“It’s Dorie.”
Wil saluted him with his Coke and left him to talk to his wife in private. With the exception of Jamie Peterson, almost everyone on his team was married and settled. Fred Fischer claimed to have been happily married until his wife passed away. Wil felt a twinge of envy for the couples, although he’d hardly given settling down a thought until last year, after his dad’s stroke.
After he’d met Elizabeth.
“I was just coming to get you, Wil.” Zelda hovered at his door. “Deputy Blanco’s here.”
Geraldo Blanco sat in the same chair Brady had vacated minutes earlier, in front of Wil’s desk. His Latino looks and name contradicted his Southern drawl, but Blanco’s family had settled in Foster County long before Cuba had been Castro’s. “What’s up?”
Wil motioned with his canned Coke toward the locker room. “Grab your life jacket. We’re going fishing.”
To his credit, Geraldo obeyed without question. Waiting until Brady finished his call, he filled Geraldo in on his plans to drag the Suwannee River.
“Sure, boss. We’ll work the river while she’s low. We have to work fast, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“You didn’t hear? That depression’s been upgraded to a tropical storm, and it could hit here within a week. If it dumps a lot of rain and floods the valley, we’ll never find anything.”
Wil bit back an expletive. He’d tried to tame his gutter-mouth from his younger days as a detective. He was sheriff now and proud of his professionalism. “No, I hadn’t heard, but you’re right. Let’s do it.”
“Sheriff Drake,” Zelda called from the doorway. “Before you leave, Police Chief Gillespie needs a word with you.”
“Now what?” Wil muttered.
“Go ahead, Wil. I’ll hook up the boat trailer.”
“Thanks, Geraldo.” He swept through the locker room, past Zelda’s desk, and into his office, where Adam Gillespie stood glaring at him. “What can I do for you—”
“If you want to question me about dating Cathleen Hodges, question
me
, not her gossipy girlfriends.”
“Relax, Adam, and sit.” Wil spoke in a soft voice, hoping to defuse the man’s anger. Red-faced and blustery, Adam huffed, scowled, and finally sat. “What’s this about?”
“You know. Hell, everybody in Boyd’s Diner knows. You think I dated Cathleen Hodges, right?”
“Nope. Mistaken identity, and it’s cleared up now.”
“You should’ve cleared it up with
me.”
Wil tossed his life jacket onto the desk and sat down. “I apologize. I should’ve gone directly to you and asked. One of her friends said you dated Kris Knight, not—”
“I did go out with Cathleen Hodges, and I want to tell you about it so there’s no suspicion or gossip.” His shoulders dropped, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “God knows we’ve had enough gossip.”
“If you’re referring to the strain between our two families, I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to get past that if I knew how.”
“I don’t know how, either, Wil, so let’s stick to your homicide. I want you to take my statement.”
“All right. But off the record, you’re no suspect, Adam.”
“Maybe not, but we need to do this by the book.”
Wil appreciated Adam’s cooperation. No matter their personal history, Adam was an honorable man, not a murderer. Wil slid his recorder from his desk drawer, recited the date, time, and Adam’s name into it, then pointed the recorder toward Adam.
“I invited Cathleen Hodges to go to the Suwannee River Jam in April, down at the Music Park.”
Wil knew the place. Located in Suwannee County, the Music Park hosted concerts almost every weekend. For clarification for Adam’s statement, he spoke toward the recorder, “That three-day event with the big-name country singers?”
“Yes. I buy tickets every year. This year, I invited Cathleen. We went the first day in my boat, got badly sunburned, and she didn’t want to return for the rest of the shows. So I took Amy
Wil saluted him with his Coke and left him to talk to his wife in private. With the exception of Jamie Peterson, almost everyone on his team was married and settled. Fred Fischer claimed to have been happily married until his wife passed away. Wil felt a twinge of envy for the couples, although he’d hardly given settling down a thought until last year, after his dad’s stroke.
After he’d met Elizabeth.
“I was just coming to get you, Wil.” Zelda hovered at his door. “Deputy Blanco’s here.”
Geraldo Blanco sat in the same chair Brady had vacated minutes earlier, in front of Wil’s desk. His Latino looks and name contradicted his Southern drawl, but Blanco’s family had settled in Foster County long before Cuba had been Castro’s. “What’s up?”
Wil motioned with his canned Coke toward the locker room. “Grab your life jacket. We’re going fishing.”
To his credit, Geraldo obeyed without question. Waiting until Brady finished his call, he filled Geraldo in on his plans to drag the Suwannee River.
“Sure, boss. We’ll work the river while she’s low. We have to work fast, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“You didn’t hear? That depression’s been upgraded to a tropical storm, and it could hit here within a week. If it dumps a lot of rain and floods the valley, we’ll never find anything.”
Wil bit back an expletive. He’d tried to tame his gutter-mouth from his younger days as a detective. He was sheriff now and proud of his professionalism. “No, I hadn’t heard, but you’re right. Let’s do it.”
“Sheriff Drake,” Zelda called from the doorway. “Before you leave, Police Chief Gillespie needs a word with you.”
“Now what?” Wil muttered.
“Go ahead, Wil. I’ll hook up the boat trailer.”
“Thanks, Geraldo.” He swept through the locker room, past Zelda’s desk, and into his office, where Adam Gillespie stood glaring at him. “What can I do for you—”
“If you want to question me about dating Cathleen Hodges, question
me
, not her gossipy girlfriends.”
“Relax, Adam, and sit.” Wil spoke in a soft voice, hoping to defuse the man’s anger. Red-faced and blustery, Adam huffed, scowled, and finally sat. “What’s this about?”
“You know. Hell, everybody in Boyd’s Diner knows. You think I dated Cathleen Hodges, right?”
“Nope. Mistaken identity, and it’s cleared up now.”
“You should’ve cleared it up with
me.”
Wil tossed his life jacket onto the desk and sat down. “I apologize. I should’ve gone directly to you and asked. One of her friends said you dated Kris Knight, not—”
“I did go out with Cathleen Hodges, and I want to tell you about it so there’s no suspicion or gossip.” His shoulders dropped, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “God knows we’ve had enough gossip.”
“If you’re referring to the strain between our two families, I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to get past that if I knew how.”
“I don’t know how, either, Wil, so let’s stick to your homicide. I want you to take my statement.”
“All right. But off the record, you’re no suspect, Adam.”
“Maybe not, but we need to do this by the book.”
Wil appreciated Adam’s cooperation. No matter their personal history, Adam was an honorable man, not a murderer. Wil slid his recorder from his desk drawer, recited the date, time, and Adam’s name into it, then pointed the recorder toward Adam.
“I invited Cathleen Hodges to go to the Suwannee River Jam in April, down at the Music Park.”
Wil knew the place. Located in Suwannee County, the Music Park hosted concerts almost every weekend. For clarification for Adam’s statement, he spoke toward the recorder, “That three-day event with the big-name country singers?”
“Yes. I buy tickets every year. This year, I invited Cathleen. We went the first day in my boat, got badly sunburned, and she didn’t want to return for the rest of the shows. So I took Amy
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