Hughes dumps him onto his stool.
“I can’t take the guilt anymore. It’s killing me. This whole thing was a mistake.”
“So you’re saying Jonah’s death was an accident?”
Hughes gives me a strange look. “His what? I thought you were here about the model train fraud.”
“The what?”
Hughes sags on his stool. “There’s no money in model trains. Hasn’t been since the mid-’90s at least. Oh sure, you can sell some of the older special-edition models from the ’40s to the ’60s online, but you don’t get anywhere near the money you got when my great-uncle ran this place.” He looks around wistfully. “Model train enthusiasts are a dying breed.”
“Well, it’s good to have a hobby.”
“It’s not my hobby. I hate model trains,” he says vehemently. “All the old people in town think I love them, though, so people are constantly gifting me their model train sets, willing me their model train sets, or dumping the model train sets of their deceased relatives on me. Sure, people like to look at the Christmas sets in the winter, but no one wants to pay to see them. The city throws me a few bones every winter to set up model train sets in the city hall, and some businesses want them for the winter, but it doesn’t pay the stall fees or my shop fees.” Gideon looks dejected. “Jonah thought he could do a better job at it than I could. He thought I was purposefully not selling the trains so I could make money on the internet. But that’s not how it works!”
“So what’s the fraud?” Hughes asks, confused.
Gideon sighs and pulls out his phone. He pauses then gives in and shoves the phone at Hughes. “This is how I make money.”
On the screen is a slow-motion video of a miniature train in a miniature town. Then, suddenly, the train blows up. There’s a soundtrack of screaming.
“Oh my god.” Hughes laughs. “You make these videos? I’ve seen these all over the internet. I love these videos. They’re crazy!”
“Yes. I blow up model trains for money.” Gideon starts crying.
“And Jonah found out, so you killed him?” I’m still hopeful we can solve this mystery.
“God, no. I have enough money saved up and enough trains in storage to stop maintaining this stall. It’s just the guilt…”
“But the missing train from his office—”
“He doesn’t keep trains in his office,” Gideon says impatiently. “They’re all at his house. His wife is dumping them all on me. It’s guilt, you see. People’s parents, grandparents, uncles loved their trains, and they want to think that they’re going to a good home. Jonah found my videos. He recognized one of the sets. Apparently, his dad made it and gave it to a friend. That video did get me a small bourbon sponsorship, though.” He sits back down. “I can’t keep living the lie.”
“Oh, but everyone loves the Christmas train sets.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s the small-town charm. Do you know how demoralizing it is to have people stop at your shop, take a photo, then leave? I can’t afford to hire anyone, so I just have to sit here.” He kicks a shelf.
“Well, it seems like you knew Jonah fairly well,” I finally segue awkwardly. “Do you know who killed him?”
Gideon shrugs.
“Do you know who he might have been having an affair with?”
“Like, all of his female patients.”
“All of…”
Hughes and I look at each other.
“So we could have a whole other list of suspects.”
12
HUGHES
“We need a list of all his patients,” I tell Willow. “Did you see one in his office? Or, like, a schedule book or anything?”
Willow shakes her head. “The police must have taken it.”
