Cash glanced around at the constructions of metal and junk. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting one of those monstrosities on their property.
“Although Willy did make some nice stuff too,” Brooksfield added. “He would find jasper up by Flat Top Mountain, cut and polish it. He also carved little figurines out of wood and would paint them. That was another thing Margie did for him—delivered his carvings to a couple of local galleries downtown. More free labor from her.”
“How long has Margie been coming up here?”
“Five years, maybe.”
“And the last time she was here?” Cash asked.
Paul cocked his head to think. “Maybe four or five days ago, I suppose? Brought Willy some food.”
“How did Willy and your wife meet?”
“Willy’s son, Samuel, used to look after him, but he died of cancer. He was a member of Margie’s church, and I think that’s where she heard about Willy needing help.”
“Is there anything else that you can think of that might be helpful?” Cash asked. “Like if Willy had any enemies, or any thoughts on who might have done this?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he had much contact with anybody in town or anywhere. But…”
“Yes?”
“This could be nothin’.” Paul hesitated. “Willy’s beard. It’s gone. He’d been growing the thing for years, called it his ‘mountain man beard.’ Seems out of character he would shave it.”
