“What about the hair?” Jo asked. “Can we get anything off of that?”
Bev shook her head. “There’s not much to go on with that. We already know the killer moved stuff around. Until we have some suspects, the hair is meaningless. Looks like our best hope is to locate this Scott Elliott.”
The lobby door opened, and Harry rushed in. “Hey, I ran into Rita Hoelscher, and she said she left some fruitcake ...” His eyes fell on the packages on the desk. “Oh, there it is. Do you mind if I cut myself a piece? I do love her fruitcake, and she doesn’t bake it often.”
Bev, Jo, and Sam exchanged a glance.
“Not at all,” Bev said.
“Take as much as you want,” Sam added.
“You can have all of mine.” Jo gestured toward one of the loaves.
Bev nodded. “Mine too. In fact, take it all with you.”
“You sure? I wouldn’t want to deprive you …” Harry glanced from Bev to Sam to Jo, who all nodded enthusiastically.
“Please help yourself.”
Harry’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed one of the packages and opened it. He turned to Bev as he popped a piece in his mouth. “Hey, kid, what brings you down here again?”
“Helping out with the Dupont case.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed as he nibbled the fruitcake. Lucy came to sit beside him, turning pleading eyes up to him. “Oh, nasty business, that.”
“Indeed.”
“Though I think we can do better for mayor.” Harry tossed a little piece of fruitcake to Lucy then bent down to her level. Lucy put her paw up, and Harry shook it before giving her another piece, standing, and brushing crumbs from his tan chinos. “Well, I better get going. The missus will be looking for me. Thanks for the fruitcake.”
“I’ll walk you out. It’s almost quitting time,” Bev said. “How is Mabel, anyway?”
“Fine, fine. Getting ready to go to Florida already. See you later, Sam.”
Bev turned and gave them a two-finger wave. “Let me know if you locate that lead.”
Jo looked out the window as they disappeared around the edge of the post office boxes. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows from the oak trees in the town common.
“Quitting sounds good,” Sam said. “You ready to head to Holy Spirits? Reese is working late; she can stay with Lucy.”
“I sure am. And I could really use a drink.”
* * *
“I don’t think we have to worry about Mick’s SUV being identified at the mill,” Sam said to Jo when they were seated at the bar in Holy Spirits.
“Hopefully not.” Jo took a pull on her beer. She seemed a bit down, and Sam wondered if the case was getting to her. Heck, it was getting to him.
“Rita won’t remember, and no one else has come forward, so we can put that worry behind us.” Sam glanced up at the mirror behind the bar, where he saw the simple round tables and maple chairs behind him. Patches of red, blue, and green spilled in from the stained-glass windows above the mirror. Toward the door, two of the original long oak pews sat near the door, a table between them. Sam liked to watch the surprised looks on tourists’ faces as they entered. Many of them mistook the bar for an actual church because the vestibule looked exactly as it had when Holy Spirits was a church. It wasn’t until you opened those big oak double doors that you realized that instead of an altar with a cross and candles, there was a bar with liquor bottles and bar stools.
It didn’t take long to figure out there wasn’t any preaching going on in here unless your idea of preaching included yelling at whatever sports team on the television was losing.
Sam turned his attention back to his beer on the polished wood of the bar and let the din of conversation behind him fade as he took a swig. The smell of burgers and fries permeated the room, reminding his stomach that it was suppertime.
“What do you think of the hair?” Jo asked.
“Grasping at straws.” Sam spied the owner of Holy Spirits, Billie Hanson, at the end of the bar. Her lavender-tinged spiked hair bobbed up and down as she juggled pulling a beer with serving a burger. He caught her eye and tapped his bottle to indicate he was ready for another.
“That’s what I thought too, but still, maybe Scott Elliott has a pet or ... I don’t know.” Jo swung her bar stool around to face away from the bar. Sam could see the wheels in her head turning as she tried to figure out how they could use the hair. Could they? Bev had said it was in the chamber, which indicated the hair was in there when the killer loaded the gun. But how would an animal hair help them? It certainly wasn’t going to help them find the killer, but maybe once they did, it could help them prove he’d done it.
Or had the hair been planted? If someone was trying to frame him, it wouldn’t be hard to get one of Lucy’s hairs and plant it in the gun.
“Here comes Mick.” Jo inclined her head toward the door.
Sam glanced in the mirror to see his best friend walk into the bar. Mick was tall and broad. The black T-shirt stretched across his chest made it obvious that he still spent a lot of time working out, even though he was pushing forty. Apparently, it was too hot for his usual black leather jacket. His light-blue eyes scanned the bar, falling on Sam and Jo. He took the stool next to Sam, leaning across him to greet Jo.
Billie slid Sam’s beer across the bar and looked at Mick. “Usual?”
Mick nodded.
Billie pulled out a tumbler, threw in some ice, and splashed it full of whiskey before setting it in front of Mick.
Mick took a swig, let out a breath, and turned to Sam and Jo. “So what’s up? Fill me in.”
They ordered a basket of sweet potato fries and shared it as they brought Mick up to speed. Sam and Jo took turns telling him how Rita had seen his SUV, how Jamison had pulled Bev Hatch onto the case, how Jesse had given them the name of his supplier, and how the fingerprint was tied to both Tyler’s and Dupont’s murder scenes.
“So you don’t think Rita will be able to identify my vehicle?” Mick asked.
“Nah.” Sam swigged his beer.
“Good. Damn, that’s interesting about the fingerprint. I know that old lady’s grandson has something to do with the stolen car.” Mick swirled his glass, the ice cubes clinking. He swigged the rest of it down and chomped on a cube. “Makes me nervous with Bev Hatch on the case, though.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty sharp,” Jo said.
“And honest,” Sam said.
“We’re honest, too,” Jo said.
Mick raised a brow. “Yeah, but in a roundabout way. Doesn’t Bev know your dad or something, Sam?”
“My grandpa helped her mom out a bit, but I doubt that’ll hold much weight if she thinks we’ve done something wrong.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that she’s never done anything wrong?” Mick nodded for a refill as Billie swooped by with the whiskey bottle. “Anyone who has been in law enforcement for a while has done something that ain’t quite on the up-and-up. Don’t expect me to believe she never pushed the envelope, never had to do something a little bit outside of the law to make sure a killer didn’t go free.”
“I don’t know if she did or not,” Sam said.
“Count on it. Any sheriff worth his or her salt is forced to, but that’s beside the point. We’ll just make sure she doesn’t catch wind of anything you guys might have done wrong.” Mick raised his brows and took a gulp of his drink.
“I don’t know about that, but I know one thing: the sooner we get rid of Thorne, the better. For all of us.”
“You can say that again.” Mick’s expression turned somber, and Sam thought about the knife. Thorne still had it, so Mick had as much at stake as anyone to get rid of him.
“Sounds like things hinge on that fingerprint, and the only lead we have on that is the grandson and possibly this Scott Elliott,” Sam said. “We need to talk to these people alone first. One of them might know where Tyler kept that box. There’s no telling what’s in there. We might not want anyone else to get a look at it.”
“Right. So you guys work on Elliott, and I’ll work on the grandson.” Mick took another sip of his whiskey, his face thoughtful. “Something doesn’t add up, though.”