“Yeah, they’re—they’re interesting kids,” Jericho said, keeping his smile fixed.
“They’re little savages,” Nancy Barcroft corrected, and she shifted around so her floral dress fell a bit more comfortably over her ample bosom and belly. “I couldn’t believe the screaming when they first moved in next door. But . . . she pays me twice as much as anyone else I babysit for, so it’s worth it. Mostly.”
“And night before last—the night you saw me here with them—you were free that night? You take care of them pretty regularly, and you could have taken care of them that night?”
“Sure. When she was fresh out of the hospital I was over there every day with them. I don’t know why she didn’t ask me. Maybe you work for cheap?”
“Yeah, I worked for free that night. But it’s not going to be a habit.”
“Good. I can use the money, especially for the overnights. They’re not great kids, but getting paid for sleeping? I’m okay with that.”
Jericho nodded. “Last night, though. You only watched them for a few hours?”
“Yeah. She said she was going out to dinner. Not sure who with, though. She left here alone.”
“And she was gone from about seven until ten or so?”
“About that.”
“Okay, great. Thanks very much.” He turned to leave.
“Uh, Deputy Crewe,” she called after him. “Is this— I mean, I’m happy to help. But . . . I need the money from working for her. Is she going to be mad about me talking to you?”
“I don’t know, for sure. What do you say we just keep it between you and me, just in case?”
She nodded. “That sounds good, Deputy. Thank you.”
He only felt a little guilty about the “deputy” business. He hadn’t identified himself as an officer, wasn’t in uniform, wasn’t driving a squad car—he couldn’t help it if people in a small town knew who worked where. If she assumed he was on the job, that wasn’t his fault.
Besides, he had bigger concerns to worry about. He pointed the Mustang downtown and found a parking spot in front of the hardware store. Another advantage of small-town living.
“Jericho!” The old man behind the counter greeted him with a smile. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Appleby.” He peered around the store for a moment, then saw the man restocking the shelves in the fasteners aisle. “Hi, Will!” he called, but there was no response.
“Sometimes he hears people, sometimes he doesn’t,” Mr. Appleby said with a resigned shrug. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“Uh, I don’t actually need any hardware. But I was wondering—you know all the contractors around here, right? They come in and talk about things, jobs or whatever they’re up to?”
“Sure. We’re the only hardware store for thirty miles. Everyone comes through here.”
“So, I’m wondering—did you ever hear about anyone doing any work at Kelly’s? Before it burned down, I mean.”
Mr. Archer raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with significantly more enthusiasm than he’d shown when he thought he was going to be selling something. “Interesting you should ask about that. I was talking to Tim Baylor a few weeks ago. He mentioned that he’d been in the place, talking to Wade Granger himself. Wade had been asking about getting some repairs done.”
Jericho picked up one of the mini-flashlights from the display box on the counter and tossed it in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. “And what happened with that?”
“Tim’s an honest man. He took a look at the job, and then he told Wade it didn’t make sense to try to repair the place. Roof was a mess, wiring was terrible, there was mold and entire generations of mice in the walls, and it was never properly insulated—better to tear it down and start over.”
Jericho’s nod felt like his head was being jerked by a puppeteer’s string. “And that was Tim Baylor who told you that? He’s a local?”
“Lives north of town. Local enough.”
So he could be found if necessary, and asked to testify. Not that Jericho truly believed he was ever going to get this case to a court of law. But he wanted to understand enough to try to minimize the fallout from whatever the hell was going on.
He said his good-byes and headed out of the store, then pulled out his phone. He had his theory, and now it was time to present it to the only person who could confirm or deny its accuracy. Not that Wade would actually admit to anything, or give Jericho any evidence. But as long as Jericho was able to read between the lines, Wade would give him his answer.
Which made it a bit frustrating when Wade’s voice mail system picked up instead of the man himself. “It’s Jay—I’d like to talk to you. Give me a call, please.”
