“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Are you Woody Vance?”
He didn’t move, but something about him changed: a hardening of his expression, although it had already been fairly hard to begin with.
“I thought so,” I said. “My name is Dash Dane. I need to talk to you.”
“Who are you?”
“Dash—”
“No. Are you a deputy? State law enforcement?”
“No, but—”
“Then I don’t have to talk to you.”
As he started to shut the door, I blurted, “I think Channelle was stealing people’s rent money.”
It hadn’t been a conscious decision—nothing even remotely close to a plan. But people liked to talk, um, crap about their exes, and if this guy really was Woody Vance, and if Channelle Haskins had, at one point, been Channelle Vance, then maybe he’d want to talk crap about her. Of course, if Vance was her maiden name, and she was his sister, maybe he’d be less thrilled about my theory.
Woody stopped. He gave me another, more assessing look. Then he said, “That sounds like Channelle.”
Trying not to exhale in relief (or not too loudly, anyway), I managed to say, “I was hoping you could tell me about her. Anything you think might help. See, the sheriff believes my friend might have been involved, but he wasn’t.”
“If he wasn’t, then the best thing you can do is hire him a decent lawyer, keep your mouths shut, and wait for this to sort itself out. Have a good day, Mr. Dane.” He started to shut the door again.
“What did you mean when you said that sounded like her? Did Channelle steal from people when she lived in California?”
Woody stopped again. His cheeks darkened, but his voice was even—almost amused—when he said, “You could say that.”
“You were married, weren’t you? I know her name used to be Vance.”
Out in the trees, something moved. A branch bent, dipped. Then it sprang back up again, tiny pearls of water flying from the needles. They fell soundlessly into the brush.
Woody nodded.
“You heard what happened to her?”
He nodded again.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Mr. Dash, I can’t help you. I came up here to get my wife to finalize our divorce. She’s dead now. That means I’m going home. I don’t know anything about what happened to her. Frankly, I don’t care. This may make me sound like a bit of a meanie—” (He might have used a different word thanmeanie.) “—but I’m glad she’s gone. I’m going back home, and I’m going to get on with my life.”
The little writer part of my brain pinged, and a sign lit up that said MOTIVE, but all I said was “Is there anything you can tell me about her? I mean, did she tell you anything about her life here? Or maybe you can help me understand her better.”
“Sure, I can help you understand her. She was a selfish, spoiled child. I met her on a call-out; her dad was trying to knock out her mom’s teeth one by one. She was seventeen when she moved in with me. I didn’t know that at the time; she lied to me right up until her eighteenth birthday, and then she told me we were getting married. She wanted out of her dad’s house, you see. And the other thing about Channelle? She didn’t want to work, but she liked to spend. I gave her a budget, told her that was the end of the discussion, and you know what happened? Credit cards in my name. My cash going missing. Then, one day, I came home, and she was gone, along with—” He cut himself off; from the look on his face, it was a struggle. “That was the last time I saw her. Then I found out she was living up here. Fine. All I wanted was a divorce.”
“That’s why you went to the RV park’s office. That’s what you and JT argued about.”
“I tried to tell him who he was dealing with. He didn’t want to listen.” A struggle played itself out in his body: his hand openingand closing around the door, his lips pressed tight. The words broke from him. “As soon as I saw him, I knew. Another old man.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Somebody with stability, security. Somebody she could wrap around her finger.” Woody blinked, and then he narrowed his eyes. He swung the door back and forth. When he spoke again, his voice was flat. “I think we’re done here.”
“Her necklace is missing.”
Woody didn’t say anything, but he didn’t slam the door.
“It has a heart-shaped sapphire,” I said. “It’s part of a set. Someone took it.”
