When the daughter saw the mother again, new tears gushed out. Michael went in search of coffee to give them a few minutes alone. By the time he got back with the tepid, too-strong coffee, the girl's tears had slowed. She took the Styrofoam cup gratefully and, after a few sips, claimed to be ready to answer whatever questions he had.
The daughter couldn't tell him much more than he'd already heard from the mother. Yes, her father had borrowed some money from her a few weeks ago. No, she hadn't seen him. She wired the money to him. He needed to fix his car so that he could make his service rounds and come up to see her baby. Here, she almost started to cry again, but she tightened her lips and blinked back any new tears.
No, she didn't know how he planned to pay her back. Out of his next paycheck, she supposed. As she said it, she looked down, a guilty flush spreading across her cheeks. The daughter, the same as the mother, had known she'd never get her five hundred dollars back.
Then, as if she felt disloyal, she lifted her head and stared straight at Michael. “But Dad said he had something going,
and that when he paid me back, he'd pay me double so I could start a college fund for Jason.” She jutted her chin out. “And he would have too.”
At this, Michael half expected the mother to say it would have never happened, but instead she simply touched the girl's hand and said softly, “Your father would have thought Jason was something special.”
Michael was afraid that would start the girl's tears again, but on the contrary, the words seemed to give her new strength. So he went on with his questions. No, she didn't know what her father might have been talking about.
She couldn't say whether or not he knew anybody in Hidden Springs. She'd never heard of Hidden Springs. She really didn't see her father that often. They talked on the phone maybe once every other week. She hadn't seen him since January. He just dropped by to see her whenever he was close to Cincinnati. He had planned to come next week to see the baby.
No, no one had ever called her or anything, looking for her father. When Michael glanced over at the mother, she said the same. They neither one had any idea who might have shot him.
When Michael asked whether Jay Rayburn had a girlfriend, the daughter said her father never mentioned any friends at all. That brought on a new stricken look as she said, “I never thought of that before. He must have been so lonesome.”
The mother reached over to take the girl's hand. “Just because he didn't tell you about friends doesn't mean he didn't have them. Jay was always very outgoing. I'm sure he had friends, maybe even women friends.” She didn't seem bothered at all by that thought.
“But if he did, you don't know who they are?” Michael looked straight at the mother.
She didn't shy away from his stare. “It's like I told you earlier. We didn't stay in contact. There was no reason to after the children grew up.”
Michael hesitated, kicking himself for not asking this question before they rejoined the daughter, but he went ahead and threw out the question he wanted answered. “Did your husband have affairs while you were married?”
Alice Hawfield narrowed her eyes on Michael. “What could old history like that possibly have to do with Jay getting shot now?”
“Probably nothing,” Michael admitted. “But for years, your ex-husband has been stopping at a restaurant near Hidden Springs. Maybe he made some friends there.”
“You're not asking about other friends. You're asking about another woman,” the mother said flatly.
“Yes.” Michael didn't hesitate this time. He had to know.
When the mother glanced at the daughter, the girl said, “Mother, I'm not a child anymore. If you know anything that might help, tell him.”
“I don't see how it could help.” Alice Hawfield took another look at her daughter. “It wasn't another woman who took him from us, but there was once when I wondered.”
She paused, looking more uncomfortable than she had at any time since Michael had asked his first question.
“When was that?” Michael prodded her.
“Not long before we split up. Eleven, twelve years ago.” She shifted in the lobby chair, making the seat squeak. “I haven't thought about this for years. I'm surprised I even remember it with everything else that was going on. That could be why I
do remember. We were having all these problems of our own, and Jay was obsessed with something that had happened to this woman he knew from the road.”
Michael interrupted. “Do you remember her name?”
She thought a moment. “If he ever said her name, I don't remember it. He talked about people he met on the road that way. Without names. He knew I wouldn't know them anyway, so he'd say something like West End Bill or Louisville Lady.”
“Did he do that this time?” Michael wanted to push Roxanne's name at the woman, but he waited.
