“I’m not sure,” I said again. The fact that she hadn’t actually answered my question wasn’t lost on me, but Marion has always been notoriously protective of her babies. “Maybe I misunderstood what he said last time I was here, but I thought he told me he hadn’t seen a man with a limp around town.”
Marion’s spine straightened almost imperceptibly, but I knew she sensed a threat. “If you’re talking about the man who was murdered in town, I’m sure that’s what he said. Dwayne wouldn’t know anyone like that.”
Yeah. He was obviously too classy to know any murdered people. “Has he been driving your car while he’s here?”
“Sometimes, why?”
“I’m afraid somebody saw him in town with Lou Hobbs, the murder victim, a couple of weeks before the murder.”
“That’s ridiculous. Whoever told you that is lying.”
I didn’t want to put Corelle in the hot seat, so I left her name out of it. “The person I talked to said that Dwayne was driving your car.”
Marion shook her head firmly. “Impossible. Dwayne told you he didn’t know that man. If he says he didn’t, then he didn’t.”
I wondered what kind of mother and grandmother I would have made. Would I have been able to look at my offspring honestly, or would I have put blinders on and refused to see them as they really were? “Has he ever mentioned the name Lou Hobbs to you before?”
“Was that the murdered man? Of course not.”
“What about Kerry Hendrix or Quentin Ingersol? Are either of them friends of his?”
Clearly angry, Marion got to her feet and shoved the box of caramels at me. “I don’t know why you’re asking all of these ridiculous questions, Abby, but I don’t like it. Dwayne is a good boy. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and he doesn’t know the man who was murdered. Now, I’ll thank you to leave.”
Disappointed but not surprised, I stood. I couldn’t think of any argument for staying, so I let her usher me outside again. The door slammed behind me, and I stood on the porch trying to decide what to do next. I was halfway down the driveway when I heard a loud bang coming from the garage and realized that Dwayne must be hard at work out there.
Without giving myself a chance to think twice, I hurried down the driveway. The rolling door on the garage was closed, but the side door stood partway open, and another loud bang told me I’d been right. Dwayne was inside.
I knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside the garage at the same time. Large pieces of furniture lined the walls, blocked the windows, and threw the whole garage into shadow. I could see a single bare bulb hanging from the rafters at the back of the garage, but the place was so crammed full of furniture I wasn’t sure how to get back there. “Dwayne? Are you in here?”
Something metal clanged loudly, and an instant later Dwayne materialized out of the clutter. He held something in his hand, but I couldn’t get a good look at it. I was too busy looking at the unwelcome scowl on his face. “What in the hell do you want?”
That was a good question. I wanted answers, but it seemed like a good idea to be cautious about how I went after them. I decided to act as if our encounter at the bank had never happened. “I was just talking to your grandmother. She said you were out here, and I thought I’d come out and see what it is you do.”
He darted a rapid glance at something behind him. “This isn’t a good time. Come back later.”
That glance made my internal radar go off, and I’d have bet the farm he was hiding something back there. In fact, the whole setup felt funny to me. A row of carefully cut wooden decorations stretched away on the floor in front of me. They were beautifully crafted and intricate, but they were obviously new. In that instant, I understood that this wasn’t an ordinary workshop, and Dwayne wasn’t restoring old tables and chairs.
“Sure. That’s cool,” I said, trying to look as if I meant it. “I don’t want to intrude. I’m just curious, that’s all. Your grandmother can’t say enough about the work you’re doing.”
“Yeah? Well. Whatever.” Dwayne shifted his weight, and the part of him that had still been in shadow moved into the light. He was holding a massive wrench in both hands, and the sight of it made my stomach turn over. “What did you need to talk to Grandma about?”
I wasn’t planning on provoking him, but I calculated my chances of outrunning him just in case. Considering his bulk and the way his pants hung low on his hips, I figured the odds were slightly in my favor. “I didn’t need to talk to her about anything. I brought her that box of caramels I’ve been promising her.”
