Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner Page B

you did at the golf course,” I said.
    â€œI worked in the garage keeping all those carts running smoothly and spit-shined, ready for the rich folks to drive their fat butts around the course for their exercise. Bryan got me the job, but even he couldn’t save my bacon after my unfortunate incarceration.” The nozzle snicked off and he coaxed an extra gallon into my tank with a series of nozzle clicks.
    â€œJoe’s a good guy,” I said once there was silence.
    â€œYeah, the man’s solid. Truth is, I like working here better than at the course anyhow. Pay’s not so good, but at least I’m working on real cars.” He jerked his head toward the garage.
    â€œHow was it for you in there, Gavin?” I asked.
    â€œBad,” he said. “I see now why sometimes people come out worse than when they went in. It’s like a technical school for criminals. I learned about burglary, fraud, scamming, and fighting. I hope I don’t ever use any of it. But I also learned a little about myself. The prison shrink informs me I have poor impulse control, can you believe that?”
    â€œHard to imagine,” I said. “Listen, I wanted to say I’m sorry about Sherry Burton; I understand you were friends with her.”
    â€œHow did you know—” He stopped and cocked his head back. “Oh yeah, you know the big cop, right? Well, like I told him, I knew her when we were kids, but I haven’t seen her in a long, long time. I was sorry to hear about how she died. It was terrible, but I don’t know anything about it.”
    He was emphatic, maybe a little too emphatic, and I noticed he was no longer looking at me.
    *   *   *
    When I got home I went immediately to the workroom, where I found a stack of photocopies Esme had left for me from her morning courthouse excursion. Using the info she’d gotten on Miss Lottie, I was able to backtrack to her father, Samuel Wright, and after some digging I found what little there was of his military record. Samuel Wright had served in World War I, and from what I could find out about his unit, he’d probably spent some time on the front lines.
    I had no proof that the glass casket held Samuel Wright’s remains, but everything pointed in that direction and I figured it was time I called River to report the theory.
    â€œSo, run that by me again,” he said, getting lost in my recitation of names and relationships. “This Samuel Wright ties into this place how?”
    â€œHe was the brother of Sadie Wright Harper, the wife of the owner of the property starting around 1910. Oren Harper, Sadie’s husband, inherited it from his folks. Sadie and Oren had no children, and they left the property to Miss Lottie Wright Walker, who would have been their niece. I’m still digging, and as I said, I have no proof as yet that the remains you found were those of Samuel Wright, but he’s our best candidate so far.”
    â€œYeah,” River said, “now all I’d like to know is how and why he ended up with a hole in his skull, buried in my yard in a glass coffin, the grave unmarked and undisclosed. Is his death related in any way to that young woman who died at his grave? Who would have been related to him how, exactly?”
    â€œThat’s a lot of questions,” I said with a sigh, my excitement about my theory waning in the face of all that remained unknown. “If I’m on the right track, he would have been her great-grandfather. You mentioned there might be some things in your attic we could go through. When would be a good time for us to do that?”
    â€œHow about tonight?” River asked. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be at five, but I should be back here by six thirty at the latest. I can rig some trouble lights up there and it’ll be cooler after the sun goes down anyhow. Does that work for you?”
    â€œYou bet,” I said. “I’ll