“I don't think he ever said Hidden Springs anything, but then it's all been so long ago.”
“But you remember him talking about a woman,” Michael prompted.
“Only because when Jay talked about her I realized how attracted he was to her, whether he'd done anything about it or not. As I said, she was in some kind of trouble, and he wanted us to help her. I remember wondering if he was in love with her, and that's when I discovered I didn't care. Maybe that's why I remember it. Because I didn't care.”
She sent a look of silent apology toward the daughter. “Jay talked on and on about this woman. The hard time she was having. He even wanted to loan her money as if we had any money to loan. I remember thinking I should be jealous, but I just didn't care.”
Michael pushed a few more questions at her, but that was all Alice Hawfield could recall. The woman Rayburn wanted to help might have been a waitress, but she could also have been a motel clerk or somebody in one of the offices Jay visited. She didn't think Jay mentioned a child or children, but he could have. It was so long ago.
At last, Michael threw out the name Roxanne.
“Roxanne?” The woman echoed the name, then shook her head. “I don't remember anything about a Roxanne. I'm sorry, but I can't see how any of this could help you in your investigation.”
Michael took a drink of the stone cold coffee to give him a moment to think, but he couldn't come up with any more questions. He printed his name and phone number on a couple of Sheriff Potter's old campaign cards and asked them to call if they thought of anything else that might help.
When Michael trotted out a couple more of his stock phrases, the daughter gave him a trembling smile. The mother didn't smile, but her assessing look was friendlier.
Before going out the door, Michael glanced back at them. The girl stood forlornly watching the mother straighten the magazines on the table and pick up tissues and coffee cups.
On the drive back to Hidden Springs, Michael considered the mother. Her bitter anger toward her ex-husband could be counted motive. Marital complications often figured in homicides. The woman hadn't shown an inkling of sorrow that Jay Rayburn was dead, only relief that he wouldn't be able to hurt her daughter anymore.
Not that death always stopped those kinds of hurts. Especially a death like this, but if she thought it could, that might strengthen her motive. Even if she was at work miles from Hidden Springs on Tuesday, she could have hired someone to kill Rayburn. In that scenario, why not in Hidden Springs?
Michael let the idea circle in his mind as he pulled out and around a slow-moving tractor-trailer truck, but it just wouldn't fit the woman. If Alice Hawfield had shot Jay Rayburn, she'd have shot him point-blank, covered his dead body
with an old blanket, and then washed her hands before she called the police. Simple, straightforward, to the point.
As he stared at the road, Michael just couldn't make her a suspect. He was almost to the exit for Hidden Springs, the town's name little more than an afterthought to the real reason for the exit, Eagle Lake. Maybe he should have asked the mother about that. Rayburn might have linked the woman from his past to Eagle Lake. Eagle Lake waitress or something like that.
That morning, Michael had headed to Eagleton thinking Rayburn might be Anthony's father. Now he was driving home, somehow sure he wasn't. He didn't have any proof one way or the other. At the same time, Michael had a gut feeling the woman Rayburn had wanted to help was Roxanne. He could be reaching for straws in his search for a reason for Rayburn to be in Hidden Springs. Plus, even if the man had known Roxanne, what possible connection could that have to his murder? Roxanne left Hidden Springs years ago.
At the office, Sheriff Potter listened to Michael run through what the women had told him and then said, “So they weren't much help other than his gambling, and Buck had already found out about that.”
Michael sat down at his desk. “I'll write up a report on what they said anyway.”
“Good.” The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “We'd better go by the book on this one in case the higher-ups get involved. It might turn out to be more than we suspect, but right now it's looking like those men his ex-wife talked about finally got tired of waiting for their money.”
“Could be.” Michael gave the computer on his desk a
look, but grabbed a notepad instead. He could think better with a pen in his hand.
“Oh, by the way.” The sheriff's voice was casual, as though talking about somebody bringing in doughnuts. “Darrell Peterson came in this morning, and we got that mess all squared away.”
Michael looked up. “Did you?”