“That so?” He cocked a look at the box in my hands. “Then why do
you
still have it?”
That was another good question. I held out the box impulsively. “I brought this one for you.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he took the box from me, and I considered that a step in the right direction. He put the wrench down on an unfinished two-drawer dresser with a deep scar running up the side and pawed through the first layer of caramels. I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t in imminent danger of having my head broken. If he’d been on the verge of attacking, he’d still be holding the wrench.
The candy didn’t relax him, though. He was definitely worried about me seeing something. Every glance into a corner, every shift of his beady little eyes, only convinced me more.
“I think I may have misunderstood something you told me the other day,” I said as he shoved a piece of candy into his mouth. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t seen the guy with the limp?”
Dwayne’s eyes flicked away from the candy and landed on my face. “That’s right.”
“Was that before or after you guaranteed to pay the rent on his apartment if he couldn’t?”
“Who said I did that?”
“I happened to run into his landlady today. She mentioned that you were with him when he rented the room from her.”
Dwayne swallowed the caramel and growled, “Bitch.”
“Are you saying you weren’t with him?”
He glowered at me from beneath a thick line of sandy-colored eyebrow and shoved the box of candy at me. “I’m not saying nothin’. Why don’t you take your candy and get out?”
After he’d had his dirty fingers all over the box? Was he nuts? I shook my head and pressed the box back at him. “Keep it. Throw it away. Whatever. Why did you lie about knowing Lou Hobbs?”
Dwayne jammed the lid on the box and tossed it onto a table. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”
I kept one eye on the wrench, just in case. “No, but you will have to talk to the police when they get here.”
“You gonna rat me out?”
“They’re going to find out you knew Hobbs sooner or later,” I said with a shrug. “If you didn’t kill him, why don’t you just admit it?”
He snatched the wrench again and whipped around to glare at me. “Don’t you dare try to pin that on me. I didn’t touch that sonofabitch.”
I felt myself flinch, but I forced myself to hold my ground. He wasn’t out of control yet, but he
was
trying to intimidate me. “Can you prove that?”
“I don’t have to. Not to you.”
“No, but you might have to prove it to the police. Where were you last Monday night, Dwayne?”
“Go to hell.”
“Does that mean you
don’t
have an alibi?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was right here, working.”
“What time?”
“All evening. Whatever time Lou Hobbs got himself whacked.” He stared at me, hard. “I didn’t kill him, so get the hell out of here, and let me get back to work.”
That sounded like good advice, but I still had a couple of questions, and I might not get another chance to ask them. “How did you know him?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Did you know him when he used to live here?”
In the blink of an eye, the anger left his face, and nervousness replaced it. “Where did you hear that?”
“Around. Is that how you know him?”
“Lou Hobbs never lived here,” he said, leaning in so close I could smell something sour on his breath. “You got that?”
An uncomfortable warning darted up my spine, and this time I
did
draw back. “I don’t believe you. I think Hobbs did live somewhere around here, and I think that’s how you and Quentin and Kerry know him.”
Dwayne straightened sharply. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You think you have it all figured out, but you don’t know shit.”
The look in his eyes stopped me cold, and suddenly I understood the reason for his edginess. “You know who killed him, don’t you?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“I think you do. I think you know exactly what happened, and I think you know why. So why haven’t you gone to the police?”
In one quick movement, Dwayne took me by the shoulders, spun me around, and propelled me toward the door. “I don’t know anything,” he said again, “especially not who killed Lou Hobbs.” He shoved me out onto the lawn with such force, I nearly lost my balance. “Now go away and leave me alone.”
He slammed the door between us, I heard the lock turn, and reluctantly I admitted that our conversation was over. I could see Marion watching me from her kitchen window, and I knew I’d just lost a friend and Divinity had lost a long-time customer. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that she was in serious denial. Dwayne was lying. I could feel that in every cell of my body. He
knew
who the murderer was. All I had to do now was get him to tell the police.
