He was right of course, and that was the worst part. If the murders weren't related, then Constance was in deep, deep trouble. Really, if anyone should have been thanking their lucky stars that the murder had taken place, it was her.
And yet... she just could not get behind it.
Sheriff Nevil grinned as he continued to lean on the stairwell, watching Constance glare at the wall rather than look him in the eyes. "Well," he said with a triumphant sigh. "I best be getting back outside. That crime scene isn't going to inspect itself."
"What if it's a cover up?" Constance said quickly. "A way to throw you off the scent? What if Mr. Tibbs wasn't the murderer at all —”
"We know he wasn't."
"—but there was a third party? Someone who wanted both of them dead—"
"We know there was."
"And I don't mean the Flanders couple. They don’t fit the bill!"
Sheriff Nevil threw his head back and laughed. "And you know what the bill is, do you? I forgot you were practiced in criminal analysis. The things they teach in a Business Management degree. It really is a brave new world —”
"I just don't—"
"OK, Constance, that's enough." He pushed himself up off the stairwell and put his hands on his hips as he turned to face her. He didn't look angry in any way, but serious, as if he was through playing. "I appreciate your eagerness, I do. But the fact is this case is solved. You're going to have to find a way to deal with that."
"I just can't shake it," she muttered. "And I won't be happy until I do."
Sheriff Nevil suddenly smiled a very broad, almost satisfactory smile, as if he had just thought of a wonderful idea and couldn't wait to share it. "OK, I have an offer for you."
Constance perked up.
"You're unconvinced, yes?"
"I am" she said rightly.
"How about this. You and I can sit down together, and I'll let you put your case to me. You can unpack the evidence and draw whatever conclusion you like. If I like what I see, or if anything jumps out at me, then I'll look into it. How's that?"
"Really?" Constance perked up. For the first time she felt like she was getting somewhere. "When? I'm free from now until —”
"Tomorrow night?" Sheriff Nevil asked. His smile then transformed into a wicked grin. "How does A Modest Affair sound? Eightish?"
The brief moment of satisfaction that Constance was feeling dropped out from her like she was a bucket with a hole in the bottom. "You can't be serious?"
"I am. You want to waste my time... then I'm going to waste yours." He sniggered, as if he thought the idea to be amusing. "Come on," he said brightly. "Why not? A free dinner, you get that monkey off your back and I get a date. We all win."
Constance pursed her lips and clenched her jaw. She glared white hot daggers at Sheriff Nevil, so there could be no false interpretation as to how she felt. "Fine," she said coldly. "Eightish – but you have to promise to take me seriously?"
"Just so long as you promise to act the part... of a date that is," he grinned. He had won and he knew it.
Constance rolled her eyes as she pushed herself up. "I'll be the perfect little date, I promise you that. Just don't be expecting anything more than conversation."
"I'll be the perfect gleemen." Somehow, Constance doubted that. Really the only positive she could glean from the date that was to be, was that she would finally get a chance to lay her cards on the table and see what they revealed.
She just hoped that she wasn't going to make a fool of herself two nights in a row.
Chapter Fifteen
Constance had to admit, Sheriff Nevil did look just a little dashing. She was so used to seeing him in either his police uniform, of casual streetwear, that to see him dressed up for the first time in as long as she could remember, caught her off guard.
He wore a pair of cream colored chinos – a little tight around the thighs – that was matched perfectly with a button-down, navy blue shirt. The sleeves were rolled half-way up the forearm in a smart fashion, and even the top button was undone. At first, she thought he looked like a fifty-year old trying to look twenty, but as she settled into the night, she decided that the look suited him.
As for Constance, she was also dressed a little better then she had originally meant to. Where she was going to wear the same styled Sunday-dress that she always did, Eleanor refused to let her.
"It's a date!" she exclaimed when she sneaked into Constance's room and spied the dress Constance was going to wear, lain out on her bed. "You have to dress the part!"
"It's not a date," Constance reminded her. "It's more a... it's more a meeting."
"Call it what you will, but you're having dinner at A Modest Affair, the fanciest restaurant in town and I guarantee that Roger —” she purred his name, "Is going to be dressed to the nines."
He was that, and when he picked her up in his police car – despite the fact that the restaurant was a five-minute stroll from the hotel – Constance found herself grateful for Eleanor's help in picking an outfit. It was just a simple light blue frock of sorts, nothing glamorous or outrageous. But her hair was styled, and her make-up was put on as a means to make her look 'twenty years younger'… or at least that was what Eleanor claimed.
A Modest Affair was Constance's main competitor in terms of eateries in Modest Peak, and usually she would not be caught dead in the place. But as Sheriff Nevil had picked it, and he was doing her a favor of sorts, then she was wont to ignore her feelings of guilt for the night.
As Nevil led her through the front doors, Constance was forced to admit to herself –albeit very quietly – that the restaurant was rather lovely. A faux-French do, the tables were covered in pure white table clothes; a three-prong candle holder sat on every table; the waiters were all dressed in matching tuxedos; and there was even a violinist that roamed the floor, serenading tipping customers.
