Was murdered. Marvin and Keith became friends again.
“Marvin Cook had a thing with Heather Baker even after she started dating Turner?”
Emily made a maybe-maybe-not gesture with her hands. “Not a thing. Heather used him to make Keith jealous.” She hated to speak ill of her friend, but it was the truth. “We all did stuff like that back in high school. We were stupid kids.”
“Then I say we see what Cook knows.”
10:40 p.m.
Emily let her mind rest the fifteen minutes it took to reach Marv’s place. She didn’t want to form any opinions until after she’d heard what he had to say, if anything. She was certain he couldn’t have killed Heather any more than Keith could have. But Clint was right. An open mind, objectivity, was imperative.
Clint shut his headlights off before pulling into the driveway. The double-wide trailer stood on a corner lot at the edge of the farm belonging to Marvin’s daddy.
“You stay in the truck.” Clint shut off the engine.
“No way.” When he would have protested, she pointed out something he obviously hadn’t considered. “He might actually talk to me, but we both know he’s not going to talk to you. And personally, I’d like to get this done without sending anyone to the ER.”
Clint didn’t argue.
The temperature had dropped just barely enough to make it bearable outside without the aid of air-conditioning, but it was still muggy. Good thing, since Clint’s old truck had none, except for the windows.
He insisted on going up the steps to the deck first. She knew he wanted to protect her, and on some level she appreciated it. Right now, though, she just wanted to get some answers.
He banged on the door. Emily flinched, hoped Marv’s wife wouldn’t make a big fuss. What sounded like a TV game show was the only sound inside.
“Who the hell is it?” Marv bellowed through the door. Emily put her hand on Clint’s arm to restrain his response. “Marv, it’s me. I need your help.”
Clint ushered her back a step when the outside light came on and the doorknob turned. Good thing, too, because the door flew open and banged against the exterior wall.
Marvin’s gaze narrowed when it landed on Clint. “What the hell do you want?” Dressed in nothing but boxers and with a beer in his hand, he glared at Emily. “Are you crazy, showing up here with him, Em?”
Emily refused to let Cook make her feel like the traitor he wanted to label her as. She had the truth on her side. As far as the crazy part went, yeah, maybe at one time she had been crazy. But right now she was thinking clearly for the first time in a very long time.
“We need to talk, Cook,” Clint said. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
Marvin pointed a finger at him. “I have to look at your damn face every day because Higgins is a fool, but I don’t have to talk to you now. Get off my property!” He directed that same rage at Emily. “And you, you’re—”
“Careful,” Clint warned, his voice low and lethal.
A twinge of uneasiness rippled through Emily. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. But Heather was dead. Keith and Ray were dead. There were no bad ideas when it came to attempting to solve their murders, just desperate ones.
“A witness has come forward to confirm Clint’s alibi,” Emily spoke up. It was past time people knew the truth. “Clint didn’t kill Heather, Marv. We sent the wrong man to prison.”
His eyes tapered into scornful slits. “You said he did it. You were there!”
“I was wrong,” Emily admitted, her chin high, her shoulders square, in spite of the trembling his reminder set in motion. “And for your information, since you didn’t bother showing up at the trial, I said he was in the room. I said he had blood on him. I couldn’t say for surehe killed her, though I wanted to at the time. His attorney pointed that out repeatedly.”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” Marvin snapped, unconvinced or uncaring, maybe both.
“If you’d prefer,” Clint suggested, “we could just take the information we’ve gathered so far to the police. After hearing it, I’m pretty sure they’ll want to talk to you.”
Clint was exaggerating with that, but hey, if it worked. Marvin’s face turned fire-engine red. “We’ll talk right here.” He stepped out onto the deck and closed the door. “I don’t want Jean hearing any of this.” He gave equal time with his glare, first to Clint, then to Emily.
Clint kicked off the conversation with, “The police never bothered to question you when Heather Baker was murdered.”
“I wasn’t her boyfriend at the time,” Marvin snarled before taking a slug of his beer.
Emily wondered how she could ever have thought Marvin was cute or nice. “You dated,” she reminded him, her voice sounding small after the men’s deep, angry snarls.
