it.
“That’s right. It felt like . . .” I hesitated, then forged ahead with the inappropriate thought that had popped into my head. “It felt like Christine was trying to make Adam her next victim.”
Inwood stopped writing. “Who’s Christine?”
Ash laughed. “Book or movie?”
“Book. The movie is too scary.” We smiled at each other and a warm fuzzy feeling wrapped itself around me. I’d tried to get Tucker to read horror books, but he’d pushed them away and asked why I wasted my time on that junk.
Inwood was frowning at the exchange. “Anyone care to enlighten me? Deputy?”
“Yes, sir,” Ash said. “Sorry. It’s the title of a book by Stephen King, later made into a movie. The title character is a possessed car who kills by a variety of methods.”
Inwood turned the page of his notebook. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Mr. Deering?”
“No, I can’t think of—”
I snapped my fingers. “FedEx. You said you were down at the mailbox to pick up a Federal Express package. Did you even order anything?”
“Not me, but I thought maybe Irene had.”
“Call her,” Detective Inwood said. “Find out.”
Adam picked up his cell phone from the side table. “Hey, it’s me. Have you ordered anything lately? Something that might have come FedEx?” He looked at the detective. “Okay, thanks, babe. No, I’m fine. I’ll see you when you get home,” he said, and thumbed off the phone.
“No order,” Inwood said.
Adam shook his head. “She said she hasn’t bought anything online for a couple of months.”
“Would anyone else be sending you something?” the detective asked.
“Can’t think who,” Adam said. “But I can call around and check.”
Inwood made a note. “Don’t bother. I’ll contact Federal Express and see if there was a delivery scheduled to your home.”
“If there wasn’t,” I said, sitting on the edge of the chair, “then this is proof that someone killed Henry and tried to kill Adam, too.”
Inwood looked at me. “Proof?” he asked, and I thought I heard sorrow in his voice. “The only proof in any of this is that Mr. Deering here has a tendency to get himself into accidents.”
My face went warm. “Oh, really?” I asked. “You think all this is—”
The detective held up his hand. “Proof,” he reminded me. “You were talking about proof. It’s a very narrow definition, Ms. Hamilton. What we have is theories and suppositions, none of which would interest the county prosecutor in the least.”
Since I didn’t even know the name of the county’s prosecuting attorney, I had to take his word for it. “But you have to admit that something weird is going on. I mean, what are the odds that two bizarre accidents would happen to the same guy in less than two weeks?”
Ash looked up from his notes. “I wouldn’t call a tree falling on a man out in the woods bizarre. Unusual, sure, but accidents happen.”
I frowned. Wasn’t he supposed to be on my side? “Maybe not, but combine the falling tree with this car almost running him over. That can’t be something that happens on a regular basis.”
The glance exchanged by Ash and the detective confirmed the truth of my statement.
“We will explore all possibilities,” Detective Inwood said, tucking his notebook into his pocket. “I know the deputy here has the sheriff convinced there’s a possibility that Mr. Deering was, in fact, the intended murder victim all along.” He smiled faintly. “I think he’s nuts, but it’s his theory and he’s welcome to it.”
“And what do you think?” I asked. “Two unlikely accidents or one murder and one attempted murder?”
“We will explore all possibilities,” the detective repeated. “If Mr. Gill’s death was murder, we’ll find out. If Mr. Deering’s accident was a murder attempt, we’ll find out. Please assure him that we’ll put as many hours as we can into resolving this.”
My chin went up. “Why are you talking as if Adam isn’t even here? He’s not an idiot, he’s just recovering from surgery.”
“And he’s asleep,” Inwood said, gesturing in Adam’s direction. “We’ll be in contact, Ms. Hamilton. Tell Mr. Deering that if he thinks of anything else that’s pertinent”—he stressed the last word—“he should let us know immediately.”