Sheriff Nevil's hand moved to the small of her back as he guided her toward her table and again, Constance was forced to remind herself that she was not on a date.
"So," she began as the two settled into their table. "This is where the Flanders couple were arrested?"
"Already?" Sheriff Nevil frowned. "I thought we'd at least finish our appetizers before we started talking about the case?"
"Very optimistic of you," she countered dryly.
Sheriff Nevil chuckled, as if he found her mirth amusing. "Yes, they were in the back corner there eating. I suppose the act of committing murder brings on an appetite. Not that I would know."
"Strange," Constance mused as she shuffled in her seat to get a better look at the table he pointed out. "You would think that after stabbing a man to death some fifteen times, you'd jump in a car and drive as far away as possible? Not pop into the local eatery and order snails fried in butter?"
"I hear the snails here are rather delicious," he countered with a cheeky grin. "Maybe they didn't want to leave without confirming the fact."
"But still —”
"Constance," he cut in. His tone was playful, but his eyes were serious. "I will happily discuss the case, I promise. But can we please order first, and maybe have a drink? I know this isn't a date... but it might be fun to pretend?"
Constance did consider arguing against this. She wanted to sink her teeth into the meat of the facts as soon as she could. But the innocent, almost pouty look that Sheriff Nevil was giving her, combined with the atmosphere of the restaurant and the fact that her stomach was rumbling, convinced her that waiting a few moments wouldn't be the worst of ideas.
"Fine," she said with a forced sigh – a means to hide her smile. "I suppose we should ask for a menu?" And so, they did.
The next twenty minutes of the night were about as pleasant an experience as one could hope for. Sheriff Nevil ordered a bottle of red, the waiter – complete with a very fake French accent – suggested items off the menu, which the two happily agreed to, and non-awkward conversation was had by both. And when the appetizers were served, and a glass
or two of red had been drunk, Constance was wont to admit that she was having a rather enjoyable time.
Constance really shouldn't have been surprised by how much fun she was having. And if she stopped to think about it before hand, she probably would have expected as much. She had known Sheriff Nevil nearly her entire life and when he wasn't flirting with her, or openly mocking her, he was a rather nice, down to earth man. Asked before why the two had never dated, the only reason she was ever able to give was that she wasn't into dating.
But when the appetizers were done with, and Constance polished off her second glass of wine, she decided that it was finally time to get down to business.
"So," she said with clear indication.
"So," Sheriff Nevil agreed.
Constance took a deep breath before launching into what she had been preparing to say all day. "So, I just can't shake the feeling that something is missing. I know, I know, it's nice and neat. But neat isn't always right. I feel like... I just feel like there's this glaring error that's staring me in the face."
"Such as?" Sheriff Nevil asked plainly. If it weren't for the fine clothes he was wearing, he'd almost be in full Sheriff mode.
"Well I don't know," she admitted. "But that's why we're here isn't it? So, we can work out where you went wrong."
"Where I went wrong?" He frowned, feigning at being upset. "You're not very good at asking for help, are you?"
"I didn't mean it like that," she said sharply. "I just meant that if we look at the evidence, then I'm sure we can come up with something?"
"And I have to remind you that tonight isn't about coming up with a new theory. You're here to try and convince me that I made a mistake. That's it. If you can't do that then why would I try and unravel such a neatly tied bow?"
Constance grimaced. She should have known that he wasn't going to make it easy for her. But no matter, she had come armed after all.
"Okay, first of all, let's look at Mr. Christie and what he was doing here—"
"You mean what you think he was doing here," Sheriff Nevil pointed out knowingly. "Everything you have to say is conjecture and hearsay. So please keep it as such."
She scowled. "Fine. I believe that he and Mr. Tibbs used to be business partners. The business was called Capture and from what I've since researched, I think it had something to do with taking photos or capturing moments or – I don't really know. It's not important. What is important is that they sold the business to Facebook for half a million dollars."
"All of which you learned from illegally breaking into Mr. Tibbs’ bedroom." Sheriff Nevil wore a self-satisfied smile, as if he had his answers already prepared and waiting.
"Well, yes. But the point still remains. I believe —” she emphasized the last word for effect, "That Mr. Tibbs screwed Mr. Christie over and did a runner. But as mine is the only hotel for over three hundred miles, the two caught up to one another. Pure coincidence... at least as far as Mr. Christie was concerned."
"OK. Can I finish?" Sheriff Nevil asked pleasantly.
"Sure," Constance answered wryly. She wasn’t liking the look he was giving her, like he had an ace up his sleeve that he could not wait to use.
Sheriff Nevil put his finger to his mouth as if thinking. "Mr. Christie confronted Mr. Tibbs in an alley – as your chef Gustavo revealed to you."
"Right."
"And when this didn't work, Mr. Christie confronted Mr. Tibbs again in The Loner. During the confrontation – in which neither man left the table, mind you, Mr. Tibbs slipped poison into his drink, or down his mouth or however it got in there. Mr. Christie died shortly after."
"Correct," Constance said excitedly.