“Sure. First offense. Juveniles like that. I don't think it'll happen again. They're basically good boys who just got carried away. You remember how it was, don't you?”
“No.” Michael kept his eyes on the sheriff's face. He'd known the sheriff would let the boys off, and he did hope the boys would straighten up after their little scare last night. But he wasn't going to pretend he thought the sheriff had done the right thing.
Sheriff Potter gave a wave of his hand like he was flicking away a pesky fly. “No sense making criminals out of kids if you don't have to.”
“What if it had been Anthony Blake who'd stolen the stuff? Would you have given him another chance?”
The sheriff's eyebrows almost met as he frowned over at Michael. “Good granny gravy, Mike, we've bent over backwards for that boy a dozen times, and what good has it done so far?”
Michael looked down at his desk. “I guess you're right, Sheriff. Sorry.”
“That's okay. I know you've made a personal case of straightening up that boy, but sometimes in our business we have to face facts. And the fact is, the Blake kid doesn't want to straighten up.”
“Aunt Lindy thinks he does. She has him doing his homework.”
“Well, Malinda has worked miracles before.” The sheriff leaned back, wincing when his chair creaked loudly. He looked over at Betty Jean. “Did you buy the oil for this chair yet, Betty Jean?”
“No, Uncle Al. You said you'd take care of that.” Betty Jean answered without shifting her attention away from her computer screen.
“I did? Huh.” The sheriff turned back to Michael. “But if I was you, Mike, I'd keep a close eye on that boy and think twice about letting him be alone with Malinda.” Sheriff Potter picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers.
“Come on, Sheriff. Anthony's never done anything that bad. Minor stuff mostly.”
“Maybe so, but the boy's got an attitude.” The sheriff leaned forward, his chair popping and creaking again. This time he didn't appear to notice as he stared over at Michael. “I saw him the morning we found the body out front, and he looked guilty as all get-out. I'm thinking he knew something he wasn't telling.”
“I know. I saw him too. I asked him about it, but he says he just happened by and stopped to gawk like everybody else.”
“And you believed him?” The sheriff's eyes narrowed a little.
“No.”
“That's what I mean. You've got to watch the boy. He's a hard one to peg, and it's no telling what he might do next.”
“I can't believe he had anything to do with the shooting.” Michael couldn't keep from coming to Anthony's defense.
“I'm not saying he did, but you best keep an eye on him, like I said.”
“I plan to do that.”
Sheriff Potter stood up and put on his hat. “I'm going up
the street.” He glanced at Betty Jean. “Got to get that oil. I'll be at the Grill if anybody needs me.”
Betty Jean looked up from her computer. “You haven't told Michael about Paul calling.”
“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot that.” The sheriff turned back to Michael. “Paul's back to knowing where he is, and he wants you to call him over at the hospital and give him a report.”
“Great.” Michael didn't hide his lack of enthusiasm. “How about if I just take a copy of my report over to the chief?”
“Nope, you call Paul. He says they're letting him go home on Monday, and he's thinking he can run the investigation from his house for a while. Just till he gets back to the office.” The sheriff grinned. “I told him we'd be glad to work with him any way we could.”
“Thanks for nothing.” Michael didn't crack a smile as he added, “Actually Buck and I have been talking about taking a couple of weeks off to go fishing now that the weather's warming up. This might be the perfect time.”
“Now, none of that kind of talk.” The sheriff laughed. “You boys are going to have to learn to work together.”
“You tell that to Buck.”
“I expect I'll have to. Several times. But the fact is, it don't matter much anyhow. Like I already told you, I don't figure whoever did Rayburn in stayed around town.”
“I wish I could believe that,” Michael said.
“I don't know why you can't. Nobody in Hidden Springs even knew this guy, much less had any reason to shoot him. Now, I don't think we've got anybody in this town that would just walk up and shoot somebody without some kind of reason, do you?” He didn't expect Michael to answer as he went on. “That kind of meanness may go on in the cities
where folks are pushed in too close on one another, but not out here. Not in Hidden Springs.”