“Probably all my neighbors. They spy on me, you know. Grace is the worst. Pearl’s always stopping in to visit. They’re jealous of my property—I have the largest lot on the block, and they never let me forget I’ve got more than them. Well, I say damn them all. And damn Chris Lagon while He’s at it. You are talking to the wrong man, officer. It’s Chris that’s behind all this.”
“How do you figure that?”
“He wanted me out of the picture, so he blows up my rhubarb. He wanted Heim out of the picture because Heim was a judge. Chris cozied up to him, treated him like a friend. And all the while, it was just to buy off Heim. To make him give that piss-poor beer of his the prize. Have you even tasted that swill?”
“No.”
“Terrible! Worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life. He thinks he’s so above us. High and mighty. Entitled hipster is what he is. Smug bastard, thinks his beer is something special. Well, I’m telling you it’s not.”
“You think Chris wants the prize enough to have Heim killed?”
“I think he went out there—got on Heim’s boat all friendly. You know how he is, always on the water. Gets on his boat. Maybe they drink some beer. Maybe they talk, maybe it’s all nice and chummy. Then Chris tells him he doesn’t like the good catch going to Mom’s, doesn’t like competition. No, no. He can’t stand someone competing with him. It’s why he blew up my rhubarb. Afraid my rhutbeer would win the blue ribbon. So he sweet-talks Heim into giving his piss-poor beer a high score. Maybe tries to bribe him. But Heim—we all know he was a reasonable man, decent reputation, even though he slept with that Frenchwoman and drinks too much—Heim won’t take the sweet talk. Heim won’t take the money. Chris gets fed up, and…”
He paused, looked at me, his eyes a little wide. “How did he die? Did Chris shoot him? Slit his throat? Stab him in the chest?”
His heart was beating so hard, I could see the throb of his pulse at his neck.
“I’m not convinced Chris killed anyone, Mr. Perkin. This is a very…thorough picture you’re painting. How do you suppose it all ended?”
“Bang!” He pointed his finger at me, and I resisted the urge to reach out and break it.
“Chris is a low-life coward and shoots Heim right in the back. Then he…he swims back to shore—you know how he’s always swimming. Says it’s good for the heart. Like he has one. I swear he’s part fish, the freak.”
The freak was, actually, kind of part fish. I decided to steer the conversation away from that truth.
“He’s a good swimmer. A skill that would have saved Heim.”
“Is that…is that how he died?” His eyes darted to everything but my eyes. “Drowned?” He sounded worried. It was the first time I’d heard him worry about someone else. I tried out the idea of Heim and Dan having a friendship.
Nope. Couldn’t picture it.
“I don’t have the report back yet.” It wasn’t a lie.
He rubbed his fingers over the bill of his hat three times, and then three times again. “Well, if it was drowning, you’d think a captain of a boat would know how to swim. Wouldn’t you? Anyone who spends their life on a boat should swim. Hell, I swim, and it’s been years since I’ve been on a boat. Back in my Navy days. When a man’s word meant something.”
“All right,” I said. “That’s all an interesting story. But last I’d heard, he and Heim were pretty close friends.”
“Friends,” he spat. “That doesn’t mean anything when there’s an award on the line.”
“An award in a small festival in a small town? I don’t think anyone deserves to die for a blue ribbon, do you, Mr. Perkin?”
“It’s not the blue ribbon. It’s the pride.” He jutted out his chin. “Chris Lagon is prideful as sin.”
I heard footsteps approaching and glanced at the sidewalk.
Ryder.
My stomach filled with butterflies. There was something about the way he walked that drew my gaze. Hands tucked into his coat, stride fluid and easy, eyes flashing with a kind of intensity that set flecks of gold to glitter. Maybe it was his mouth, turned always at the corner as if barely containing a wry smile. Maybe it was the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his chest, all tapered down to lean hips and long legs.
Maybe it was everything, and me wanting to know it all better.
I only took a second to size Ryder up before I turned my gaze back to Dan.
I could feel Ryder’s eyes on me, and had a moment to wonder what he saw. I was bent forward, my butt sticking out, my hips shifted on one bent knee, so I could lean far enough down to talk to Dan through the car window.
I’d traded my jeans for my uniform slacks today, though my plaid button-down shirt tucked into my slacks wasn’t regulation. The slacks weren’t much for figure flattery, and frankly, neither was my shirt.
“Did you hear Chris and Heim argue?”
