An Alpaca Witness

by B L Crumley

  “Charlee.” Cole said my name like he’d tasted something bitter, pulling me from my inane thoughts.

  “Yes.” My gaze veered back to him.

  “Do you still have the note?” He held open a plastic evidence bag.

  “Yes,” I removed it from my purse and placed it in the bag, which he sealed and set on his desk.

  “Let’s go through this again, starting from the beginning.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, going into every detail I could recall including casting up my dinner, which made Preston turn a little green. Then I launched right into my theory as to why Floyd was killed, undeterred by Cole’s scowl or the fact that he hadn’t asked for my opinion.

  I didn’t care. They still hadn’t discovered who killed Earl, and now they had another murder to deal with. “I think Sting Ray killed him for talking to me,” I speculated confidently.

  “Excuse me?” Cole blinked several times, then reached for a file on his desk. “This guy?” he pulled out a mug shot of a man resembling the creepy guy I’d talked to the other night.

  I nodded. “Yeah, that looks like him, except for his hair is longer now, and very greasy.” I wrinkled my nose.

  Cole looked to the ceiling and did that counting thing in his head again. “His name is Anton Parks,” Cole bit out, clearly frustrated. “But that’s beside the point. Do I even dare ask what you were doing talking to him?”

  “He doesn’t look like an Anton.” I studied the picture a little closer. “I see why he goes by Sting Ray. Much more intimidating.”

  Cole slammed his fist on the desk, leaning forward in his chair. “Charlee, is this some kind of joke to you?”

  Preston, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “Sheriff Walker, there’s no need to get angry. Charlee came here willingly, but she’s free to leave at any time, and I am about ready to advise her to do so.” I glanced briefly at the sweater-wearing lawyer next to me and smiled.

  I was fully aware that my attitude had been flippant with Cole, but it was just a means to protect myself. Inside, I still felt sick to my stomach, and recounting what had happened made me want to throw up all over again.

  If I made light of what had occurred, it helped me to feel somewhat removed from the traumatic experience, giving me a sense of power over it, however delusional that was. That and I worried I might start crying hysterically. Something I planned to avoid at all costs.

  Cole forcibly leaned back in his chair, but he wasn’t the least bit relaxed. “I apologize, please continue.”

  “Floyd told me how he and Earl worked for Sting Ray. I thought maybe Earl had a run-in with someone on a delivery, so I assumed Sting Ray might know something,” I explained without the attitude this time.

  “And did he?”

  “No. Well, not that he was willing to tell me. Do I think he knows something? Yes, absolutely. But both Floyd and Sting Ray threatened to off me.” I used my fingers to make a slicing motion across my neck. “And now Floyd turns up with his throat slashed, so somebody didn’t want him talking anymore. That or Sting Ray had Floyd killed simply because he talked to me.”

  I slumped in my seat as I considered that I was partially responsible for getting a man killed. The tears I’d tried so hard to prevent welled up in eyes. Then I realized both Cole and Preston were staring at me in utter disbelief.

  “What?” I swiped a hand across my teary eyes.

  “They threatened to kill you?” Cole asked with an icy calm.

  I nodded. “Yeah, but I thought they just said it to scare me. Which it did,” I shuddered. Preston latched onto my hand again and squeezed.

  “Charlee.” Cole’s voice softened. “This is why I wanted you to stay out of this because it’s—

  “Dangerous,” I finished for him. “I know.”

  Cole’s phone chimed, pulling his eyes away from me. “Please excuse me for a minute.” He stood and slipped from the room.

  “Charlee,” Preston started, releasing my hand.

  My eyes snapped to meet his. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” And by that I meant my family.

  “No,” he shook his head, his face filled with concern. “Attorney-client privilege, remember.”

  Whew.

  “I think we can go now,” Preston stood.

  “Isn’t Cole coming back?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know when, and it’s late and you’ve been through a lot.” He shot me another worried look.

  “Okay,” I sighed. As I rose from my seat, my gaze snagged on a file on Cole’s desk, the one he’d pulled Sting Ray’s photo from. I stretched out my hand, reaching for it.

  “Charlee,” Preston hissed. “What are you doing?”

  There was no point in pretending innocence at this point. “I’m snooping,” I whispered back.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Sure, I can.” I opened the folder and began going through its contents, careful to keep the documents in order. “Preston,” I waved one hand behind me dismissively. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not trying to get you in trouble.”

  He mumbled something that sounded like a curse. “Fine. I’ll go to the restroom and meet you in the hall. Make this quick.”

  I heard the door click behind him, and continued skimming through the file. I’m sure it hadn’t occurred to Cole that I might be left in here alone. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that Cole actually trusted me, probably not farther than he could throw me.

  But I didn’t trust Cole either, something he’d accused me of and I’d denied. But we both knew I didn’t. Why should I? Cole hadn’t found the killer, and, in the meantime, Fern had been charged with murder.

