“She wouldn’t have killed him,” she answered in her melodious voice, evading like a pro. Checking a slim gold watch, she added, “I should be going. I’ll check with either Hyacinth or the sheriff about getting the papers after all. I suppose as mayor I should set a good example.”
She laughed again, but this time it didn’t feel like sunshine.
It felt like evasion.
“See you later, Carly. Stay dry.” She waved as she hurried down the street and around the corner.
I was trying to figure out what kind of paperwork would be so important to Barbara Jean that she’d break into Haywood’s house the day after he was killed when Dylan’s cruiser turn the corner and pulled up to the curb. He lowered the passenger window and leaned across the seat. “If you were going for inconspicuous, Care Bear, I think you missed the mark.”
Wipers pushed the rain off his windshield as I bent down and glanced at him through dark lenses. “You’re late.”
“My mother was brought in for questioning again this morning, and I think the sheriff is going to charge her with Haywood’s murder. And I’ve been officially pulled off the case because of it.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly. He shut off the engine and came around the car, dressed for work in nice pants, a button-down, and a tie. As an investigator for the county, he didn’t wear his uniform much at all anymore, and I missed it. “Her prints were on the candlestick, which has been determined to be the murder weapon, and a witness came forward claiming to have heard Mama and Haywood arguing right before the murder took place.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Not sure. The sheriff isn’t telling me much. And,” he added with a rueful tone, “her lie detector results were inconclusive.”
“She’s lying about something,” I guessed.
“Most likely.”
“Why?”
“All I can think is that she’s trying to protect someone.”
“You think she knows who killed Haywood?”
Raindrops dotted his shirt. “I don’t know if she knows . . . or if she suspects. Either way, she’s not saying.”
“Do you need to get back to her?”
“Sheriff doesn’t want me there right now, but her lawyer is with her. She’ll be all right. I believe her that she didn’t do it,” he added. “You know my mama. If she made up her mind to kill a man, she’d do it in front of God and everyone, no remorse.”
I hadn’t considered that, but he had a point. She hadn’t tried to hide her involvement in ruining my first wedding attempt with Dylan. In fact, she gloated about it, despite the backlash from townsfolk who cared about me. She claimed she’d do anything to protect Dylan and hadn’t cared what people thought.
Protect him from me, mind you.
However, her interference with my wedding plans wasn’t quite at the level of killing a man. I wasn’t as sure of her innocence as Dylan was, but I wasn’t convinced of her guilt, either.
“She was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “Someone took advantage of that. We have to find out who that is, or there’s a real possibility my mother might go to prison.”
“I’ll help any way I can,” I said.
Ducking beneath my umbrella, he pulled me close to him. “Thanks, Care Bear,” he said softly. “I know my mama isn’t your favorite person.”
“No,” I said, “but you are.”
He smiled that smile he gave only to me, and I melted a bit right there on that sidewalk, blending in with all the other puddles.
Motioning with his chin, he said, “We should get inside. Since we’re not supposed to be here, let’s get in and get out quickly.”
I didn’t ask if he could get in trouble for this—I knew he could. Just as I knew he wasn’t going to quit this case just because the sheriff told him so. Not when his mama’s freedom was at stake.
It was the heart of why I knew Dylan and I would always struggle as a couple.
He loved his mama.
And I despised her.
He could poke fun at her, dismiss her biting comments, and sure, even get angry with her from time to time, but when it really mattered . . . he was on her side.
“You just missed Mayor Ramelle trying to break in,” I said as I followed him up the front walk, my rain boots sloshing through growing puddles.
He turned and looked at me. Moisture caused the dark hair around his ears to curl. “She what?”
I explained as he charged up the front steps with purpose, reached over the crime scene tape, and tried the front knob.
It was locked.
“What do you think she was looking for?” he asked.
My headache intensified as I closed my umbrella and leaned it against a post. “No idea. Maybe Haywood knows.”
“Here, put these on.” Dylan handed me a pair of black latex gloves, slipped on a pair himself, and ran a hand along the top of the doorframe looking for a key. Coming up empty, he then lifted the welcome mat to find nothing there as well.
As he kept searching, I knocked on the front door. “Haywood? It’s Carly,” I said loudly. “Do you have a spare key hidden out here?”
Dylan looked back at me, his green eyes narrowed in disbelief.