6
Cash took a deep breath. Her Neander worries had largely abated. If they were around, they’d have killed Paul Brooksfield by now. With that off her mind, it was a relief to get back outside into the fresh air. She pulled off the booties, gloves, and hairnet. Brooksfield was pacing just outside of the perimeter, looking impatient.
Cash approached the man, Colcord in tow.
“Could we ask you some questions?” she queried.
Brooksfield nodded, crossing arms across his broad chest.
“Mind if I record?”
He shook his head.
Cash and Colcord took out their notebooks and she laid her cell down next to the man on a stump to record.
“Did you know the victim?” Cash asked.
Brooksfield let out a sigh. “Sort of. My wife, Margie, knew him better, used to visit him a lot. I sometimes kept her company hiking up here. I usually stayed outside. Margie said I made Willy nervous. I tried to stop her going up there, especially after that Neander business, but that woman’s got a mind of her own. Stubborn.”
“Do you live near here?”
“We have a ranch near Burns on Maple Road.”
Cash eyed him closely. “What brought you up here today?”
Brooksfield sighed again, running a hand over his beard. “I was going to tell Willy to leave my wife alone. I felt like he’d been taking advantage of her good nature.”
“Taking advantage of your wife? How so?”
“Margie likes to help people. She’s a saint in a world of opportunists, but sometimes her generosity is a one-way ticket to being walked all over. She visited him regularly, delivering groceries and helping with all sorts of things. He’s become a real burden on our family, so I came here to talk to him—man-to-man—ask him to ease off. And that’s when I found him…”
“Why did Mr. Grooms need her help?”
“Well… Willy was a little… kooky. Had a fear of technology—Big Brother stuff. Moved out here to the mountains to get away from it. Said the government was spying on him through cell phones and computers. So, like I said, Margie would bring him food, keep an eye on him. He got his water from the lake, did some foraging and hunting, but not enough to live without help. Margie works for a financial firm as a CFP, that’scertified financial planner, so she helped manage his money, file his taxes, that sort of thing.”
“Grooms had money?” Cash asked.
“I guess he had some, but Margie doesn’t talk about it. Said it was confidential.”
“Did you know he kept money in the cabin?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Were there other reasons why you were concerned with Willy spending time with your wife?” Colcord asked.
“Well, he was a real nutjob. The guy was mentally ill—schizophrenia. Wasn’t anything violent, but I worried that he was relying too heavily on Margie for support. We need her at the ranch. It’s a lot of work running that place and taking care of our kids. Our daughter’s got some serious medical issues too. I thought Willy was a bit of a leech.”
“And how did the schizophrenia play out? What were the symptoms?” Colcord asked.
“Just a lot of delusions. He was convinced that there was a monster living in Keener Lake. Thought that snakes talked to him. He was always going on about UFOs—claims he saw one crash up there near Dome Peak. He said he could fly, and Margie had to stop him from jumping off the roof once to show her.”
“So what was your plan when you got up here?” Cash asked.
Brooksfield’s eyebrows drew together. “Hey, now. I didn’t have anythingto do with his death, if that’s what you’re implying. I came out here just to talk some sense into him—if any sense was to be had. Ask him to lay off Margie for a bit, maybe find someone else to help him out, so she could spend some more time with her family.”
“And these, uh, sculptures”—Colcord gestured around—“are they his?”
“They sure are. Ugly things. Margie was convinced Willy had a talent for it. She even tried to get an art dealer out here once, but Willy chased the poor bugger off. Threw a vodka bottle at him.” Paul scowled. “He was always shooting himself in the foot, despite Margie’s best efforts at helping him.”
