John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

“In my room?” Jacob said.

“At the moment, yes,” Brad replied, opening the curtains to let in daylight. He sat in a chair beside the bed and indicated that Winter should take the fabric-covered chaise lounge. “We need to ask you some questions.”

“How about you do it after I get showered and dressed?”

“How about we do it now,” Brad countered. “That way you can go back to sleep when we leave.”

“Christ,” Jacob said, lying back down and rubbing his eyes. “My head is killing me.”

“If it does, I guess I’ll have three deaths to investigate.”

“So ask your questions,” Jacob said, looking over at Winter.

“Sherry was killed accidentally,” Brad said.

“Damned poachers,” Jacob said. “Shooting wild. Jesus, it’s terrible. How the hell are you going to catch the bastard?”

“No, the shooter was a professional killer. I have reason to believe that Leigh was his actual target, and Sherry looked enough like her in the hooded coat for him to assume she was Leigh. He obviously didn’t know Leigh was out of town.”

“How the hell can you know that? You caught the bastard?”

“Not yet,” Brad said. “But we’re closing in on him.”

“It sounds like wishful thinking,” Jacob said. “Why do you think anybody would try to kill my wife?”

“Ex-wife,” Brad corrected.

Jacob rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “What would be the motive?”

“Money.”

“In case you don’t know it, only the kids would gain from her death. Maybe they’re behind it. I’d look close at Hamp. He’d kill to have the money to buy a genuine beaver fur top hat.”

“Nonetheless, I can’t rule you out,” Brad said.

Jacob looked at Brad like he was an idiot. “Me? And how would I profit from Leigh’s death? Leigh has it fixed so if she dies, I’m left twisting in the wind. Not that I don’t deserve it. I’ve made some mistakes. My life is an open book, Barnett. Her death would be a lose/lose situation for me. And when Sherry was shot I was in bed in Memphis with a former Miss Tennessee, whose number I will happily furnish.” He grinned.

“The bottomland Leigh bought from you comes to mind as a motive.”

Jacob frowned, but his eyes reflected the fires of concern. “She owns it outright, in case she didn’t tell you that when she told you about it .”

“Why do you want it?”

“It’s been in my family since eighteen ninety.”

“It’s still in your family.”

“Well, not exactly. I mean, yes, it is. But a man who doesn’t own land is a second-class citizen. And in case it has escaped your astute powers of deduction, if I wanted to piss in a pot, I’d have to borrow one from my ex-wife. And odds are my bladder would explode while I was waiting for her to mull it over.”

“I can’t figure out how a man without means can afford to buy worthless land for hundreds of thousands over value. Leigh would expect hard cash,” Brad pressed.

“I can use the land as collateral,” Jacob said quickly.

“No offense, but based on your track record, you’d probably lose it to the bank or whoever loaned you the money. I understand a corporation wanted it for a duck club,” Brad said.

“She did tell you about it. Well, one has expressed interest, and mentioned a figure,” Jacob said. “And maybe I could sell to said corporation for even more than I offered her. Did you think of that?”

Brad said angrily, “You should tell one story and stick to it so you won’t have to try to keep the lies straight.”

“Gamblers might just want to shoot ducks, or hogs, or frigging bison. They’ll pay for the pleasure same as they pay for sex.” Jacob smiled as though he’d just made a closing argument that had the judge and the jury nodding.

“I see,” Brad said. “You have big plans, as usual.”

“I can’t believe you think I’d kill Leigh,” Jacob said. “You’re wasting my time. Of all the things I might be, I am not a killer. Like I said, I was in Memphis yesterday morning.”

Brad shook his head. “I didn’t say you fired the shot, Jacob.”

“Mr. Gardner,” Winter said, “do you gamble?”

Jacob shook his head.

Winter said, “See, if you owed money to someone, you might not be aware of that person’s plan to kill your ex-wife in order to get his hands on her land. That someone might figure if she dies you inherit enough to cover the loan. If you told someone that, you don’t have clear title, but you would if Leigh wasn’t around…”

“No,” Jacob said. “That’s not possible. I don’t owe anybody money. I don’t gamble anymore.”

“I’ve heard you don’t gamble any less,” Brad said.

“I have a law background and I know how things work,” Jacob said.

“If you are being threatened,” Winter said, “we can help. Whoever did this failed, but they may try again.”

“If they harm Leigh, and I find out you’ve lied to us about anything, I will see that you pay,” Brad said.

“Your affection for my ex radiates from you like sunshine, as always. That’s what this is really about. You’re white knighting to impress her by trying to make me look bad. Don’t threaten me, Barnett. You’re a sheriff, not a judge and jury.”

“Fine,” Brad said. “And I’m glad you aren’t worried about your daughter being out of pocket.”

“Out of pocket? Please. Cyn’s been sexually active since she discovered she was cute. If she isn’t at my mother’s, she’s shacked up with some boy.”

“Your mother isn’t answering her phone,” Brad said.

“She turns off the ringer.”

“Leigh has left messages.”

“My mother hates Leigh. If Cynthia wasn’t there, she’d call. Mama loves Cynthia.”

“Let me know when you hear from her so we can stop worrying.”

Jacob Gardner’s eyes relaxed and he smiled. “If that’s all,” Jacob said, lying down, “Cyn’s an adult. Cut the light off and get the hell out of my room.”

“Tell you what. If we talk about this again, it’ll be in my room.”

Brad walked to the door, which Winter had opened.

“By the way,” Jacob said. “I didn’t take Leigh away from you. You threw her to me.”

As Brad and Winter entered the main drag near the courthouse, the radio came to life.

“Sheriff, what’s your twenty?” Chief Deputy Roy Bishop’s voice crackled.

“I’m almost at the courthouse.”

“Me too,” Bishop said.

“I see you,” Brad said.

A cruiser flashed its lights ahead and pulled over on the opposite side of the wide street. Roy Bishop got out and hurried over as Brad rolled down the window. “What’s up, Roy?”

“The damned press is driving me crazy. We have to tell them something soon.”

“Soon,” Brad told him. “Tell them we’re getting close on the Adams murder, and as soon as we have things sorted out, we’ll let them know. You met Winter last night.”

“I did.” Roy reached over Brad to shake Winter’s hand. “Bettye said you were some kind of specialist. Welcome aboard.”

“Winter’s a retired U.S. marshal. Grew up in Cleveland, Mississippi. He’s agreed to help us with the Adams homicide and Beals. As a personal favor.”

The chief deputy gave Winter a quizzical look. “Wait a damn minute,” he said, his face reddening. “You’re that Winter Massey? I mean, Jesus Christ! You’re that U.S. marshal. Hell, I thought you would be taller.”

“So did my mother,” Winter said.

“We don’t get many murders around here,” Roy said. “Now we get two in one day. Jack Beals was a first-class prick, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. Hey, is this something bigger than it looks?”