"How did she die?" Fred's bottom jaw snapped upward like a turtle's.
"She suffered a stab wound. The coroner's report may reveal more information, though. We try not to jump to conclusions."
"This is terrible. This is the worst thing I've ever heard. A young woman like that. She had everything to live for." His eyes had a wild look.
"You worked closely with her?" Rick asked as Cooper unobtrusively took out her notebook, flipping over the cover.
"I supervised her. She was my best in the field. Soaked it all up. Only had to tell her once." He kept shaking his head. "Who would do a thing like this?"
"That's what we want to know." Rick rubbed his forehead. "Did she have a boyfriend?"
"She didn't say but we didn't talk about personal things, Sheriff. Strictly business. When men and women work together it has to be strictly business."
"I see." Rick avoided glancing at Cooper since they talked about everything and everyone under the sun. "Well, did you ever notice any men meeting her after work?"
"No, sir. That girl did her job, then climbed in her car and drove home. Every single day. Never mixed in pleasure with her job. No, sir."
"Would you characterize Mychelle as a happy person?"
"Well, I guess I would. She didn't complain." This was Fred's version of happiness.
"Did she ever have difficulties with contractors? Architects?"
Fred pinched his lips together. "Any one of them can be a headache on any given day. She was professional. If something was wrong she explained the problem. She knew the county code forwards and backwards. Very professional."
"Did you ever receive complaints about her?"
"Our department gets every whiner in the county. But it wasn't personal, you see. Doesn't matter which building inspector is on the job. Contractor will call back and say, 'Fred Forrest says I don't have proper ingress and egress.' Stuff like that."
"No one ever called and said, 'Mychelle Burns is wrong' or 'She's impolite.' That sort of thing?" Rick queried.
"No."
"What about H. H. Donaldson?"
"No different."
"You didn't like him?"
"No. Man was a pain in the ass. Thought he was an artist. That type. I didn't wish him dead, you understand, but I never liked the guy."
"He never called complaining about Mychelle?"
"No. H.H. just called to complain, period."
"Any other contractor that you would describe as a prima donna?"
"Olin Reid's like that."
"What about a huge operator like Matthew Crickenberger?"
"He's reasonable but, you see, Sheriff, that's pretty much the way it is. The bigger the operator, the better he is. I don't have but so many citations on a Crickenberger job. It's the little guy's trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Do it cheap, you see. Doesn't always have good subcontractors. The best attract the best."
"I see." Rick patted his pack of cigarettes in his chest pocket. He wouldn't light up in Fred's house, but it was reassuring to know his Camels were right there. "Did Mychelle ever come into money?"
Fred's expression was surprised. "Money?"
"An inheritance, perhaps. Maybe she won a lottery ticket, you know, something for a thousand bucks. Anything?"
"No. Never saw her spend much. A sensible girl. Why?"
"Money is often a motive for murder. Perhaps she came into some money. That sort of thing."
Fred shook his head. "No. I would have known. I don't think people can hide money. Even though she didn't bring her personal life to work, I would have noticed new clothes or things."
"Did she gamble?"
Now he was really surprised. "Mychelle?"
"Sure. Gambling's big."
"Only time I ever saw her use the phone was for business. Same with the cell phone. County phone. Gotta have it in the field, you know. No extra calls. No, sir."
Lorraine took advantage of the momentary lull in the conversation to ask Rick and Cooper if they'd like refreshments but they declined.
"Uh, Mr. Forrest-"
"Sheriff, my name is Fred and you know that."
"I do." Rick smiled. "All right, what about sports? Big sports fan?"
"Yes, sir. Loved UVA. Any UVA team. Loved the Pittsburgh Pirates. Could never understand that." A puzzled expression crossed his face.
"Now, Fred, you're a pretty big sports fan yourself."
"I guess I'd have to agree."
"Well, I agree." Lorraine put in her two cents' worth.
"You ever run into Mychelle at a game?"
"Now, I rarely saw her at football. Stadium's so big, you see. I know she was there but I didn't see her. I'd see her at basketball. Men's and women's. Big fan of women's. Big fan."
"Do you recall if she had dates? Do you remember seeing her with anyone consistently?"
He thought hard. "I'd usually see her with a bunch of girls. All about her age. A couple of times I saw her with a fellow but"-he shook his head-"couldn't tell you who."
"I would guess Mychelle would be good with numbers."
"Sure."
"Fred, I have to chase down any and every idea."
"Guess you do. Guess you do."
"You won't like this question but I have to ask you. Do you think she could have been taking bribes to overlook anything not up to grade?"
Fred vigorously shook his head. "No way, José. No way."
"Do you have any idea why Mychelle might have been killed?"
"I don't, but I sure hope you catch the bastard who did it. She was a good girl, Sheriff. Kept to herself. Not a flashy girl but she did her job and she did a good job. She had a future, she did."
"And someone took it away from her," Lorraine quietly said.
"Mrs. Forrest, do you have any idea why someone might kill Mychelle Burns?" Rick thought she was relaxed enough to speak up if she had a thought.
"Sheriff, I don't. I don't think she was a happy girl. She was a person finding her way in life but I can't imagine her in some kind of trouble, trouble like this."
"Drugs?"
Fred interjected. "I'd have known. An employee can only hide drugs or booze but so long." Then he turned to his wife. "Why do you say she was unhappy?"
"She did her job just like you said, dear, but I never saw Mychelle animated about anything." Lorraine held up her hand because Fred was going to interrupt her. "Except for UVA sports, like you said. But she never talked about hobbies or her friends or a special friend. My personal opinion is that she was a lonely girl without a lot of social skills. I don't think she was happy."
"You never told me that."
"Dear, you never asked."
24
Susan and Harry munched their doughnuts in Susan's station wagon, the cats and dogs in the rear seat, a beach towel on the leather to protect it.
"I am not driving down to the Clam."
"Didn't ask." Harry wrinkled her nose.
"That shows some good judgment for a change," Susan replied in a singsong voice.
"We could go over to Tazio's office. See if she's there."
"Something tells me this has nothing to do with the church guild."
"Coop left with her. Come on, Susan. Just cruise by. You don't have to stop."
As it wasn't far out of the way, Susan drove by Tazio's office. She'd converted the old barbershop just south of the railroad overpass. Tazio's big truck sat in the parking lot.
"She's done a great job on that old building."
Just then Tazio and Brinkley opened the door, turned to shut it.
Harry rolled down her passenger window. "Taz!"
Tazio turned to wave. "Hey."
Susan pulled up next to Tazio's truck since Harry was half hanging out the station wagon window letting in the cold air.
"Tazio, any luck?" Harry asked as Susan parked next to the truck.
"With Coop?"
"Hi," the animals called to Brinkley who responded in turn.
"This is my brother, Owen." Tucker introduced the corgi.
As the animals chatted so did the people.
"-empty." Tazio pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she walked to her truck. "Makes me wonder, though. What if Mychelle told other people she was seeing me Monday? She was whispering about it, as you well know, but being emotionally obvious, if you know what I mean. Someone out there might think I know more than I know-which is nothing."