Vonn nods. “We were friends with Nash and staying at the house. It wasn’t long before rumors spread that it had to be one of us. Since the locals could never decide which of us it was, they treated us all like lepers when we went into town.”
"But if it was just an accidental fall that happened years ago, then why do people still think it's murder, and why did the sheriff arrest Nash this morning?"
Too late, I wish I could snatch my question back and stuff it down my throat.
The gardener.
Vonn killed him for me when he grabbed me and pinned me against a kitchen wall.
What if that’s what this is about?
I eye Vonn closely, not wanting to bring up the gardener's disappearance while Nance is in the room. If she heard about what happened, she’d go to the cops about the murder.
“His uncle has never stopped bleating that his brother’s death was suspicious, before, during and after the investigation that ruled the death accidental. He repeated loudly and often that Nash killed him and faked a will, stealing what was his,” Nance says as she plates up breakfast for us.
I’m not interested in eating breakfast with all this talk about murder. From Makhi’s green face as he nudges his plate aside, he’s not willing to risk finding out if his stomach can handle food yet. Only Vonn immediately digs into his bacon and eggs while Nance returns to the table with glasses of OJ for Vonn and me.
“What was supposed to be his?” I dare to ask.
“Nothing,” Nance snaps, then sighs tiredly. “Nashis the heir. As the son of the rightful owner of this house, he was always expected to inherit the house and the money. That’s the way it has always been for generations. But his uncle started putting it about that his brother wanted him to have everything. When Nash’s dad died, the whispers started.”
“They got louder after the will reading when everything was left to Nash,” Vonn says.
I pick at my eggs. “But surely there has to be proof for the cops to arrest Nash for a murder that was ruled accidental years ago, right?”
“You’d think so,” Makhi says, sitting back in his seat with his eyes closed.
“This is a fishing expedition. It’s why Nash knows not to say anything until his attorney gets down there,” Vonn explains.
“Why doesn’t he have an attorney here instead of from two towns over?” I ask, confused.
“Because,” Makhi says, opening his eyes to look at me. “His uncle is the mayor of this lovely town with the sheriff tucked up tight in his back pocket, and he’s close friends with the attorney inthistown.”
“Oh.” I consider a mayor turning an entire town against them. “I can see how that would complicate things for Nash.”
“It’s why everyone makes the sign of the cross at us whenever we wander into town,” Makhi explains, rolling his eyes. “Like we’re vampires or something.”
Vonn gives him an annoyed look and then turns to me. “No one makes the sign of the cross at us.”
“They might as well.” Makhi scowls. “I’m used to people giving me foul looks. The way folks look at us is something else. Surprised no one has set fire to the house as we slept or doused us with holy water while shrieking that we’re the devil.”
“I see you’re getting over your hangover,” Nance says so dryly that I can’t help but smile.
“Why would people give you foul looks?” I ask Makhi.
“Eat your breakfast, dear,” Nance says to me before Makhi can respond. “We’ll see Nash, and he’ll be out of jail soon enough.”
She sounds confident. When I look at Makhi, he’s using his fork to prod his scrambled eggs suspiciously. He stops only when Nance gives him a smack on the back of his head and orders him to stop playing with his food.
I start to smile until I notice Vonn is frowning at his empty plate.
Something tells me that getting Nash out won’t be as straightforward as Nance believes.
“There are no visiting hours.” The deputy sheriff, a red-haired man with Irish-pale skin in a light brown uniform, doesn’t look up from his computer on the other side of the counter that separates the front half of the sheriff’s office from the back.
Behind him, a closed door with a glass front reveals a hallway that likely leads to the cells where Nash is being held.
I read the sign on the wall beside the front counter we’re standing in front of.
