Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) by Livia J. Washburn

his head and went on, “No, that’s a stupid question. He’s in jail, and he’s going to prison for murdering his wife. He can’t be doing any good.”
    “Actually, it’s worse than that,” Phyllis said. “He got in a fight with some of the other prisoners this morning, so he’s kind of beaten up right now.”
    Brian’s hands clenched into fists on the desk in front of him. He looked like he wanted to curse, but he held it in. He sat back, shook his head, and muttered, “It’s not right. It’s just not right.”
    “You don’t think he did it?”
    Brian reached over to the other desk and picked up a framed photograph that was sitting where Phyllis and Sam couldn’t see it. He turned the picture around and set it on his desk facing them.
    “Does that look like a guy who could ever hurt his wife?”
    The couple in the photo were at a lake somewhere, standing together on the beach and smiling into the camera while sailboats with bright sails cut across the water behind them. Phyllis recognized Danny right away. He wore swimming trunks and a t-shirt. The woman beside him with light brown hair was in cut-off jeans and a bikini top. She was considerably shorter than him. She had her left arm around his waist, and his right arm was looped around her shoulders. They looked young, healthy, happy, and totally at ease with each other.
    “Just look at ’em,” Brian went on. “You can tell they’re, like, completely in love with each other.”
    That was the way it looked to Phyllis, and when she glanced over at Sam, he shrugged and nodded, indicating that he agreed with Brian, too.
    “That was taken last summer, Fourth of July, up on Eagle Mountain Lake. Less than a year later the cops were saying he killed Roxanne. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now.” Brian blew out an exasperated-sounding breath. “I just wish I’d been here that evening so I could’ve given Danny an alibi. He left here at eight forty-five, got to the salon and found Roxie and called 911 a couple of minutes before nine. He wouldn’t have had time to hurt her like that.”
    “How do you know he left at eight forty-five?” Phyllis asked.
    Brian frowned and said, “Well...that’s what he told me when I talked to him later. I don’t have any reason not to believe him. I just couldn’t testify to it in court and prove he was telling the truth.”
    Sam asked, “Was it unusual for one of you to stay late workin’ like that?”
    Brian shook his head, saying, “No, not really. We took all the jobs we could get. With money so tight, you’ve sort of got to. Sometimes we got backed up and had to work late to get the cars finished by the time we promised them to the owners. If it takes longer than what they’re expecting, they don’t come back next time they need some work done.”
    “You both worked late?” Phyllis said.
    “Sometimes me, sometimes Danny, sometimes both of us,” Brian said. A frown creased his forehead. “All these questions are starting to seem a little funny. You’re supposed to be helping Danny by finding out who really killed his wife, right?”
    “That’s the idea,” Phyllis admitted.
    “That doesn’t have anything to do with the shop,” Brian said, spreading his hands. “She was killed at the salon. She hardly ever came down here. I don’t blame her. It’s kind of dirty and noisy and smelly around here, and that’s on a good day.”
    “We’re looking at everything in Roxanne’s life, and in Danny’s, too,” Phyllis said. “Right now we really don’t know enough to suspect anything or anybody.”
    “Well...I guess that makes sense. For a minute there, I just got worried that you thought I might’ve had something to do with her death.”
    “Not at all,” Phyllis said—not because she believed Brian Flynn to be innocent, but because it was just too soon to know, like she had told him.
    “You married, Brian?” Sam asked.
    “No. I figure I’ll settle down one of these