Jess had wondered the same thing. “Aside from him being the world’s largest asshat, what makes you think Eustice had something to do with it?”
“He threatened me.”
“Just because he threatened you doesn’t make him a murderer. Although, I would be willing to bet the farm that he is.”
Sandy got to her feet and lit up another cigarette. “It was no mere threat to me, it was made toward my boys.”
The reporter had mentioned that Sandy had children. “Go on.”
“After I’d told the police what I’d seen, I confided in Terry’s parents. They, of course, thought I was insane, and Melanie attacked me.”
Jess held up a hand. “Melanie, Terry’s mother? And attacked you how?”
Sandy began to pace once more. “Yes, the child’s mother. She became inconsolable, screaming and crying, and then she threw herself at me. It took her husband and one other man there to pull her off me.”
“Oh, my God,” Jess breathed, picturing the scene in her mind. “What did you do?”
“The only thing I could do. I got out of there and ran home. Later that night, Eustice showed up at my place wielding a gun. He told me if I opened my mouth about the Dayton boy once more, he’d turn the gun on my boys.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “Did you go to the police?”
Sandy shook her head, but never slowed her pacing. “I was going to until I dreamed that night that I saw my youngest son buried in the same grave as Terry.”
Surging to her feet, Jessica skirted the coffee table and placed herself in Sandy’s path. “That’s proof enough that Eustice killed Terry. How else would you have seen your son buried in that same grave after Eustice Martin’s threat against your boys?”
Sandy stopped her pacing and held Jessica’s gaze. “You’re right, yet I can’t help but feel there’s something I’m missing. I don’t know what it is, but I believe there’s more to it than Eustice killing Terry for the hell of it.”
“Maybe Terry saw something he wasn’t supposed to?” Jess offered, grasping at straws.
Snuffing out her cigarette, Sandy moved to the door, twisted the knob and threw it open. “I’ve done all I can do to help you. Please… just go now.”
Jessica picked up the painting and trailed to the open door. She stopped on the porch and turned to face Sandy. “If you see anything else, would you please call me?”
“I’m sorry, I really am, but I’ve said all I’m going to say. If Eustice Martin finds out that I spoke to you, he’ll hunt me down and make good on his threat.”
“I would never tell him that I saw you. You needn’t worry about that.”
Sandy didn’t look convinced. “He has ways of finding out your every move. That whole damn neighborhood does.” She closed the door in Jessica’s face.
Jess glanced at her watch on her way to her SUV. She still had five hours before Owen came home from work which left her enough time to pay Ruckle a visit.
She carefully set the painting in the backseat, climbed behind the wheel, and backed out of the drive.
Chapter Fifteen
Jessica sat in the back-corner booth at Happy’s Bar and Grill, waiting patiently for Steven Ruckle’s arrival. She’d thought about everything that she would tell him on her trip back to Sparkleberry Hills.
The bell rang above the door, drawing Jessica’s attention.
Steven Ruckle sent her a nod while weaving his way through the crowd. He sat down across from her.
The waitress appeared, but he casually waved her away before meeting Jessica’s gaze. “Has something happened?”
“You could say that. I met with Sandy Weaver this morning.”
Surprise registered in Steven’s eyes. “I thought she left this area?”
“She did. It was a good two-hour drive from here.”
He leaned back in his seat and loosened his tie. “How did that go?”
“Not good. She was terrified that my showing up there would lead Eustice Martin to her door. I tried to assure her that he wouldn’t find out.”
A muscle ticked along Steven’s jaw. “She was right to be terrified. Eustice isn’t someone to play with. He spent the first ten years of his adult life in prison for killing a man.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. “What? That’s the first I’ve heard of it. How did he only get ten years?”
“Crime of passion. He supposedly caught the guy with his fiancée.” Steven ran a hand through his light brown hair and softened his gaze. “Look, I’m going to give you some friendly advice here. Leave it alone. The boy’s been missing for thirteen years, he’s not coming back. He—”
“He’s dead,” Jessica blurted, cutting him off. “And I’m fairly sure that Eustice Martin murdered him.” Jess went on to tell Steven everything she’d learned from her visit with Sandy Weaver, ending with, “He threatened her at gunpoint. He also threatened her children.”
Steven blew out a breath and leaned back in his seat. “I knew her packing up and leaving in the middle of the night had something to do with Eustice.”
“It had everything to do with him.” Jessica reached beneath the table and tugged her painting up onto the seat next to her.
“What is that?” Steven nodded to half hidden painting.
“Proof that Terry is dead.”
Steven simply stared back at her with a blank expression.
“I painted this one night shortly after we’d moved into the neighborhood. I have no recollection of doing it. I’d sat down to paint my son and the next thing I knew, my husband was standing in the doorway, calling my name.”
Steven’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
“He died three years ago,” Jessica murmured, speaking the words for the first time in three years without tearing up.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Nobles.”
Jessica nodded her thanks, her mind still racing from everything she’d learned at Sandy Weaver’s place. “The point I’m trying to make here is that I somehow blacked out and painted the very scene that Sandy Weaver saw all those years back.”
Steven jerked his chin toward the painting. “Let’s see it.”
Gripping the sides of the canvas, Jess hoisted it up to give him a better look.
“That’s the Dayton boy,” Steven unnecessarily pointed out. “But a painting of a child lying in a grave isn’t proof of anything as far as the police are concerned. And if you tell anyone else about it, they’ll think you’re as nuts as poor Sandy Weaver.”
Jessica set the painting next to her on the booth seat. “I am nuts, Mr. Ruckle. I have been ever since my son passed away. I really couldn’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me, but my husband doesn’t deserve the stigma of my insanity attached to his name. I wasn’t planning on turning it in.”
Instead of the uncomfortable look she’d expected to get from Steven about her statement, he merely rested his hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. “I’d love to find the Dayton boy as much as you, but without any evidence or even a few concrete leads, we’re just spinning our wheels. I searched for Terry Dayton for three years, dug around in everyone’s business on that street—both legally and illegally. I uncovered many secrets I’m sure they’d rather not have told, but I never found any evidence on who took Terry.”
“I know this painting isn’t considered evidence to you, Mr. Ruckle, but it is to me. Especially after finding out that Sandy saw the same thing thirteen years ago.”
“Please, call me Steven.”
Taken aback for a moment, Jessica paused before continuing. “Sandy doesn’t believe that Eustice was alone in what happened to Terry. She seems to think there was someone else involved.”
“Did she say why she thought that?”
Jess shook her head. “Not really. She said it was more of a gut feeling, and I’m inclined to trust her gut after everything she told me.” Jess quickly repeated her conversation with Sandy. “If she does know more, she’s staying tight lipped about it. Not that I blame her.”