RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons (28 page)

I started to protest, but he held up his hand.

“Yes, I know. You think I should have come back to the county jail and asked you, but time was running out. Judge McClary only gave us until five o’clock to convince him to let you go. If we didn’t get the paperwork signed by five then you would have spent the weekend in jail.”

I groaned, now feeling like the most ungrateful person alive.

“And then last night, I was working late in my office when Neely Kate called. So I looked up your file, which was still on my desk. Neely Kate had given me your phone number, but I wanted your address to run by your house.”

I sat down on the bench, suddenly weary. When would I stop jumping to conclusions?

Mason perched beside me, leaning forward with his elbows on his legs. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I had no intention—”

I fought back the tears burning my eyes. “Stop. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst of you. You’ve helped me twice now and what have
I
done? I’ve been rude and ungrateful. I’m sorry.”

He leaned back, pressing into the wall. “We sure do seem to bring out the worst in each other.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, but it seemed to be the truth. We sat in silence for several seconds before he cleared his throat. “I don’t have enough evidence to charge Skeeter Malcolm with anything at this point, so my hands are tied. But you have to take this threat seriously, Rose. You have to take some type of precautions.”

I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Okay. I will.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Um… Joe’s comin’ down from Little Rock tomorrow night. Maybe I can go back with him on Thursday morning.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s good. What about tonight?”

“I’m supposed to go to a Henryetta Garden Club meeting tonight, so I’ll be out.”

“You shouldn’t stay at your house overnight.”

“What do you think Skeeter’s gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe…something.”

“Do you think he’s capable of murderin’ someone?”

He turned his head so that his gaze held mine. “Yes. I do.”

“Oh.”

“Now you see my concern?”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my lap. “Do you think he’s killed people who owe him money?” I didn’t think Skeeter had done it, but it didn’t hurt to ask since he seemed to be leveling with me.

He released an exasperated sigh. “Rose,” he growled. “Let it go.”

“It’s a yes or no question. If you answer, I’ll spend the night at my sister’s.”

He stood and I was sure he wasn’t going to respond. He tugged at his tie. “You promise me that you won’t spend the night at your house?”

I made an X over my chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

His face paled. “Wrong choice of idioms at the moment.” He shifted his weight and his eyes hardened. “I’m scared to give you my honest opinion. I’m worried what you’ll do with the information.”

“I promise not to tell anyone.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He paused. “You seem so headstrong about proving Bruce Wayne Decker innocent. I hate to throw fuel onto your burning fire for justice.”

“So the answer is yes?”

“Yes.” He looked sorry that he admitted it the moment the word left his mouth. “
Stay away from Malcolm
. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“I want your word, Rose.”

“I promise. And thank you.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to eat humble pie.”

“What does that mean?”

One side of his mouth lifted into a wry grin. “I made you a promise, Ms. Gardner. I told you that I’d get you a meeting with William Yates, although I can’t guarantee his client will be present. I’m Mr. Yates’s least favorite person in the world so this is going to take some doing. But I’m a man of my word.”

It was funny how my opinion of him had changed in only a few days. “I believe that you are, Mr. Deveraux. Thank you.”

“Stick around the courthouse. I’m sure this meeting will occur during the lunch break. I’ll call you when I know something.”

He disappeared around the corner and I collapsed on the bench. Never in a million years would I have believed Mason Deveraux would help me. Even if it was obviously against his better judgment.

I had to admit I was surprised that Mason was so concerned that Skeeter would try to hurt me. Sure, I’d asked some questions, but the more I thought about it, I wasn’t any type of threat. Skeeter was just trying to scare me with the note. Especially if Skeeter hadn’t murdered Frank Mitchell. I didn’t even know if Skeeter was Mr. Mitchell’s bookie, although I suspected he was. But my instinct told me the bald guy hanging around the hardware store was the real murderer, and it was obvious he wasn’t Skeeter. Why had the bald guy come back?

Ten minutes later my phone rang and caller ID showed Mason Deveraux’s number. “He’ll meet you at twelve-forty-five in room 216. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you.”

“This wasn’t easy to arrange so I hope you get what you need out of it.”

