His left eye narrowed slightly. “We were in the janitor’s closet.”
“Well yeah, but we didn’t kill anyone.”
“Janitors don’t kill people.”
“Are you kidding? Janitors are one step above the post office. Not even a saint could spend all day cleaning up puke from kids and not want to whack a person or two. Janitors are like number three in a serial killer line.”
His right eye narrowed a little to match the left. “Why are you so difficult?”
My mother asked that question daily since I started fourth grade and she never got a straight answer. “I’m going to do this interview. You can either come with me or not, but I’m going.”
In reality—not that I’d admit this to Pierce—I worried about doing the interview on my own. Normally I would barge in and ask questions, but in this case, we were dealing with a murderer. I didn’t want to be the next person shoved in the closet. I wanted someone with muscle to come along with me. If things turned south, I could push Pierce at the killer and make a mad dash for safety.
Last night I called Riley, planning to ask him to come along, but since he’d started officially working for Ridge, his older brother, he’d become a real stick in the mud. He told me if I got anywhere near Jason the janitor’s home, he’d have to drag me away. And that was before I told him about my plans for him to come with me.
“Are you coming with me or do I have to do this alone?”
“I’m coming. If he is the murderer, maybe he’ll take you out and I can use your death to get him put behind bars.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpanned. “Well, come on.”
Pierce didn’t move from his desk. “I’m still eating. If this is my last meal, I want to enjoy it.”
“Chew faster and let’s go. I’ll drive.” I’d let him eat while I drove us there. Jason lived in the country separating Clearwater from Pelican Bay, so the drive took at least ten minutes.
“Oh no, you’re not driving my car.”
“Fine, we’ll take mine.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not driving your piece of crap Honda.” He sounded offended.
I sat up, making sure he saw me roll my eyes first. “Why are you so difficult?”
Pierce drove ridiculously slowly. Did he forget his age and consider himself ninety? Why buy an expensive car if you drove it like a little lady on her way to church every Sunday? I tapped my foot incessantly on the passenger side while he took his time making his way to the home ten minutes out of the city.
“That’s the place, turn here,” I said pointing to my right at the tall white farmhouse.
Pierce came to a complete stop in the middle of the dirt road and used his blinker. “Yes, I heard the GPS too.”
Before his fancy little car stopped in the driveway, I had my door open and was halfway across the hood before the smell hit me.
Cow poop.
Ewww.
Had I stepped in it? Had we driven through it? Was there a cow in the near vicinity using the area as a bathroom? Were the farmers putting shit on the field today? Sometimes, with cow poop and country life, you never could identify the source.
Pierce scowled as he got out of the car. He stood beside me and took in his first whiff of the pungent poop odor.
“It definitely doesn’t smell like New York, huh?” I asked as we walked toward the wraparound porch of the white farmhouse.
“Actually, more than you realize,” he replied getting to the bottom step first and holding his arm out to stop my progress. “Let me take the lead on this.”
I shook my head. Sometimes he was so ridiculous. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Pierce’s legs were longer than mine so he made it to the front door first, and I frowned as he knocked hard on the wooden door.
