Jake glanced at her.“You think she’s lying?”
“Not lying exactly.But she certainly had opportunity.The physical strength required wouldn’t be much if Derek was as drunk as Aaron said he was.”
They fell into thoughtful silence as the car approached the older industrial section of town.Dixon’s Small Engine Repair occupied a corrugated metal building that had once been an auto parts store.The faded sign above the entrance featured a cartoon chainsaw with an improbable smile.A chain-link fence enclosed a yard full of mowers in various states of disassembly, mechanical casualties awaiting resurrection.
Jake parked in the gravel lot beside the building.Through the large front windows, Jenna could see shelves lined with parts, tools, and the odd assemblage of items that defined Roger’s business.No customers were visible inside.
“Let me take the lead on this,” Jenna said as they exited the car.“Roger and I have a...history.”
Jake raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask for details.He knew enough about small-town dynamics to understand that “history” could mean anything from an old dispute to a high school romance gone sour.
They approached the entrance, a heavy metal door with a hand-lettered sign declaring “HOURS: WHEN I’M HERE.CLOSED: WHEN I’M NOT.DON’T LIKE IT?GO ELSEWHERE!”Below, in smaller print: “No exceptions for ‘emergencies’ with equipment you neglected all year.”
A bell jangled harshly as Jenna pushed the door open.The interior smelled of motor oil, metal shavings, and the sharp tang of engine fuel.Fluorescent lights overhead, casting everything in a flat, unforgiving glow.
Roger Dixon emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag that had long ago surrendered to permanent stains.He was a wiry man in his late fifties, with thinning gray hair and deep lines etched around a perpetual scowl.Grease darkened the creases of his knuckles.His coveralls bore the battle scars of countless repair jobs.
“Well, well,” he drawled, tossing the rag onto a cluttered counter.“If it isn’t our esteemed Sheriff Graves and her loyal deputy.”
His eyes, sharp despite his age, assessed them with open hostility.Jenna met his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated by his posturing.
“Mr.Dixon,” she began, “we’d like to ask you a few questions about—”
“Derek Sullivan,” Roger finished for her, his thin lips curling.“Yeah, I wondered how much longer it was going to be before you showed up.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roger Dixon’s eyes glinted with amusement, his mouth curling into something between a smile and a sneer as he leaned against the counter of his repair shop.A wall of shelves behind him displayed an orderly collection of parts—carburetors, air filters, spark plugs—each in its designated spot.
“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” he continued, raising his hands in mock surrender.“If you’re here to arrest me, I’ll come along peacefully.No need for the handcuffs unless you’re into that sort of thing.”
Jenna kept her expression neutral, though she felt Jake stiffen beside her at Roger’s flippant tone.The repair shop was empty of customers, giving their conversation an uncomfortable intimacy beneath the harsh lighting.A broken lawnmower motor sat disassembled on a workbench behind Roger, its parts spread out in a careful pattern that probably made sense to him.
“And why would we be arresting you, Mr.Dixon?”Jake asked, his voice steady and professional.“What do you think is the reason for our visit?”
Roger lowered his hands and shrugged, his weathered face settling into an expression of indifference.“I assume you’re here about Derek Sullivan’s murder.”He paused, eyes darting between them, assessing their reactions.“And I must be at the top of your suspect list.”
The directness of his answer caught Jenna by surprise.Most people in Trentville danced around difficult subjects, burying accusations in layers of small-town politeness.Roger’s bluntness was almost refreshing, if unsettling.
“Did you kill Derek Sullivan, Mr.Dixon?”Jenna asked, matching his directness with her own.
Roger’s expression shifted, growing more calculating.He scratched at his chin.“You know, Sheriff, it’s illegal to lie to law enforcement officials.”He tapped on the countertop, a steady rhythm like a metronome.“But it’s not illegal not to answer your questions.It’s called the Fifth Amendment, remember?And I don’t intend to answer that one.”
The repair shop suddenly felt too small, the air between them charged with unspoken implications.The meticulous organization of his displays stood in stark contrast to the chaos Roger seemed to be trying to create.
“A person we interviewed told us something interesting just now,” Jenna said, changing tack.She watched Roger carefully.“They said that you told her you were going to kill Derek.Do you deny saying that?”
Roger let out a sharp laugh, the sound bouncing off the metal shelving.“I said exactly that to that Drummond woman.Told it to her face yesterday when I ran into her outside the hardware store.”He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.“She looked like she’d swallowed a lemon whole when I said it, too.Probably rushed home to update that little gossip website of hers.”
“So you admit to threatening Derek Sullivan’s life just a day before he was murdered?”Jake’s voice held an edge now, his patience visibly fraying.
“I admit to saying words.That’s all.”Roger straightened, his expression hardening.“People say things they don’t mean all the time—and some things they do mean.It’s hard to know which is which, but not for Brenda Drummond, right?She takes everything as gospel, doesn’t she?”
Jenna knew that Roger had been working on that Mustang for as long as she could remember, a project that never quite reached completion because he kept finding new details to perfect.“Do you really think Derek deserved to die for keying your Mustang, Mr.Dixon?”
“Derek Sullivan deserved to die just for being the kind of guy he was,” Roger said flatly, all pretense of amusement gone.“Trentville’s better off with him gone.That’s just a fact.”
The coldness of his statement hung in the air.A wall clock behind the counter ticked loudly in the silence, marking the seconds.Through the front window, Jenna could see people walking past on the sidewalk, going about their day, unaware of the conversation taking place inside.
