"I take it he's a suspect?”
"Right now, we are keeping all possibilities in mind. Was he friends with anybody in the neighborhood? Somebody he might have confided in? Somebody who might be willing to put him up while he was in the doghouse?”
She thought about it for a moment. "Well, he's friendly with Rex." She pointed to a house a few doors down. "I don't think they were extraordinarily tight, but they talked on occasion. Maybe they watched a ballgame together. I think they played golf sometimes. But I don't really know. I don't pay too much attention to what goes on with my neighbors,” she said in a lofty voice. “I got enough trouble minding my own business."
Jillian certainly liked to mind other people's business.
"You wouldn't happen to have Rex's phone number, would you?"
"No. I'm sorry.”
I thanked her for her time.
"Anytime, deputies," she said with a flirty wink.
She was bored and looking for trouble.
We left and walked down the street to Rex's house and rang the doorbell.
There was no answer.
I made note of the address, then looked it up in the online portal when I got back to the car. The owner of the house was listed as Rex Thompson. It didn't take much digging to find a cellphone for him. I dialed his number, but it went to voicemail. I left a message as we headed across the island to find Elizabeth Stockton. She lived in Stingray Bay with her husband.
She was not home either.
I had to lean on Isabella again for another favor. She tracked Elizabeth's phone to the country club and told me she was on the tennis courts.
32
Thwack!
The fuzzy yellow ball careened through the air.
Sneakers shuffled against clay.
The ball bounced, and Elizabeth swung her racket.
Thwack!
She knocked the ball over the net like a pro. That frilly skirt of hers bounced, showing off toned, tanned legs sculpted by hours on the court. With her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a visor on her head, she was pure focus.
Her partner, the club tennis pro, returned the ball with ease. Though she did have him running back and forth across the court.
She grunted and groaned every time she smashed the ball, beating it like it owed her money.
The exchange went on for quite some time.
I think he finally let her score a point. He knew what side his bread was buttered on.
Elizabeth took the small victory, then wiped the sweat from her brow and marched to the side of the court to grab a thermos of water.
"Are you mad at that little yellow ball?" I asked.
Elizabeth gave me a curious look. "I just picture the faces of my enemies."
I chuckled and displayed my badge.
"Oh, is that illegal? Are you going to arrest me for abuse?"
