Scott paused. So Dearth was making good on his threats of payback. “What kind of evidence?”
“Dunno. Just said that his investigators have turned up financial issues, a juvie record, and other, more personal problems. Guy sounds like an ass.”
Scott studied the chief. “If she had a juvie record, you’d know it.”
“She does. Accidentally blew up a fridge in a foster home and was charged with reckless endangerment. The conviction was expunged when she turned eighteen.” The chief scratched his whiskered jaw. “Millie’s a good person, but she seems to have a lot of enemies right now.”
Irritation slammed into Scott’s gut.
The chief coughed. “I do want to make sure Mae is safe. Are you going to be staying out there?”
“Yes. Until we figure this out.” Was the chief blushing? No. It had to be the weird lighting in the hallway.
The chief turned and led the way back to an interrogation room where two men sat on the other side of a heavy metal table, waiting. The chief took a seat and Scott sat next to him. “You’ve met Scott Terentson. And again, I have to make sure you boys are on board with him being here.”
“We’re fine,” Lonnie drawled.
Scott cut a look at Silas, who sat next to his brother. “Hello again.” Silas still sported several bruises across his face and down his jaw, and no doubt his rib cage looked like somebody had taken a meat tenderizer to it. Scott didn’t regret one punch and was more than a little surprised that Silas had agreed to speak with him. “It’s nice of you to include me in this interview,” he drawled.
Silas’s nostrils flared. “That’s fine. I just want to tell you face-to-face that I know that bitch killed my brother, and she will pay.”
Irritation crashed through Scott, but he forced a smile. “Are you threatening her? Because three people tried to kill her this morning, and it sounds like you’re confessing to sending them.”
Lonnie rolled his eyes. He was a smaller version of his brother with thick, dark hair, light brown eyes and fit shoulders. Contrasting with Silas’s beefy and overweight form, he boasted a sleek and muscular frame. They shared a similar blunt bone structure. “If we wanted Millie dead, we wouldn’t send a squad of three,” he said quietly. Scott instantly focused on the biggest threat in the room. While Silas appeared to be all bluster, his brother was not. His gaze held an intensity that warranted recognition.
The chief straightened as if coming to the same conclusion. “What proof do you have that Millie killed your brother?”
Silas’s eyes widened. “Besides the fact that his blood covered both her and her knife when the cops arrived at the cabin? A weapon the little freak invented? You mean besides that, Chief?”
“Yeah, besides that, Silas.” A hint of sarcasm thickened the chief’s tone, and Scott took a moment to appreciate it.
“They left Snarky’s together the night before, and my brother was dead by morning,” Lonnie said. “We will pursue this. If you don’t, we’ll go above your head, Chief. In fact, we already spoke with the county prosecutor, and Skinner promised he’s going to avenge our brother.”
The chief leaned forward, a vein in his forehead turning dark. “I’ll pursue this as well. I want to know not only who killed Clay, but who tried to murder Millie this morning.”
“I don’t know.” Silas threw up his beefy hands. “The woman obviously is a trouble magnet. Maybe she’s killed other people besides my brother and has a million enemies out there who want revenge. Have you thought of that?”
“I’ve looked into it,” the chief said.
Scott masked his surprise. Even though the chief believed Millie, he was performing his due diligence in trying to find the murderer. Scott had to respect that. “Did you see Millie and your brother leave the bar together the night of his murder?” Scott asked quietly.
“I wasn’t there,” Lonnie snapped.
“I left early,” Silas said. “But we’ve heard all over town that they left together.”
The chief took a deep drag of his creamer and coffee. “In whose vehicle?” he asked.
Silas shrugged. “I assume my brother’s. From what I heard, his rig was the only one in his drive when the cops arrived that morning. Right?”
The chief nodded. “Right.”
Lonnie flattened both hands on the table, showing slices across his knuckles. “Her guilt is obvious,” he snapped. “They left, they ended up in bed together, she killed him by morning. I mean, connect the dots.” Anger mottled his face a beet red.
Scott tilted his head. “What happened to your hand?”
“I might’ve punched a mirror when I discovered my brother had been sliced into pieces,” Lonnie said darkly.
Maybe. Maybe not.