  Sure, it wasn’t fair to put this all on Cole, but he adhered to the law and his superiors, which (I recoiled) would soon be Harper Mitchell. A woman who by all accounts seemed to have a strong dislike for my family.

  A bank statement with deposits highlighted in yellow caught my attention, urging me to take a closer look. The account in question belonged to Earl and Patty Henderson. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a photo and turned the page, taking quick shots of the rest of the statements.

  Muffled voices filtered into the room, indicating that my time here was done. Carefully shuffling the documents back in order, I placed the folder where I’d found it and left Cole’s office.

  In the hall, I found Preston waiting for me, palpable relief evident in his posture when he saw me. We walked toward the exit in silence, with Preston barely sparing me a glance.

  It was easier to maintain his innocence this way, I presumed. Then, when we were just three steps from the door, Harper Mitchell walked in, spearing me with a venomous glare. Preston and I stopped in our tracks.

  “Mr. Brooks, Miss King,” she greeted coldly. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.” She turned her glare back on me. “You sure have an interesting way of trying to get Cole’s attention.” The power-hungry DA elect gave me a snide smile.

  Preston nudged me lightly, his subtle way of encouraging me to leave and not make a scene. He was so proper. I wasn’t.

  “But I’ll save you the trouble,” Harper leaned toward me, lowering her voice. “A man like Cole is never going to be interested in a big woman.” She flicked her gaze over me, then moved on to Preston, dismissing me.

  No, she did not just do that. The gall of this nasty woman. Her unspoken “like you” tacked on to the end of that sentence. Cole may not be interested in me, but I could guarantee it had nothing to do with the size of my butt.

  Rather, Cole’s interest in me, or lack of, had more to do with the fact that I was a big pain in his butt. My hand formed a fist and I started to lift my arm, when Preston grabbed it, pulling it down to his side.

  What? Was he worried I was going to assault the future DA at the police station?

  Okay, I was thinking about
it.

  “Have a nice evening.” Preston gave her a tight-lipped smile and tugged me toward the door. Outside, I all but raced down the steps, needing to get far away from that loathsome petite blonde who made me want to land a punch on her face.

  “Charlee,” Preston called out, halting my movement. Pity flashed in his eyes, making me want to hit Harper even more.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for your help.” I turned away from him.

  “She’s just jealous, Charlee,” he said from behind me. “Because people like you.” I hesitated and turned around, just as he caught up to me. “Cole likes you,” he spoke quietly. “As do I,” he admitted bashfully.

  I shook my head, wanting to deny his claims, but he continued. “You don’t see yourself the way others do.”

  My eyes warily moved back to meet his. This is not something I ever imagined I would hear from Preston. I didn’t know him very well, but I realized then that he was quite observant.

  “I think Kenny did that to you.” His tone became bolder. “His actions made you think you’re not desirable because he chose someone else.”

  His sharp words cut into me, yet I knew it was the truth.

  “But that isn’t true. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, and kind.”

  If he didn’t stop, I was going to start crying again.

  “Kenny blew it, and he knows it. Ashley’s just like Harper, only she’s jealous because of Kenny, not Cole. And you’re better than those women, and they can’t stand it.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek. Preston took another step toward me, opening his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he was going to say, he’d decided not to. I feared it may have been another declaration of his feelings, so it was a relief that he didn’t say anything else.

  “Goodnight, Charlee.” He gave me a forlorn smile.

  “Goodnight. And, Preston, thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He squeezed my hand as he walked past me into the parking lot.

  I took a fortifying breath, as Preston’s words sunk into my head. I didn’t have time to dwell on Harper’s hurtful comments. Her life had no bearing on mine. And until Fern had been cleared of the murder charge, I still had a killer to catch.

  So I’d better get busy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Right after breakfast the following morning, I printed off the bank statements I’d emailed from my phone. A quick study revealed a series of payments from Russell Jenkins. And that’s where it started to get confusing.

  Around the time when I’d been told Earl had retired, Russell had made monthly direct deposits to Earl for the same amount, except for the last payment, which was significantly more. This went on for nine months.

  I assumed that Earl had agreed to give Russell some time to buy him out, and the smaller payments led up to a larger balloon payment at the end. That all made sense.

  Then eight months later another direct deposit showed up for an amount double the previous monthly payments. The same payment was deposited on the same date every month until three months ago.

  What I didn’t understand was why Russell was paying Earl again, when he’d already paid for the business. But I intended to find out. It was a joint savings account, and I suspected that Patty Henderson knew exactly what that money was for.

  A short time later, I stood on Patty’s front porch with a plate of freshly baked lemon blueberry muffins. Sugar was always a good way to soften people up. Perhaps it would have been wise to try that approach with Sting Ray. He was pretty skinny and could have used some fattening up. Although with all that chain smoking, I doubt he took much of a break to eat.

  I rang the doorbell, then stepped back and waited.

  Patty opened the door about thirty seconds later, a startled expression on her face. “Charlee, hi.” She recovered with a smile, clearly not expecting to see me.

