“They already know about the red yarn?”she commented, pointing to a post that described, with disturbing accuracy, how Derek’s body had been found wrapped in crimson strands.
“People talk, Sheriff.The first responders talk to their spouses, who talk to their friends, who post on TownCircle.”Ms.Drummond’s thin lips curved in what might have been a smile on someone else.“Information is like water.It finds every crack and seeps through.”
Of course Jenna knew that Ms.Drummond was right.And of course the dog walker who had discovered the body was not likely to keep such details to himself.As usual, she was going to have to cope with public perceptions while actively investigating the murder.
“I understand you had an interaction with Derek Sullivan at the Centaur’s Den last night,” Jenna said.“Can you tell us about that?”
The change was immediate.Ms.Drummond’s spine stiffened further, her chin lifting in defiance.“Am I a suspect, Sheriff Graves?Is that really why you’re here—to accuse me of murder?”
“No one’s accusing you of anything,” Jenna replied, keeping her voice even.“We’re speaking to everyone who saw Derek in his final hours.”
“This is typical,” Ms.Drummond huffed.“Someone in this town does the difficult work of holding others accountable, and what happens?They become a target.This is nothing but persecution for the good I do in this community.”
Jake leaned forward, his tone calm but firm.“Ma’am, we’re just trying to establish a timeline.Any information you have could be helpful.”
Ms.Drummond’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses, her gaze calculating.After a long moment, she seemed to come to a decision.
“Very well.I’ll tell you what happened between Derek Sullivan and me last night.”She removed her glasses, polishing them deliberately with a cloth she produced from a drawer.“And I believe what I’m about to tell you will put a certain suspect at the very top of your list.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ms.Drummond slid her glasses back onto her nose, her eyes magnified behind the lenses like a predator focused on prey.“Roger Dixon,” she said, her voice crisp as autumn frost, “told me two days ago that he was going to kill Derek Sullivan the next time he saw him.”
Jenna exchanged a quick glance with Jake.The blunt statement aligned with their purpose for being there.
“Did you take this threat seriously?”Jake asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“At the time?Not at all.Roger and Derek have been at odds for years.But in retrospect, something did feel different this time—the intensity in Roger’s voice, perhaps.The way his hands shook.”
“Where did this conversation take place?”Jenna asked.
“Outside the hardware store.I was purchasing special soil for my begonias.”Ms.Drummond gestured toward her immaculate garden visible through the office window.“Roger was stomping out, red-faced and muttering.When I inquired about his distress—purely out of civic concern, you understand—he unleashed a torrent of profanity that would have earned any of my former students a month of detention.”
Jenna fought to keep her expression neutral.She’d seen Roger Dixon’s temper when she’d responded to complaints about his business hours sign being too “creatively” worded about what anybody could do with their complaints.
“What specifically did Roger say about Derek?”she pressed.
Ms.Drummond straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening.“He said, and I quote, ‘Sullivan keyed my Mustang.I’ll wring his worthless neck the next time I see him.’“ Her lips thinned.“Crude, but unmistakable in its intent.”
“The Mustang,” Jake said.“That’s his classic Ford, right?”
“1967 Fastback.Candy Apple Red.”Ms.Drummond spoke with unexpected precision.“Roger Dixon may be a social misfit with the personality of a wounded badger, but that car is the closest thing he has to a friend in this town.He’s spent twenty years restoring it.I’ve heard him call it ‘the only honest thing in Trentville.’The idea that someone would deliberately put a scratch on it...”
Jenna remembered the vehicle, how it gleamed even on overcast days, parked protectively behind Roger’s shop.She’d seen him out there on Sunday mornings, polishing its chrome with the tenderness most people reserved for infants.
“Is that why you went to the Centaur’s Den last night?”Jenna asked.“To confront Derek about the car?”
The corners of Ms.Drummond’s mouth tightened.“I went to hear his side of the story.Despite what some might think, I do believe in fairness.”
“And according to Aaron Hopper, you visit the Centaur’s Den from time to time,” Jake observed.
“Only to hear what people have to say there.I don’t drink.And I rarely need to question suspects in vandalism cases, Deputy Hawkins, as that is technically your job.”Her voice carried the same cutting edge Jenna remembered from high school.“However, when our local law enforcement is preoccupied with...other matters, someone must step in.”
The implication—that Jenna had been neglecting her duties while searching for her sister—stung, but she pushed past it.“Tell us what happened when you found Derek.”
“He was already heavily intoxicated.Barely able to focus his eyes.”Ms.Drummond’s disgust was evident in the pinch of her nostrils.“I guided him to a booth and asked directly whether he had damaged Roger’s car.”
“And?”Jake prompted.
