Bite the dust, p.2
Bite the Dust, page 2
Chubb whined before I could reply.
Marc appeared. “Excuse me, how about I take the dog for a walk? Give y’all some privacy.”
I attached Chubb’s leash and passed it to Marc. “Thanks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He disappeared out the back door just off the laundry room.
I faced Wade. “I showed up this morning to walk Chubb and found Peter’s body in the living room.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“I’m afraid so.” The room tilted on me. “Uh, Wade, can we sit down?”
“Sure. Take a seat at the island.” He pulled a tall chair out for me, and I sank into it. “Andi Grace, any chance you know why there’s only one playing card here?”
I propped my arms on the cool granite countertop. “It’s going to have my fingerprints on it. Please don’t get mad at me, but I picked it up earlier.”
He stiffened. “That wasn’t a very smart move. Tell me everything.”
I shared my story with him and answered his questions. It took almost an hour, and I was beyond exhausted.
Wade studied me. “Did you kill Peter?”
“No, he was always kind to me. I had no reason to hurt him.” A tear rolled down my cheek, and I swiped it away. Nobody cried pretty, but with my blond hair, blue eyes, and freckles I was a legit ugly crier. “Do you believe me?”
“At this point, I’m gathering facts. Walk me through your story from the moment you entered the house.”
I followed him to the foyer and retraced my steps for him. Outside the living room window, the sun shone bright. Marc played with Chubb in the shade. I smiled before my thoughts returned to the murder scene.
It seemed like hours before the sheriff finished interrogating me. I plodded out the door, and Marc entered the house. He wasn’t allowed to speak to me, and a deputy watched as Marc handed me the leash.
I didn’t speak a word until climbing into my Suburban. I’d parked under an old oak tree in front of Peter’s home, and it wasn’t steaming hot. I sat in the driver’s seat, and Chubb lay in the passenger seat.
A breeze drifted up from the river. Combined with the shade, the heat was bearable. I took notes in my journal on everything that came to mind about the crime scene. When I wrote all I could remember, I tapped my pen against the paper. Would the sheriff question Marc as thoroughly as he had me?
I wasn’t sure what to think about the handsome, tall, and somewhat brooding attorney. Of course, finding a man dead wasn’t the occasion to crack jokes and be the life of the party. I fanned myself with the journal.
Chubb propped his head on the console next to me. His heavy breathing filled the air. Crickets chirped in the surrounding woods. A peaceful day, if not for the fact my friend had been murdered.
What had Peter been wearing? I remembered what Marc wore. If the situation were different, I might be attracted to him. Too bad I’d always think of him as the man who thought I was capable of murder. I wouldn’t hurt a mosquito. Okay, that might take it a bit far, but no way would I hurt another person.
“What are you doing?” Marc appeared beside my SUV and propped an elbow on the ledge of my rolled-down window.
I gasped and reached for my heart. “Whoa. You gave me a fright.”
“Sorry. Thought you saw me coming.”
“How’d your interview go?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Fine.”
“Did they mention me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”
“No need to say a lot when one word will do.” He gave me a half-smile.
I’d never get information if he played coy. “Are you sure you’re an attorney? I thought y’all had lots to say.”
“Might be the reason I quit practicing law.”
Arg. He was about to get on my last nerve. “Let’s get more precise. Sheriff Stone drilled me on my relationship with Peter and why I was at the house this morning. He asked about my normal dog walking procedures. I’m worried he thinks either I killed Peter or maybe the killer got my key. It’s impossible the killer got my key, because I still have it.” I held up the key on a ring with a code tag. “Everybody I work for has a key with their own code. Even if somebody had broken into my house to get Peter’s key, they’d have to know my coding system of matching keys to homes.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.” He clamped his lips together.
I expelled a long breath and shook my head. “Not even close. I never considered stumbling upon a dead client.”
“I’m sure most people don’t plan on that.”
Un, deux, trois, quatre. “You aren’t helping. What’d you tell the sheriff?”
“The truth.”
It was going to take more than counting in French to calm me down. I needed to remain cool so Marc didn’t think I was a deranged killer. “Did you tell him you accused me of murdering Peter?”
“I confessed that my first thought was you’d hurt Peter.”
“You what?” I straightened in my seat. “How could you?”
“Hold on a second. I cleared up the misunderstanding then stuck to the facts.”
Relief swooshed through me. “How did Sheriff Stone react?”
“He’s got a good poker face.”
So did Marc, and I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with him. I gave up. For the moment. “Can we leave now?”
“The deputy has our information and said we’re free to go.”
I tapped the pen against my purple journal. “Do you remember what Peter was wearing?”
“Braves T-shirt and jeans. Black Converse.”
“You’re right.” I jotted the information down. Why hadn’t I remembered?
“Why are you taking notes?”
I avoided meeting his gaze. How could I explain my desire to solve Peter’s murder? The police had never found the hit-and-run driver who killed my parents twelve years ago. They called it a cold case. Nobody was perfect, and I’d never blame them for the lack of clues. Still, I realized the sheriff might see me as the most likely suspect and quit looking for the real killer. If I helped find the person responsible for Peter’s death, I’d be able to clear my name and get justice for Peter.