Chapter 32
I tried to call Jawarski on my way back to Divinity,
but ended up having to leave a message. The delay in telling him what I knew chafed, but there was nothing I could do. I’d see him that night for Richie and Dylan’s party, but I didn’t want to talk about the murder there.
He’d apologized, Jawarski style, for the comment he’d made while we were in his office, and I was no longer hurt by it, but I couldn’t forget it. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t only interested in him for his connections, and the best way I knew to do that was to avoid talking about the murder.
I went straight back to work. Karen had been pulling so much of the weight around Divinity lately, I gave her the afternoon off and spent the rest of the day catching up on all of the things I should have been doing in the shop.
By the time we locked the doors, Liberty and I had polished most of the glass, mopped the black-and-white checked floors, and given the wrought-iron chairs and tables a thorough cleaning. We’d restocked the shelves Karen hadn’t been able to get to, and even spent a few minutes brainstorming next month’s window display.
At seven, I raced upstairs, changed into a new pair of black pants and a suede tunic in a shade the online catalog had called “bark.” Satisfied that the color really didn’t wash out my skin tone or make me look ready to pass out, I slipped on a pair of low heels (I am
so
not a stiletto gal) and gave my appearance a final once-over.
Jawarski and I had agreed to meet at the party, so I opened a jar of peanut butter so Max would have something to do besides chew my shoes and take inventory of the bathroom garbage. Once I was satisfied that Max was content, I headed out.
Parking near the Silver River Inn is impossible under normal circumstances. When Richie and Dylan entertain, it’s a nightmare. I circled the inn forever before I finally found a spot wide enough to wedge the Jetta into. Slipping my keys into my pocket, I resisted the urge to rush up the stairs. Making a good entrance into a room isn’t my strong point, but I do try not to barge in red-faced and out of breath.
Richie spotted me the instant I came inside and swept down on me like a hawk. “Don’t you look
fabulous
? Where did you find that gorgeous blouse?”
I started to tell him, and he put a finger to my lips and stared at me, horrified. “Darling,
never
tell where you got your clothes. Never, ever, ever. Be flattered that someone asks, but don’t give away your secrets.”
“It’s not much of a secret,” I told him.
He waved me off with a flick of his wrist and a purse of his lips. “And that’s part of your problem, if you don’t mind me saying.” He weaved a little on his feet, and I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath, which is how I knew we were in for a long night filled with lots of gossip. Richie loves hanging over the back fence any time, but especially after he’s had a drink or two.
I linked my arm through his and strolled into the room with him in tow. Since my last visit, the place had been transformed. Hundreds of tiny white lights twinkled from the rock around the fireplace, the support pillars that held up the loft overhead, and every other surface that could possibly be lit. The cornucopia centerpieces spilled their bounty onto tables set with sparkling crystal and gleaming silver. The china looked old and exquisite, each piece rimmed by a single gold band that blended perfectly with the centerpieces.
Guests milled about, most holding a glass and taking care not to bump into the tables. “This is beautiful,” I told Richie. “Did you do this?”
He shook his head and grinned. “Dylan did most of it. Isn’t he incredible?”
“That’s almost an understatement,” I agreed. “Have you seen Jawarski yet? I’m supposed to meet him here.”
“Not yet.” Richie waved to someone across the room and nudged me farther into the room. “Rachel’s here somewhere, though, and Ginger—the owner of the antique shop I was telling you about—?” He paused and waited for me to indicate that I remembered. “She’s right over there. See the tall blond guy by the window?”
I spotted Ginger talking to a tall man with wheat-blond hair and a superior smile. A few feet away, Marshall stood by himself, watching Richie and me. His gaze made me uncomfortable, and the memory of that stupid kiss came rushing back. I shoved it away and focused on Ginger’s companion. “You invited Quentin Ingersol?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“We’ve met.”
Richie pulled his gaze away from whatever he’d been watching and settled it on me. “Is there a problem there I should know about?”