Sharon Mignerey: The Good Neighbor

Davis stared at the ground a moment before answering. “Couldn’t tell you for sure. Probably a couple of years. I’d heard he was back in town, but our paths hadn’t crossed, you know?”

Which meant this witness couldn’t help nail down the events leading up to the murder. Wade took down the phone number and other contact information, aware that Doc Wagner was calling to him.

Turning back to the coroner, Wade led him toward the body bag. “You couldn’t wait until I got here before you moved the body?” Wade knew his tone was too sharp, but didn’t care. Bodies didn’t go anywhere, and you got only one chance at the physical evidence. This crime scene was so contaminated, he didn’t know how he was going to figure out what had happened, much less make a case.

“I couldn’t leave him out here in plain sight of his grandmother,” the doctor responded, clearly irritated. “Dead or not—”

“This is your first murder?”

Doc Wagner was long past seventy and was exactly what you’d expect a family doctor of his generation to look like. “No,” he said. “The last one was five years ago. Hasn’t been one inside the Natchez city limits, though, in a long time.”

“The crime scene is mine,” Wade said. “Nothing gets moved until I clear it.”

“And the body is mine,” the doctor said. “I’d be happy to show you the state statute that says it is.”

“Maybe. But where I come from, we don’t move anything until we’re sure the evidence is preserved.”

Wagner’s eyes glinted and he straightened to his full height. “I determined the cause of death.”

Wade knew he wouldn’t have that for sure until after the autopsy, but there was no point in arguing right now, especially when he looked toward the backyard and saw his witness watching them. “Which was?”

“Blunt-force trauma to the head.” The doctor waved in the direction of the half-open gate and the overturned trash cans. “Looks like a garden spade back there was the murder weapon.” He took a breath then continued, “I might not be some young, big-city detective who’s up on all the latest. But I know you can’t leave a dead man around for all the gawkers. And, I couldn’t stand that Helen was so upset.”

“Next time, move the gawkers, not the body,” Wade said, figuring this would be only the beginning of the criticism. He was bound to step on a lot of toes before the day was over. “I don’t suppose you thought to take any pictures.”

Looking baffled, Doc Wagner shook his head, making Wade wonder if he had ever attended any continuing-education classes in forensic science since being elected. Murder 101. Do not move the body. Even one of the bad police dramas on television ought to have clued him in.

At the moment, Wade wished this really was one of those dramas. Give him an hour, and he would have corralled all the witnesses, uncovered all the evidence, foiled the killer before he made his escape or killed again, and kissed his pretty witness, all before heading home for a good night’s sleep. Yeah. And pigs could fly.

From her seat at the patio table, Megan watched the detective take charge and thin out the throng of people that had shown up after she had called 9-1-1.

Megan’s regret was that Helen had seen, and she kept wishing that she had thought to cover the body. Megan knew from personal experience how devastating losing a family member in a violent death was. There was no erasing that image, no matter how much time passed. She knew because she’d been carrying one for nearly twenty years. Sometimes it was so vivid that it might have been yesterday.

Don’t go there, she warned herself, focusing on the detective as he talked to Doc Wagner. She vaguely remembered reading an article about him in the Gazette when he had been hired last spring. He wasn’t as old as she had imagined someone with his experience would be, though he certainly had a hard-edged look. His piercing gaze roved constantly over the yard as though he was memorizing the scene in addition to listening to Doc. She couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but from the set of the detective’s jaw and shoulders, she suspected that he was irritated.

Megan knew from her own training that Robby’s body shouldn’t have been moved, though at the time, helping Doc had seemed the sensible thing to do. She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain that to the detective. Actually, there were a lot of things she wasn’t sure how to explain to the detective.

“God help me,” she whispered under her breath as he came toward her, unsure whether it was prayer or lament. As for the prayers, she knew she’d have a lot of those later.

He smiled when he reached her. “I’m Detective Wade Prescott,” he said. “You’re Mrs. Russell’s neighbor?”

“Yes. Megan Burke.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

She shook her head, and he settled into the chair next to her, taking in Helen’s colorful backyard. Megan looked, too, wondering if he saw the yard the way she did—a well-cared-for sanctuary where murder should never be thought of, much less committed.

“Somebody is quite the gardener,” he said. “I’ve never seen more beautiful roses.”

“They are Helen’s pride and joy,” Megan said, wishing he’d skip the small talk and get to the point.

“You know her well?” he asked.

“She brought me a loaf of freshly baked bread the day I moved in three years ago and I’ve talked to her almost every single day since.”

Megan met his gaze head-on. His dark brown eyes drew her in, the expression there so interested, so focused, she imagined telling him all her secrets. Though it would be a relief to tell someone, sharing with a cop, especially now, would fall under the heading of “stupid.” He cocked his head to the side as though waiting to hear what she’d say next, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

“She’s one of my favorite people,” Megan said. She met his gaze, wished she knew what he was thinking. “Aren’t you going to ask about Robby?”

“Okay,” he agreed. “What about him?”

“I don’t—didn’t—know him very well at all. He’s been back in town only a couple of weeks.”

“But that isn’t what you want to tell me.”

It wasn’t.

Megan bowed her head, searching for the right words, knowing there wasn’t anything except the bald truth. Finally she shook her head.

“You’re going to think I killed him.”

“Did you?” Such a calm question, those dark eyes still drawing her in.

“No.” She swallowed. “But I told him that his grandmother would be better off if he were dead.”

Megan’s statement echoed in Wade’s head as he looked at her. She had a girl-next-door wholesomeness about her that he knew from experience was usually only skin-deep. For some reason, he wanted Megan to be what she seemed. Of course, he had hoped to spend the next fifteen years of his career without investigating another murder.

Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

Her dark blond hair was sun-streaked as though she spent a lot of time outside. At the moment, though, she was pale, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks clearly visible. Her hands were clasped, probably to keep them from trembling. All the classic and expected things of a witness in this circumstance. But, her own words took her from witness to suspect.

She held his gaze steadily without saying anything further, which intrigued him. Most people couldn’t stand the silence and were eager to fill it up. Not this woman, though. She didn’t look away, but there was nothing defiant in her gaze. All Wade heard was the murmur of voices beyond them and the chirp of a bird in a nearby tree.