citizens. Even the ones who don’t deserve it.”
“Rodney’s been through enough in his life. The least we can do is try to keep him out of it while you tear apart the only family he has.”
Sims flushed. “My brother is about to die, Sheriff. Forgive me if my top priority isn’t the emotional welfare of Huggins’s nephew.”
“Okay, easy,” he said, but understood.
Rebecca came back and Nick said, “Two coffees, two orange juices, and
brötchen
.” He looked at Sims. ”A standard breakfast okay?”
Sims nodded and Rebecca left with the order. The same breakfast nine out of ten patrons ordered every morning. Nick leaned onto his forearms and got down to business. “I want the truth: Did you vandalize your own motel room?”
Sims looked at him like he was out of his mind. “How would I have done that? I’ve been with you since last night.”
“Deputy Hogue was right. You could’ve hired it done when you got to town.”
“Oh, for the love of God. I barely had time to check in to the motel and get over to Hilltop House, let alone scout out a hired thug. Check my flight time if you don’t believe me.”
“I will,” he promised, but he did believe her. Wished he didn’t. It would be easier if she were the bad guy. He leaned back. “Okay, I’ve read all the paper we could get over a weekend. Now I want to know what’s
not
there. Start with your brother.”
Her eyes widened—emerald green in this light—and he realized she hadn’t expected him to ask. She’d assumed he wouldn’t bother. “Justin was a senior in high school,” she began. “He lived with my husband and me.”
“Why? Were there problems at home?”
“Of course not. Everything was fine,” she said, but it came out a little too rushed to sound sincere. “Our mother moved and Justin wanted to stay in the same school, that’s all. David and I had room.”
“Okay.” Could be.
“Justin had a part-time job at a community center, setting up for conferences and banquets and things. Lauren McAllister was part of an event there. She had some artwork on display for a show and Justin got this crazy crush. He was seventeen and she was nineteen.”
“He admitted to sleeping with her.”
“They dated a little. And before you point it out, he also admitted to having an argument with her the day she was killed.”
“Over another man.”
“Over John Huggins.”
“Over an
unidentified
man,” Nick insisted. “From what I read, there was no proof it was Huggins. Hell, he would have been almost twenty years older than Lauren. And married.”
“Right,” Sims said, with an edge that could have cut diamonds. “Married, middle-aged men never have affairs with younger women.”
They both leaned back while Rebecca piled food on the table. When she was gone, Nick went on. “Why are you so convinced Lauren’s lover was John Huggins?”
She reached into her purse, handed a page across the table. Nick set down his fork and unfolded it.
“Holy shit,” he said. It was a pencil sketch of a male figure, all angles and planes and broken lines, with the distinct feeling of angst. Disjointed arms and legs, an oversized penis, eyes contorted and angry. The only hints of color in the picture were two dabs of watercolor bleeding over the lines around the irises: one blue, one green.
“Did you give this to the police?”
“Yes. And to the DA and to Justin’s attorney. But there were dozens of other pictures. Lauren was an aspiring artist and these were all products of an artist’s imagination. They said that even if this
was
John Huggins, she could have just known him from his wife’s art studio, and that even if she’d had an affair with him, it didn’t mean he’d shot her.”
“All good points.” Nick gestured for her to eat. “Did you ever consider that Justin could have done it?”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you ever, just for one minute, thought he
could
have done it.”
“Of
“Rodney’s been through enough in his life. The least we can do is try to keep him out of it while you tear apart the only family he has.”
Sims flushed. “My brother is about to die, Sheriff. Forgive me if my top priority isn’t the emotional welfare of Huggins’s nephew.”
“Okay, easy,” he said, but understood.
Rebecca came back and Nick said, “Two coffees, two orange juices, and
brötchen
.” He looked at Sims. ”A standard breakfast okay?”
Sims nodded and Rebecca left with the order. The same breakfast nine out of ten patrons ordered every morning. Nick leaned onto his forearms and got down to business. “I want the truth: Did you vandalize your own motel room?”
Sims looked at him like he was out of his mind. “How would I have done that? I’ve been with you since last night.”
“Deputy Hogue was right. You could’ve hired it done when you got to town.”
“Oh, for the love of God. I barely had time to check in to the motel and get over to Hilltop House, let alone scout out a hired thug. Check my flight time if you don’t believe me.”
“I will,” he promised, but he did believe her. Wished he didn’t. It would be easier if she were the bad guy. He leaned back. “Okay, I’ve read all the paper we could get over a weekend. Now I want to know what’s
not
there. Start with your brother.”
Her eyes widened—emerald green in this light—and he realized she hadn’t expected him to ask. She’d assumed he wouldn’t bother. “Justin was a senior in high school,” she began. “He lived with my husband and me.”
“Why? Were there problems at home?”
“Of course not. Everything was fine,” she said, but it came out a little too rushed to sound sincere. “Our mother moved and Justin wanted to stay in the same school, that’s all. David and I had room.”
“Okay.” Could be.
“Justin had a part-time job at a community center, setting up for conferences and banquets and things. Lauren McAllister was part of an event there. She had some artwork on display for a show and Justin got this crazy crush. He was seventeen and she was nineteen.”
“He admitted to sleeping with her.”
“They dated a little. And before you point it out, he also admitted to having an argument with her the day she was killed.”
“Over another man.”
“Over John Huggins.”
“Over an
unidentified
man,” Nick insisted. “From what I read, there was no proof it was Huggins. Hell, he would have been almost twenty years older than Lauren. And married.”
“Right,” Sims said, with an edge that could have cut diamonds. “Married, middle-aged men never have affairs with younger women.”
They both leaned back while Rebecca piled food on the table. When she was gone, Nick went on. “Why are you so convinced Lauren’s lover was John Huggins?”
She reached into her purse, handed a page across the table. Nick set down his fork and unfolded it.
“Holy shit,” he said. It was a pencil sketch of a male figure, all angles and planes and broken lines, with the distinct feeling of angst. Disjointed arms and legs, an oversized penis, eyes contorted and angry. The only hints of color in the picture were two dabs of watercolor bleeding over the lines around the irises: one blue, one green.
“Did you give this to the police?”
“Yes. And to the DA and to Justin’s attorney. But there were dozens of other pictures. Lauren was an aspiring artist and these were all products of an artist’s imagination. They said that even if this
was
John Huggins, she could have just known him from his wife’s art studio, and that even if she’d had an affair with him, it didn’t mean he’d shot her.”
“All good points.” Nick gestured for her to eat. “Did you ever consider that Justin could have done it?”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you ever, just for one minute, thought he
could
have done it.”
“Of
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