“So I’m not a suspect anymore?” Please let that be a rhetorical question where I’m posing a fact as a question, please ...
“For now.” The sheriff’s answer was not reassuring.
Aguilar turned his attention to Jeff. “Security footage from the camera installed at the cabin shows an argument between you and the victim, resulting in an assault on your part.”
“It’s a lame defense to say he asked for it, isn’t it?” Jeff posed this weakly.
“Yes, but in your interview, you admitted to striking the victim, so the footage confirmed what you already told us.”
“Phew.” Jeff sagged with relief. “Then it also confirmed I left right after that.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Jeff, stunned, sat up straight. “What do you mean? How could it record one thing and not the other?”
“The camera went dead. The rechargeable battery ran out of juice and the model doesn’t come with a backup battery.”
The techie let out an anguished groan. “I can’t believe this. They were out of the security brand I used here, so I went with a different one. I didn’t check to see if a backup battery was included.” He slapped himself on the head. “Dummy! Dummy, dummy, dummy.”
“Stop.” Dee grabbed his hand and placed it in his lap. “It’s not your fault. We were on overload; we were doing way too much. Things fell through the cracks. I could have double-checked the system, but I didn’t.”
“Thanks, but no. This is on me.”
Jeff dropped his head in his hands. Dee rubbed his back, trying to console him. She faced Aguilar. “We’re not the only suspects, you know.” She was angry about what felt like tunnel vision on the part of the investigators. “Baker was a lying, cheating SOB.”
“Not helping yourself,” Jeff said, sotto voce, speaking in a singsongy voice.
“He had a history in this area, and I know for a fact there are people who did not belong to the weird cult that developed around him.” She relayed what Jonas Jones had said about Baker.
“As a lifelong resident of Goldsgone, I’m aware there are people in town who had issues with him,” Aguilar said. “I’ll be exploring every angle.”
Dee frowned. “You said ‘I.’ Not ‘we,’ as in you and the chief district ranger. I have a feeling that wasn’t a Freudian slip.”
“Good instincts,” Aguilar said with a rueful half smile that quickly faded. “O’Bryant’s father and grandfather were Majestic National Park rangers. He was born and raised in the park and is what we call a ‘green blood.’ He’s always throwing this around. He thinks it makes him better than the rest of us. It kills him he’s not even higher up the ranger food chain and is always angling to score points with his superiors. Solving your guest’s murder fast would do that.”
“Eff him.” Angry as Dee was, she didn’t go full-on profane, unsure how the sheriff would react. “I’m not a murderer, and neither is Jeff. He doesn’t even kill bugs. When I scream, ‘Agh! Spider!’ he runs in and traps it, then releases it outside.”
“Spiders don’t get the respect they deserve,” Jeff said. “They’re an invaluable part of the ecosystem.”
“There’s no evidence you clocked a spider,” Aguilar said. “But there is security footage showing you took a fist to a guy who wound up dead just hours later. And that’s ammunition to a guy like O’Bryant.” The sheriff stood up, then fell back into his chair. “Dang spurs. One caught on your rug.” He reached down and separated the two. “Sorry. I think the rug’s okay.”
He departed. Dee realized she’d been clenching her jaw during his entire visit and unclenched it. “I did not have ‘murder suspect’ on this year’s vision board. Then again, I didn’t have ‘buy an old motel in the country’ on it either. I think I’m wasting my time with those boards.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jeff said. “And I’m glad, because I love you and someone needs to survive this disaster and run the Golden.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m supposed to go back to the city tomorrow. My new client’s a chef who opened his first restaurant and I’m photographing his creations for the website I’ve built for him. If he loves it, he’ll recommend me to his friends. Restaurants would be a great client base for me. But now I’m scared I’ll get arrested for leaving town.”
“You won’t. The police can’t tell you not to leave town anymore. At least that’s what it said in the mystery book someone left at the car wash.”
“I can’t leave you here alone,” Jeff said, adamant.
“Yes, you can.” She put a hand on each of Jeff’s arms and pulled him to his feet. “Elmira’s only a little ways down the road. And I’ve got Nugget for protection.”
“I thought he was part of the rug and almost stepped on him,” Jeff said, glancing down at the perpetually sleeping hound. “Dee, someone was murdered on our property. Well, the Majestic’s too, but mostly ours. You can’t be here by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll be fine. I believe, one hundred percent, this wasn’t a random killing. I keep going back to what Jonas Jones, the guy I met at the hardware store, said. Michael ‘finally pushed someone too far.’ ” A look of fierce determination crossed Dee’s face. “And if the police won’t do it, then I’m going to find out exactly who it was.”
CHAPTER 10
It took much more effort on Dee’s part, but she finally convinced Jeff she wasn’t in danger and he left for San Francisco in the morning, albeit reluctantly. As soon as he was gone, she made the quick drive to the All-in-One.
She found Elmira pulling a load of sheets out of the store’s laundromat dryer, which she then dumped on top of a rolling laundry bin already brimming with towels. Dee eyed the load. “That’s a lot of linens.”
“Not mine.” Elmira opened the door of the second dryer and pulled out an even bigger load. “Serena’s. Her super-fancy, super-expensive dryer died for about the third time this year, so I’m helping her out.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“I left out the part where she’s paying me a hefty chunk of change to do it.” Elmira caught a towel before it fell to the floor, which in this part of the store was a linoleum so old it looked like it dated back to linoleum’s invention.
“I have to talk to you about something,” Dee said. “I can help you fold while we talk.”
“Deal.”
Dee took one end of a pale gray flat sheet and Elmira took the other. “Ooh.” She closed her eyes and stroked her cheek with a corner of the sheet. “I wonder what the highest thread count is. Because whatever it is, these sheets are it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Elmira said. “I buy mine at the Odd Lots store in West Camp. So you can ‘count’ me out of thread count talk.”
“Touché,” Dee said, abashed. “No, it’s a lot more serious than that. You know the police suspect us of Michael’s murder.”
“I lay that at the feet of Tom O’Bryant, a pompous blowhard if there ever was one. I don’t believe it for a Foundgold minute.”