  “Hi, Patty,” I smiled, holding out the muffins. “I just finished baking these and thought you might like some.”

  She took the offering. “Oh, well, thank you.”

  “I was also hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  Her headed dipped in a nod, somewhat hesitantly. “Yes, of course. Come in.”

  I followed Patty to the kitchen, where she retrieved two mugs from a cupboard. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied, taking a seat at the dining table.

  Patty placed a mug of coffee before me, taking the seat across from me.

  “Thank you.” I reached into my purse, pulled out the bank statements, and slid them toward her.

  “What’s this?” She glanced at the documents, seemingly bewildered.

  “It’s a copy of your bank statements,” I answered nonchalantly, hoping not to raise her ire.

  “What?” Her head snapped up. “Where did you get these?” Surprisingly, she seemed more anxious than angry, which was better than the alternative.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I deflected. “What I would like to know is what these payments were for.” I pointed to the entries highlighted in yellow.

  She barely glanced at it. “I have no idea.”

  “Isn’t this your joint savings account?” I asked calmly.

  She swallowed nervously. “Well, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I know what this is,” her hand gestured to the document before her.

  “Well, it appears to be payments from Russell Jenkins,” I stated the obvious, then stopped, waiting for her to elaborate.

  Patty lifted the papers to study them closer. “Yes, it looks that way. This is dated from a few years ago,” she muttered, recognition finally dawning. “When Earl retired, Russell made payments to buy him out. I don’t understand why you care to know about that, or that it’s any of your business,” she scowled.

  Okay, I figured that was coming. “I’m trying to find out who killed your husband, Patty,” I said as politely as I could. “I’m trying to help you.”

  Her scowl lessened slightly.

  “Can you tell me what these payments are for?” I flipped to another page.

  She studied them for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  Yeah right. “Russell deposited this amount in your account for over a year.”

  “Did he?” She held the statement closer to her face. “I don’t recall seeing this before.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes.

  Lowering the statement, she looked back at me. “I swear, I have no idea what this is for. Earl handled all the banking and finances. I hardly ever go to the bank.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her, even though she did appear honestly confused. It shouldn’t surprise me that Earl would have kept their finances from her. I just assumed that in this day and age women had control of their money, or at least knowledge of what was going on.

  Then again, I was more than thirty years younger than Patty and single. She’d been married for most of her life, and if Earl was dominant, which I highly suspected he was, he could have easily kept this from her. Just like his side business of delivering packages.

  “Well, the payments stopped three months ago. Can you think of any reason why Russell would have paid your husband such a significant amount of money for so long, and then just stopped?”

  She shook her head. “Earl never talked about Russell. I know he was upset that he didn’t get what he wanted out of the business. And after that, he moved on. Do you think Russell had something to do with Earl’s…” her voice trailed off, unable to say the word murder.

  Possibly. Maybe. Probably. “I don’t know,” I eventually replied. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Why did you lie about having an insurance policy?”

  Patty’s face blanched. “I, uh, I didn’t,” she denied.

  I pulled the copy of the policy from my purse, placing it on top of the bank statements.

&n
bsp; Her face paled further. “Oh that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “I, uh, I didn’t want you to know because…” Her gaze darted nervously in every direction but mine.

  “Because it makes you look guilty,” I supplied.

  She gulped. “I suppose so,” she offered weakly. “But I didn’t kill him.” Her eyes swung back to mine. “The policy isn’t even that much money.”

  “People have killed for less,” I said flatly.

  “I didn’t kill my husband.” Patty’s voice went up an octave.

  I didn’t think she did either, but unless she could prove it, she was still a suspect.

  The doorbell rang.

  Patty bolted from her chair, obviously eager to get away from me.

  “Mrs. Henderson,” greeted a male voice. “I’m Deputy Roberts, and we need to take you to the station to ask you some questions.”

  Great, the cops. At least it wasn’t Cole. I hoped.

  Quickly, I grabbed the papers from the table and shoved them in my purse as a petrified Patty entered the kitchen, two deputies close on her heels.

  “Charlee, I need to leave, so—”

  I stood. “I understand, I’ll let myself out.”

  She nodded.

  “It’ll be okay, Patty,” I reassured, as I walked past her. And for her sake, I hoped it would be. Because I had a pretty strong feeling that she wasn’t the killer.

  “Fern!” I yelled as I entered the house.

  “I’m in the living room,” my aunt called out.

  I made my way there and flopped down in the overstuffed chair next to Fern’s recliner. Her fingers were working their magic with her knitting needles while Moose purred loudly on her lap.

  “The cops stopped by Patty’s to take her in for questioning.”

  Fern paused from her knitting. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “But I’m sure they questioned her after Earl died, so they must have come up with new information. Maybe something to do with the insurance policy? Although, the payout coming to her isn’t that much.” I took a deep breath, contemplating what the police might want to talk with her about.