death. He’d withdrawn a hundred dollars, leaving an account balance of two hundred and seventy-six dollars. Not exactly rolling in dough, unless he had a secret offshore account somewhere. Based on the sparse furnishings, that seemed unlikely. I opened the desk drawers but didn’t find anything worth noting. And there was no sign of Ashlee’s iPod.
My phone rang, and recognizing Ashlee’s ring tone, I pulled it out of my pocket. “What?” I didn’t hide my irritation.
“How much longer are you going to be? The car’s getting hot.”
“Take a walk outside.” I kicked at a heap of clothes as I talked, but only the dingy, stained carpet lay underneath.
“Forget it. A nosy neighbor already came out and pretended to water her flowers while she tried to spy on me. That old biddy’s always poking around.”
Old biddy? Was my sister watching Andy Griffith reruns? “I’ll be out in a bit. I still need to talk to Stump.”
“Well, hurry up, would ya?” She clicked off without saying good-bye.
Nothing like a little gratitude when you were trying to clear your sister of a murder rap.
The floor of Bobby Joe’s closet held three pairs of shoes and a pair of heavy work boots. On one side of the clothing rod, a heavy jumpsuit much like the one in Crusher’s cabin hung from a plastic hangar that sagged from the weight. A black helmet with lightning bolts sat on the shelf over the rod.
Stepping to the bed, I hefted the thin mattress and checked underneath, as I’d seen detectives do on TV. Only a box spring with holes in the thin fabric greeted me. I had no idea whether the police had already searched through Bobby Joe’s belongings and taken some items. I had to assume they had, though it was impossible to know if the cops had left this mess or if it was Bobby Joe’s natural state.
Disappointed that I hadn’t found a note with a list of people who hated Bobby Joe or maybe a diary full of blackmail evidence or even Ashlee’s iPod, I dropped the mattress back down and left the room, switching off the light on my way out.
As I shut the door, the smell of pot wafted down the hall and tickled my nose. I went back to my shallow-breathing routine. I was definitely going to keep my questions brief.
Stump sat on the couch, staring at a group of meerkats on the TV. The sound was off, and the stereo in the corner still blared rock music. He smiled at the animals and sipped a beer.
“Thanks for letting me look in Bobby Joe’s room,” I said, stepping in front of the giant screen so he couldn’t miss me.
Stump lowered his beer can and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, when’d you get here?”
I couldn’t picture this guy clubbing Bobby Joe over the head. It required too much effort. Too much concentration. “You let me in a few minutes ago, remember?”
He squinched his eyes, apparently in deep concentration, then smiled. “Yeah, dude, right on.”
At least Ashlee hadn’t hooked up with this guy. Bobby Joe was starting to look like Bachelor of the Year.
I sat on the other corner of the worn couch, the thin cushion flattening even more under my weight. “Were you and Bobby Joe roommates for a long time?”
Stump scratched his beard. “Uh, a year, I think.”
“So you must have known all of Bobby Joe’s friends. Can you tell me about them?” I suspected Stump could barely remember what he’d had for lunch today, but maybe he’d surprise me.
“Bobby Joe’s friends didn’t really come here much. He was dating some hot chick for a while, a real nice piece of tail.” He squinted at me. “Wait, that’s your sister, right?”
“Right.” I’d be sure to pass the compliment along. “Did Bobby Joe ever talk about people who might want to harm him? Anyone who held a grudge?”
Stump took a swig of beer and burped. “We didn’t talk about anything that deep, man. Mostly sports and stuff. Bobby Joe spent most of his time in his room when he was home. I think it’s cause I play my Christian Rock so
My phone rang, and recognizing Ashlee’s ring tone, I pulled it out of my pocket. “What?” I didn’t hide my irritation.
“How much longer are you going to be? The car’s getting hot.”
“Take a walk outside.” I kicked at a heap of clothes as I talked, but only the dingy, stained carpet lay underneath.
“Forget it. A nosy neighbor already came out and pretended to water her flowers while she tried to spy on me. That old biddy’s always poking around.”
Old biddy? Was my sister watching Andy Griffith reruns? “I’ll be out in a bit. I still need to talk to Stump.”
“Well, hurry up, would ya?” She clicked off without saying good-bye.
Nothing like a little gratitude when you were trying to clear your sister of a murder rap.
The floor of Bobby Joe’s closet held three pairs of shoes and a pair of heavy work boots. On one side of the clothing rod, a heavy jumpsuit much like the one in Crusher’s cabin hung from a plastic hangar that sagged from the weight. A black helmet with lightning bolts sat on the shelf over the rod.
Stepping to the bed, I hefted the thin mattress and checked underneath, as I’d seen detectives do on TV. Only a box spring with holes in the thin fabric greeted me. I had no idea whether the police had already searched through Bobby Joe’s belongings and taken some items. I had to assume they had, though it was impossible to know if the cops had left this mess or if it was Bobby Joe’s natural state.
Disappointed that I hadn’t found a note with a list of people who hated Bobby Joe or maybe a diary full of blackmail evidence or even Ashlee’s iPod, I dropped the mattress back down and left the room, switching off the light on my way out.
As I shut the door, the smell of pot wafted down the hall and tickled my nose. I went back to my shallow-breathing routine. I was definitely going to keep my questions brief.
Stump sat on the couch, staring at a group of meerkats on the TV. The sound was off, and the stereo in the corner still blared rock music. He smiled at the animals and sipped a beer.
“Thanks for letting me look in Bobby Joe’s room,” I said, stepping in front of the giant screen so he couldn’t miss me.
Stump lowered his beer can and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, when’d you get here?”
I couldn’t picture this guy clubbing Bobby Joe over the head. It required too much effort. Too much concentration. “You let me in a few minutes ago, remember?”
He squinched his eyes, apparently in deep concentration, then smiled. “Yeah, dude, right on.”
At least Ashlee hadn’t hooked up with this guy. Bobby Joe was starting to look like Bachelor of the Year.
I sat on the other corner of the worn couch, the thin cushion flattening even more under my weight. “Were you and Bobby Joe roommates for a long time?”
Stump scratched his beard. “Uh, a year, I think.”
“So you must have known all of Bobby Joe’s friends. Can you tell me about them?” I suspected Stump could barely remember what he’d had for lunch today, but maybe he’d surprise me.
“Bobby Joe’s friends didn’t really come here much. He was dating some hot chick for a while, a real nice piece of tail.” He squinted at me. “Wait, that’s your sister, right?”
“Right.” I’d be sure to pass the compliment along. “Did Bobby Joe ever talk about people who might want to harm him? Anyone who held a grudge?”
Stump took a swig of beer and burped. “We didn’t talk about anything that deep, man. Mostly sports and stuff. Bobby Joe spent most of his time in his room when he was home. I think it’s cause I play my Christian Rock so
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