“Um, okay,” she sniffed. “Mr. Robertson didn’t tell me he was feeling bad. Do you think it was a heart attack or a stroke? Did he suffer?”
“Alice,” Dorchester paused to search for the right words, “what I’m about to tell you will be a shock, but I’m asking that you keep it to yourself until the sheriff’s department releases the information.” Alice nodded slowly. “Mr. Robertson didn’t die of natural causes; someone killed him.” Even though he tried to warn her, she jumped back in shock and covered her mouth with her hands. “We saw that he paid you to clean his house once a week in his checkbook register. It looks like you cleaned his house two days ago, is that right?”
Alice removed her hands so she could speak to us. “Yes, that’s right. I cleaned his house and cooked him a few meals to eat through the week like I’ve always done.”
“Did he talk to you about any trouble he’d been having or mention that anyone was angry at him?” I asked her.
“No,” Alice said, shaking her head.
“Was he acting differently?” I inquired.
“He seemed like himself, quiet and solemn. He didn’t say or do anything different than he normally did,” Alice replied after giving my question some thought. “He was such a private man, you know,” she said to Dorchester. “He had a truly kind heart. He did so many generous things that he never told people about because he didn’t want the attention.”
“Such as?” Dorchester asked.
“He was the one who paid to have the historic covered bridge restored,” Alice said. “He gave a lot of money to the county hospital each year privately. He helped me out a few times when I hit a financial snaggle.” Her voice broke, and she sobbed for a few minutes. “Who would want to hurt him? He never bothered anyone.”
Dorchester reached out slowly and patted her back awkwardly. “Did he ever say anything about his nephews?”
Alice wiped the tears from her face and sniffed a few times before she could respond. “All he said about them recently was that they thought he was crazy. He said that he’d show them crazy.” That indicated to me that he was determined to do something to prove that he was still in charge of his life and wasn’t giving in to their schemes.
“Do you know if Mr. Robertson worked with an attorney?” I asked Alice.
“His attorney is—was,” she corrected herself, “Rylan Broadman in Goodville. Lawrence didn’t trust any of the local attorneys. He also has a safety deposit box at Blissville Bank and Trust that you should know about.” Alice seemed to know quite a bit about Lawrence Robertson, so perhaps he wasn’t as lonely as people thought. She obviously cared about him and respected the kind of person he was.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Alice. Thank you for making time to answer our questions,” I said appreciatively. “Will you please give one of us a call if you think of anything else?” She accepted our cards silently and nodded her head as the tears continued to fall from her face. “Do you want us to call someone for you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, sounding the exact opposite. “Tell your mama I said hello, John.”
“Will do, Alice. You take care now,” he said warmly.
We waited for Alice to return inside the house before we got back in my car. “Let’s talk game plan,” I told Dorchester. “There are a lot of boxes to go through and just two of us. We need to update both my captain and your sheriff…”
“Preferably not at the same time,” Dorchester interjected wryly. Those two men in the same room was a recipe for disaster. It was extremely uncomfortable, and you had a feeling that you were one incendiary comment away from a massive explosion that would burn everyone in the room, perhaps the entire county too.
“Agreed,” I replied. “I’m hoping they let us borrow our partners for a day or two once they realize that Robertson’s homicide connects to Turner’s. We could use extra sets of hands and eyes.”
“Definitely.” Dorchester snorted and added, “Hopefully our partners won’t kill each other in the process.” Adrian couldn’t stand Detective Whitworth, and I was sure the feeling was mutual. Their time working together hadn’t lasted much beyond a week, Adrian said it felt like a year.
“I think they can manage if we’re there as a buffer,” I replied, but I wasn’t so sure.
“It’s worth a shot,” he said, pulling out his cellphone. I listened to his side of the conversation with Sheriff Tucker and could tell that he wasn’t getting any arguments out of the man. “Tucker’s on board,” he said after he hung up.
I placed a call to Captain Reardon, but I got his voicemail. It wasn’t until I pulled into the sheriff’s department parking lot that he returned my call. He agreed to send Adrian over to help me and asked me to keep him updated every step of the way.
Dorchester, Whitworth, and I began sorting what must have been decades’ worth of boxes. “I bet the historical society would like to have some of these articles,” Whitworth said. “I think he saved every newspaper Blissville Daily News published. Hell, some of these are older than he was.”
“Looks that way,” Adrian said from the doorway. “Hell, I was looking forward to working with my partner again, but I’m not so sure now.”
“Awww, I missed you too, buddy. Like a toothache,” Whitworth said snidely under his breath, but loud enough for us all to hear.
“I was hesitant because of the dozens of dusty, musty boxes, Whitworth, but yeah, you’re a pain in the ass just the same,” Adrian told him.
Dorchester and I exchanged looks that said, “Here we go.” The awkwardness dissipated when Adrian came over and shook Dorchester’s hand and slapped me on the back.
“Rough day, partner? You doing okay?” Adrian asked me.
“Better than Mr. Robertson,” I replied flatly. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