"And then, for no reason at all, save a dislike for breaking and entering, a couple traveling across the country in a Winnebago decided to butcher Mr. Tibbs in their caravan. Totally unrelated. How is that?" He was grinning like a schoolboy caught looking up a girl's dress. Arrogant and proud.
Constance pushed her lips together and folded her arms. "I didn't say it all fit together perfectly, did I? If it did then we wouldn't be having this dinner."
"I admit, the connection between the two murder victims is bizarre and if it weren't for them both being dead it would definitely be worth looking into. But my dead body trumps your hunch."
Constance could feel herself losing him... if she ever had him in the first place. "And the method of murder? Do you know how Mr. Christie was killed? Maybe there's something there?"
Sheriff Nevil shrugged. "Bleach. He drank bleach. My guess is that the Flanders couple got it into his food somehow – you said he ate at the restaurant earlier. No wonder he was crabby. It was an amateur method which matches the randomness of the stabbing that killed Mr. Tibbs. These people aren't career criminals, Constance. Just a scared couple trying to cover their tracks."
"Tracks?" Constance asked confused. "What tracks?"
"Ah and here lies the most important of points." He leaned forward, and she could see the excitement in his eyes. "You yourself told me that the Flanders are not married, correct?"
"Yes..." she agreed with hesitation. She had a feeling she was about to walk into a trap.
"And you also told me that Mr. Christie was caught trying to break into their Winnebago, correct?"
"It is." She shuffled in her seat, not liking at all how he was looking at her.
"Well I made some calls and it turns out, shock and horror, that the Flanders are not really married. In fact, they are a brother and sister duo from Canada. And the kicker here is that they are currently on the run from the law for tax evasion."
"Tax evasion?"
"That's right. We ran their prints, found out who they really were and called their home state… or province as they say in Canada. They owe over fifty thousand dollars – Canadian dollars, to the government. So here is what I'm thinking." He leaned back in his chair, that same grin smeared across his face. He was acting as if he had already won. "They suspected that Mr. Christie found out who they were and rather than risk being turned in, killed him. Only this wasn't enough. They knew Mr. Tibbs and Mr. Christie were close and one of them feared that their secret had been shared.... bars are great places for sharing secrets. So, they did him in too, just to be safe. It's sloppy, its bizarre, but it fits."
Constance scrunched her brow as she registered everything that she was being told. The couple on the run from the law... trying to cover their tracks... committing murder to do so. It still didn't fit.
"But Mr. Christie never broke into their Winnebago," she pointed out. "And why would they wait four nights before killing —”
"OK, Constance." He sat back up straight and folded his hands on the table. "I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I listened to your side of the story and have come out the other side as convinced as I was before entering... that is not convinced at all."
"But —”
"No, no," he cut back in. "I thought that you might have a real theory for me. An angle I hadn't seen. But what you do have is a list of coincidences and theories proven false. I know it's hard, but in time you will come to see that we made the right call —”
"I will not," she pouted and crossed her arms. She felt a little like a child complaining that she wasn't being fed dessert. But she didn't care.
"Be that as it may. I've listened, I've told you what I think and now I believe it is time that you fulfill your end of the bargain."
"Which is?" she asked, slightly confused... even more so by the cheeky grin he had.
"The date!" he exclaimed suddenly. "We still have half a night to get through... not to mention all the other dates we’ll be having after this – or am I just being hopeful?"
She rolled her eyes in contempt, not even needing to cover a smile that time. There was none. She had lost, and she was not so subtle about being made aware of it.
Following on from this declaration by Sheriff Nevil, the two did indeed get back into the swing of their date. Soon the main meals came out, and these were followe
d by the deserts. The food was a lot better than Constance was willing to give the restaurant credit for, as was the service and the atmosphere in general. In fact, so good were these aspects of the establishment that were she eating there under any other circumstance, she might have taken notes and deigned to improve her own establishment where she could. But obviously she was in too negative of a head space to even consider such a thing.
The second half of the date just could not hold a candle to the first. With his rejection of her theories, Constance's mood took a very sour turn that there was no chance of recovering from. Oh sure, Sheriff Nevil tried his best to keep the mood pleasant and even enjoyable – and really, he should be commended for his efforts – there was no chance of it making any difference. If it weren’t for how rude it would have been, Constance would have thrown her napkin down and walked out the minute Sheriff Nevil turned her theories down.
Despite what Sheriff Nevil had claimed – and he did so a few more times during the night when he caught her pouting – she still wasn't buying what she was being sold. There was something else going on with the murder of Mr. Christie and Mr. Tibbs, she was sure of it. Only what it was, she had not a clue. And worst of all, she may never find out.
Chapter Sixteen
To say that Constance's life got back to normal following her dinner would be... well it would be startlingly accurate, to say the very least. And where there was once a time in her life where Constance begged for normal, yearned for it even, the days following her 'date' with Sheriff Nevil were not it.
The first thing to happen that reminded Constance that everything was as it should be, was the arrival of new travelers looking for a room at The Lone Peak. It had been six days since they had been allowed to check anyone in, even having to turn people away in the meantime. So, when a harrowed looking male in his forties stormed through the doors and inquired over the availability of three rooms, Constance almost turned him away.
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