"What did the coroner say? Or the crime scene people?"
I started the truck. "The coroner said the blow to the back of the head probably killed him. No big surprise there. And the crime scene people said they didn't have any hope of getting any evidence, since it was a public building and filled with fingerprints and random hairs of all the people who come into the store."
Tess put her phone in her bag. "So, what are we going to do now to help Rooster?"
I pulled out of the parking space and turned left at the stop sign. "We are going to head out to his house and see what we can see. I didn't want to ask him questions in front of Andy and especially not in front of that new deputy, but maybe we can find something at his house that proves he wasn't there when the murder happened."
"What could that possibly be?"
I shook my head because I didn't have a clue. I just felt like I needed to be moving and doing something. Not just to help Rooster, but also to help Andy.
Rooster's farmhouse was a tidy little place just outside of town. It was an older house but had a nice feel to it. He'd clearly repainted the outside not all that long ago, and the lawn was neatly cut. Not that somebody who kept up with his landscaping wouldn't commit murder, but it just made it seem less likely, somehow.
Or maybe life in a small town was messing with my head.
I smacked my hand on the steering wheel and wanted to smack myself on the forehead. "I should have asked Rooster for his keys. We're going to have to turn around and —"
"Why would you do that?" Tess gave me a funny look. "I doubt Rooster has ever locked the door to his house in his life. This is Dead End."
"Everybody keeps saying that, but maybe things need to change."
Tess sighed.
We parked in the driveway and walked past a neatly edged flower bed to climb up the front porch to the door. Not only was it not locked, but it was wide open behind the unlatched screen door.
The scent of fried bacon and eggs hung in the air, making me realize I hadn't had any breakfast and it was going on lunch time. Horrible situation or not, my stomach was growling.
A tiger needs to eat. A lot.
Really, all shapeshifters have such fast metabolisms that if we don't eat a lot—and frequently—things can get bad.
Really bad.
You never, ever want to hear the wordhangryin connection with a shapeshifter.
Tess walked into the kitchen. "The pans are still on the stove, and there are dishes and silverware in the sink. How would he have had time to cook any breakfast and still come downtown and hit Darryl in the head with a hammer?"
I just shook my head. She knew as well as I did he could've made food, eaten it, and still had plenty of time to get to the hardware store and attack Darryl.
I glanced through some papers sitting on the coffee table in the front room, trying not to feel guilty or like a snoop. But he had hired me, after all. And I needed to find something—anything—to help him out.
"This is interesting," I said slowly, scanning a few handwritten pages.
Tess walked back into the room from the kitchen, a red-and-white checked dish towel in hand. "What is it?"
"It's some research that Rooster did on UltraShopMart and what looks like notes on a speech he was planning to give at the town hall meeting tomorrow. It's organized and persuasive, Tess. I bet if he gives these remarks, it's going to convince some people that we don't want that store in Dead End."
"That's a problem. Rooster and Darryl were already fighting about who was the 'real' Santa Claus. If it comes out that they were on opposite sides of the UltraShopMart issue too, then that adds motivation for Rooster to be the killer." Tess closed her eyes for a moment, and she looked so sad. I just wanted to take her away from every bit of this. Then she turned back to the kitchen. "One tangible way I can help is to do the dishes for him while you look around."
I looked through the rest of the papers, but there was nothing else that seemed pertinent. I didn't know what I was looking for anyway, because I still thought like a soldier and commander and not yet like a private investigator, no matter what the name of my business was. But sometimes just moving forward and digging could eventually lead to answers, as we'd found out all year long.
When I accidentally knocked a pen off the table, I bent to pick it up and found a wadded-up piece of paper on the floor, partially hidden behind the table leg. I started to toss it in the small wastebasket next to the desk, but on second thought, smoothed it out to read it.
And then instantly regretted it.
I walked into the kitchen, where Tess was just finishing up. She saw the look on my face and her whole body slumped. "Please don't tell me it's something bad."
"I'm sorry. It's something bad." I held out the paper, but it took her a reluctant moment to reach for it.