“Thanks.”

At 12:44, I stood outside of room 216. I half-expected Mason Deveraux to show up and escort me in, but was thankful for his absence. What I wasn’t prepared for was the sheriff’s deputy stationed outside the door. What did Mr. Yates think I was capable of doing?

I reached up to knock, but the deputy pushed the door open.

Sitting at the table was William Yates. And next to him sat Bruce Wayne Decker.

Once I crossed the threshold, the door closed behind me.

Mr. Yates’s left hand tapped the table with an ink pen. “I hope this isn’t a waste of our time, Ms. Gardner.”

“I’ll try my best to make sure it’s not.”

“Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from him, then scribbled a note on the legal pad.

Pulling out my seat, I couldn’t help staring at Bruce. He seemed smaller close up. More fragile, which struck me as ridiculous. Joe was right. Bruce was a criminal. Yet there was a difference between Bruce and Daniel Crocker, and Skeeter Malcolm. Crocker and Malcolm were hardened men who thought nothing of disposing of people in their way. I could see it in their eyes. But Bruce was soft and made me think of a dried-up autumn leaf, tossed around in the wind and easily crushed.

“Do you plan to stare at my client all day, Ms. Gardner, or do you actually have something to share with us?”

“Oh, sorry.” I slid onto the chair and placed my hands on the table. I had no idea where to start. Maybe I should have spent more time going over my speech and less time obsessing over my personal life. I looked into Bruce’s face. “First of all, I know you are innocent.”

Relief filled his eyes, but Mr. Yates snapped me back to reality. “And exactly
how
do you know this?”

“Um… I overheard the real killer in the bathroom.”

Mr. Yates tensed then rolled his eyes. “And what did he say? What did he look like? How did you hear this in the bathroom? Did you see Jesus in your toast this morning too?”

I pursed my lips in disapproval. “There’s no need to be snippy, Mr. Yates. In case you hadn’t noticed, I went to jail tryin’ to get evidence to prove Mr. Decker is innocent.”

“That doesn’t mean a thing. In today’s media hungry, five-minutes-worth-of-fame craze, people do stupid things to get attention. Who’s to say you didn’t get used to the attention with your own mother’s murder? Maybe you miss the spotlight, so now you’re trying to recapture it with this cockamamie story.”

I squinted in disbelief. “Is that really what you think I’m doin’? Tryin’ to get my five minutes of fame?”

Mr. Yates pushed back his chair, the legs screeching across the floor. “I’ve heard enough. I’ve done my end of the bargain. We’re done here.”

Bruce looked down at his hands, which were folded neatly on the table. “No.”

Mr. Yates’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

Bruce looked up and held my gaze. “No. I want to hear what she has to say.”

Shaking his head, Mr. Yates patted Bruce’s arm. “I understand your desperation—”

I cleared my throat. “Why didn’t you point out that Bruce is right-handed?”

“What in tarnation does that have to do with anything?”

“Mr. Mitchell’s head wound was on the right side.”

“
So what
?”

“The murderer is left-handed.”

He paused, staring at me with a hard look. The overhead lights reflected off the top of his nearly bald head. “And how do you know this?”

I couldn’t tell him about my vision “I just do.”

“You just do.” Disgust drenched his words and he resumed tapping the table with his pen in a steady beat. “My client is curious, so indulge us with what else you
just know
.”

“I know the pin belonged to the murderer and he’s worried it will be tied back to him. But he thinks he’s goin’ to get away with it.”

Bruce’s mouth hung open as he took in my words. Mr. Yates looked bored.

“Before Frank Mitchell’s death, someone had been trying to buy his house, but Mr. Mitchell refused to sell. Whoever wanted it was pushing Frank hard. Hard enough to make him so upset that he got drunk and stumbled around in his backyard a few days before he was murdered. Then a couple of months after he died, his son sold the house to an investment company in Louisiana. But it recently sold again to a corporation that is putting in a superstore. They bought his house to make a parking lot. I also know that Frank owed a bookie a lot of money. But I don’t think the bookie killed him.”

Mr. Yates’s eyes bulged. “Why not?”

