Murder at the High School Reunion by Steve Demaree Page A

see if the fish were biting.
    “I’m usually here some place.”
    I thanked him again, and Lou and I turned to head back
to civilization. We only hoped Lightning hadn’t gotten tired and left without
us.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    We got back to Lightning and took inventory of where
we were. So far we’d talked with Walter Gillis, the current janitor at the
county high school; Rose Ellen Calvert, the woman who coordinated the high
school reunion; Duck Spencer, the murdered woman’s husband; and Earl Spickard,
the retired janitor. For sure, I planned to talk to Jim Bob Gibbons, Billy and
April Korlein, and George and Sandy Justice, to get their take on who was where
and when that night. If only someone would confess, or all but one person would
agree on what went on.
    I looked at my watch and was surprised it was already
after 4:30. While everyone who attended the county high school lived out in the
country when they were in high school, only one of my remaining suspects still
lived in the country. That one was Jim Bob Gibbons. From what I could tell, he
was closer to Jimmy Conkwright than any of the others. I wondered if his take
on that night would agree with what the others had to say. It wouldn’t take me
long to find out. While Gibbons still lived out in the country, he lived in a
different part of the county. I hoped that by the time I got to his house, he’d
be home from work.
     
    +++
     
    I found Gibbons house easier than I found the old
man’s. It was a small, red brick, and it looked like he might have had a couple
of acres of land surrounding it. I pulled into the drive, got out and went up
and knocked, but no one answered. I was contemplating what to do when a four by
four pulled into the driveway. Out jumped a man nearing forty, which was the
right age for Gibbons. He had on jeans, an Army green T-shirt, and boots. He
was slender, sandy-haired, and clean shaven.
    “This is private property. What do you want?”
    “You Jim Bob Gibbons?”
    “You got cop written all over you, even though you’re
drivin’ some kind of sissy car. Listen, I don’t care what she says. I didn’t
touch that woman.”
    “Which woman is that?”
    “Emma Mae Parsons. Ain’t that what you’re a ’ere
about?”
    “Afraid not.”
    “So, you ain’t no cop?”
    “No, I’m a cop, all right. I’m Lt. Dekker. This is
Sgt. Murdock. We’d like to ask you a few questions. This is if you’re Jim Bob
Gibbons.”
    “What’s this all ’bout?”
    “Are you Jim Bob Gibbons?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m Jim Bob. Now, what’s all this ’bout?”
    “It’s about the night of the high school reunion.”
    When I said that, Gibbons seemed to relax.
    “Oh, is that all? What ’appened? Did Jimmy Conkwright
go and git ’isself in a buncha trouble? Surely, ’e’s not tryin’ to git me to
bail his sorry you know what outa jail. ’e’s got more money than Carter’s got
liver pills.”
    “Not anymore.”
    “You kiddin’ me. Jimmy lost all ’is money. ’e didn’t
say nothin’ about it that night. What ’appened?”
    “Is there some place we can sit down and talk about
this?”
    “I guess we could go out back. I call it my patio.
Actually, it’s three or four chairs in the grass and a barbecue.”
    Gibbons stretched out his pronunciation of patio and
barbecue.
    I noticed that he had a considerable limp as he led us
around the house to the back. We each took a seat, choosing three of the four
metal chairs that looked like they were nearing antique status. Gibbons
grimaced and used his arms to take most of his weight as he sat down.
    “So, Mr. Gibbons, tell me about what all happened that
night. Did you participate when everyone toured the school before the dinner?”
    “No, you mighta noticed I got me a limp. It ’urts
mosta the time, but it really ’urts if’n I try to go up or down steps. As ya
can see, I ain’t got no steps here. But that night, I got thare a few minutes
afore 7:00, afore we ate.”
    “Was Jimmy