Marc rested both arms on the top of my SUV. “Well?”
“What?” Oh, yeah. He’d asked about my notes. “I wanted to be a journalist when I was growing up. Here’s a chance to put my investigative skills to the test while trying to get justice for Peter. Any chance you’d tell me the name of the casino developer?” A warm breeze drifted into the truck which gave me a bit of relief from the late afternoon heat.
Marc pushed back and stood straight. “George Reeves. He’s not a local.”
That much I had figured out on my own. I’d lived in Heyward Beach my entire life, and I knew the locals. To say so would sound bad-mannered. Instead, I nodded and added the name to my list. “Thanks.”
“Before you start investigating, do you have a husband or boyfriend to protect you?”
My shoulders tightened. “Don’t you think you’re being a little chauvinistic?”
“Not when it comes to murder.”
My face warmed. I didn’t want to answer, but he’d given me George Reeves’s name. “My brother lives in town.” No need to explain Nate stayed busy from dawn to dusk with his landscaping business.
“Be careful.” He stepped away then turned on his heel and returned. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but why does it matter what Peter’s wearing?”
“It was around ten when he called me last night to take care of Chubb. I think the killer came over after our call instead of this morning.”
“Why?”
“Peter always wore suits to business meetings. If he’d been killed early today, he would’ve been dressed up.”
“Gotcha. Why do you care so much?”
Anger bubbled up in me. I counted to ten in French before answering. “Why don’t you care more?” I shot him the sweetest smile I could summon.
“Touché.” He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “I feel terrible for Peter, but we barely knew each other. I know how to research, but I’ve never tried to track down a killer. Have you actually taken any investigative reporting classes?”
Busted. “No.”
“And you don’t think the sheriff’s department can handle this case?” He crossed his arms and stared at me.
I gripped the steering wheel and could picture the man questioning a witness in a courtroom. “That’s my point. To the cops, this is just another case. But it’s different for me. Peter was my friend. When I wanted to start my dog walking business so I could have more time with the kids, Peter believed in me. He even helped me create a business plan.”
Marc’s eyes widened. “You’ve got kids?”
I opened the door to allow a better breeze into the vehicle. “No. My parents died when I was eighteen, and I raised my brother and sister.”
His stance relaxed, and he stepped closer to the Suburban. “I’m sorry.” His voice was silky smooth and comforting.
“I miss them every day. I’d registered for college and had a dorm assignment. I couldn’t wait to start, and then my parents died. The driver was never caught. The sheriff says it’s a cold case. You have no idea what it’s like to lose both parents at the same time.”
Marc looked down and scuffed the toe of his running shoe in the sandy grass. “Amazingly, I do know. Seems like we’ve got that in common.”
Me and my big mouth. “I’m sorry, Marc. What happened?” I slid my purple journal onto the dash and stepped out of my SUV. I leaned back, hoping to look casual, but I wanted to hear every word he uttered.
He looked me in the eyes. “I was six at the time. It was also a car wreck, but not a hit-and-run. My parents ran off the road and hit a palm tree in the median. An off-duty fireman drove by at the time and rescued me first. He cut me out of my child safety seat and carried me to his truck.”
His voice was so quiet, I had to step closer to hear. “And?”
“The car caught fire. The fireman had blocked oncoming traffic with his pickup truck. I guess the traffic on the other side stopped as well. The flames were so intense nobody could reach my parents. They died before anyone could get the fire extinguished.” He broke eye contact with me and stared at the ground.
“Oh, no. I can’t imagine how terrible it was for you to lose them at such a young age. Do you have any siblings?”
“Only child. I ended up in foster care. Thirteen different homes before I graduated from high school.” Marc strode toward an oak tree with Spanish moss draping off its branches. He looked skyward.
I didn’t want to intrude on his private moment, especially if he was praying, so I waited.
At last he spun on his heel and walked back to me. “I’ll help you.”
Chapter Two
DUMBFOUNDED WAS the only word to describe my feeling the moment Marc Williams agreed to help me.
He laughed, a rich, warm, genuine laugh. “You look stunned.”
“I am.” My voice caught on the words—whether from his comment or his deep tones, I couldn’t say. I blinked. “Why the change of heart?”
His lips twitched in a smile. “I should’ve known you couldn’t just accept my offer to help.” He looked behind me as if the answers of the universe were in the surrounding oaks. “In all of the years I spent in foster care, I only had one good home placement. Mr. and Mrs. Bobby Joe Wilkes. I moved in with them the summer before I started high school. I was a smart aleck teenage boy mad at the world with a chip the size of a boulder on my shoulder. Bobby Joe changed me.”
“How?”
He pulled his gray-eyed gaze back to me. “The short version is for once I had a family who believed in me.” The smile he gave me might make some women go weak in the knees.