“After the murder, a man kept showing up at the hardware store, getting all nosy about the murder scene. Finally, one of the employees asked him why he kept showing up and buying weird things and he stopped coming in. But this weekend, he came back and he was trying to get to the storage room, where the murder took place.”

Mr. Yates’s face paled. I guessed I knew more than he thought I did.

I turned to Bruce. “The employees say he’s bald and mousy and usually wears nice clothes, like he’s a businessman. Do you know anyone like that?”

Bruce chewed on his thumbnail and shook his head. “No.”

“Can you tell me what happened the night you were in the hardware store?”

Mr. Yates leaned forward, glaring at me. “Do not answer her. My client is not taking the witness stand.”

“He’s tellin’ me, not the witness stand. I’m tryin’ to help him.”

Bruce looked down at the table, studying a groove in the wood.

Hunching down, I tried to make eye contact. “Bruce, I saw David last week. At the grocery store, after I got out of jail, which I got thrown into for tryin’ to help you. David told me that you heard Frank Mitchell arguing with his murderer. Is that true?”

He nodded, then moved on to a hangnail on his index finger.

“David said you heard Frank say he was never gonna sell and the other guy said he was gonna get was owed to him.”

He gave three sharp nods of his head. Yes.

“Did you hear anything else? See anything? Anything at all?”

“No.”

Mr. Yates banged his hand on the table and leaned forward, the light reflecting off the top of his bare head. “Bruce, I am warnin’ you. Do not talk to this woman. She can walk out of here and use anything you say against you.”

Bruce cringed, curling up his shoulders and trying to hide is face.

I softened my voice. “Bruce, I promise you that I only want to help you. I know you took the murder weapon because you thought they might pin the murder on you. You wanted to get rid of the crowbar, but David wanted to keep it as insurance.”

“David Moore needs to keep his thoughts to himself.” Mr. Yates growled through clenched teeth.

“Bruce, will you please tell me what happened?”

He took a deep breath and stretched his hand out across the table. “I decided to rob the hardware store. I’d just lost my job and my parents had kicked me out.” With a grimace, he rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, but my rent was due…” I was surprised how soft and timid his voice was. How could anyone think him capable of murder?

“So what happened when you got there?”

“I expected that I was gonna have to break in, but the back door was standin’ open, so I slipped through. As I walked along the back wall to the office, I heard yellin’. So I got closer and hid behind some shelves. Two guys were fightin’ and shoutin’ at one another. Frank, he kept yelling ‘I’m never gonna sell, you rat bastard.’ And ‘crawl back into the hole you crawled out of.’ Things like that. ” Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Oh! And he called the guy
cue ball
.”

“Then what happened?”

“The other guy, he kept shoutin’ ‘I’m gonna get what’s owed to me’ and ‘I’m gonna get what I deserve’ which seemed really weird. Finally, he picked up a crowbar and whacked Frank on top of the head.”

“And then he went into the office?”

“Yeah, he was in there for several minutes before he came out and ran out the back door.”

“Did you get a look at the guy? Can you tell me about him?”

“No, he was wearing black clothes and a black stocking cap.”

“Even though it was April?”

Bruce shrugged.

“Was he tall? Short? Fat? Skinny?”

Rubbing his forehead, Bruce closed his eyes. “I think he was as tall as Frank. Not skinny, but not fat either.”

“Just average weight?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

I tuned my attention to Mr. Yates. “How tall was Frank Mitchell?”

“How should I know?”

“Won’t it be in his file or something?”

“He wasn’t very tall.” Bruce cut in.

I’d forgotten that Bruce grew up across the street from the victim. “How tall do you think he was?”

He shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe five-six. Five-seven.”

“And you didn’t see the killer’s face or hair?”

“No, he had on that hat and it was too dark to see his face.”

“So after the man left, you grabbed the crowbar and left too?”

Bruce looked down, chewing on his pinkie fingernail. “There’s something else I never told anyone.”

Mr. Yates sat up straighter. “Why not?”

“Because it freaked me out and I tried to ignore it.”

“What happened?” I whispered.

His eyes looked wild and crazy. “After the other guy left, I walked over to Frank and his eyes were closed.”