Who was I kidding? It was a good thing I’d been leaning against my SUV. “I’m still not sure why you changed your mind.”
One shoulder hiked up. One very strong, muscular shoulder. “Let’s say I’d lost faith in the system. Lost faith in a lot of people as well. The Wilkeses were different. They saw me as more than a paycheck. I was loved and appreciated. I thrived in their home. I know what it’s like to fight a battle all by myself, and I understand how much easier it is to have somebody stand beside you. Andi Grace, I get you don’t trust the authorities to solve Peter’s murder because your parents’ death is a cold case. You need help. I understand what it’s like to feel like nobody’s on your side, and I’m willing to help you.”
His words thrilled me. No way he’d have made his offer if he thought I killed Peter. I threw my arms around him and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll take you up on your offer. Why don’t you put your contact information into my phone?” With a simple swipe and fingerprint, I’d opened my phone to the contact page. “Here you go.”
He tapped in his information while I watched his quick movements. In no time, he pushed save and returned the phone to me. “Text me your information when you have time.”
“Any chance you’re looking to adopt a dog as well as help me solve Peter’s murder?” I texted him my number while I asked.
For the second time, he laughed. A resonant sound I could get used to hearing. “Not likely.”
I couldn’t explain the connection I felt to Marc at that moment. If he’d offered sympathy or comfort earlier, I might have broken down and gone into hysterics. Instead, he’d questioned my innocence and called the sheriff. His calm and authoritative attitude had forced me to function when the world crumbled around me.
Sheriff Wade Stone stepped out of the house and walked toward us.
“Uh, oh.” In high school, I’d watched Wade quarterback on the football field, score and block on the basketball court, and knock home runs on the baseball field. He’d grown more muscular over the years. Thicker. I didn’t want to get plowed down by the man he’d grown into.
Wade’s nostrils flared. “Thought I told you two to leave.”
“Yes, sir.” I pushed off my SUV and looked at Marc. “Need a ride?”
“May as well.” He strolled around to the passenger side with the grace of an athlete. Shoulders back and head held high.
I slid into the driver’s seat. From my days of dating jocks in high school, I’d learned how arrogant some athletes could be. I didn’t know about Marc, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Most people were good. That’d been my mantra for years, and I’d continue to believe it. I cranked the SUV. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. The person who murdered Peter and the person who left my parents to die were excellent examples of bad people. “Move over, Chubb.”
The puppy whined but wiggled to the back.
Marc settled into the passenger seat.
“You can scoot the seat back.” I held in a chuckle. His long legs barely squeezed into the allotted space. His knees were scrunched almost against his chest. “My best friend rode over there last. She’s much shorter than you. She’s also nearsighted and likes to ride with the seat pulled up.”
He slid the seat back, allowing his long legs to stretch. “Ah, much better. Thanks.”
Chubb hopped onto the console between us, but he was too big to fit. His front paws landed in Marc’s lap, and his tail swooshed against me.
I laughed. “So much for staying in the back seat.”
With my left hand on the steering wheel, and my right patting Chubb’s back, I drove away from Peter’s house. It’d probably be the last time, and I took it all in. The view of the river, stately magnolia and oak trees with Spanish moss, grown up rice fields, the manicured lawn and landscaping closer to the main house, and woods bordering the property. “I don’t know anything about Peter’s family, except he has a sister. They were estranged. Since I’ve known him, he either spent holidays with us or traveled to some exotic island.”
“How’d you meet Peter?” Marc rubbed Chubb’s ears between his long tanned fingers.
“After I decided to raise my brother and sister, I knew we needed a smaller house. I went to Seaside Realty, and Peter was there looking for a home in the area. He’d been renting and decided to make it permanent. First time we ever met.” I choked up and stopped petting Chubb to reach for a tissue from the box I kept in the glove compartment. I bumped Marc’s knee with my wrist. Chills shot up my arm and I yanked my hand back. “Sorry.”
With his right hand, he opened the compartment, pulled out some tissues, and handed them to me. “Want me to drive?”
Yes, but I couldn’t show weakness to this stranger. I would’ve liked nothing more than to curl up in bed with my German shepherd, Sunny, my favorite soft, faded quilt, and allow myself to cry. Cry for Peter, whose days were cut short in the prime of his life. Cry for myself. I was going to miss him.
When I didn’t answer him, Marc must have sensed my thoughts were gloomy, because he changed the subject. “Tell me about buying a house. You would’ve been what, nineteen?”
“Eighteen. I didn’t think I could keep up with the house payments. Between selling our big house and the life insurance we received, I was able to buy a modest beach home and not have a house payment. Some would call it a cottage. Fine by me. Money was always tight, but I never had to worry about losing our home.” I stopped at the end of Peter’s driveway. “Peter was always so nice to me. I don’t know why, but he looked out for my little family. I had a job as a vet assistant with our local vet, Dr. Hewitt. One day Peter was in with his dog, Lincoln. He needed somebody to watch him and asked me if I could.”
“Was that the beginning of your dog walking business?”
