Broken Places by Sandra Parshall Page A

drivin’ past.”
    “Did you see both of them this morning?”
    “Saw him leavin’ early. Not her, though, not today.”
    “Were you at home all morning?”
    “I was, and if you’re gonna ask can I prove it, all I can tell you is go ask my hens. Most of the mornin’ I was workin’ on a new coop I’m buildin’ out back.”
    If that was true, Tom thought, and if Wilson himself hadn’t killed the Taylors, he probably wasn’t much good as a witness either. He wouldn’t have seen anything from his back yard. Tom asked anyway, “Did you see any visitors next door?”
    The old man’s expression turned cagey, and he cast his eyes heavenward and frowned in mock concentration. “Now, let me see…I’m gettin’ on in years, you know. Memory’s not what it used to be.” He added with a snort, “Like a lotta other things.”
    “If you saw something over there and refuse to tell me, you’re withholding evidence in a murder investigation.”
    Wilson’s gaze swung back to Tom. “Murder? Cam Taylor wasn’t nowhere close to here when he got shot. You sayin’ the fire’s got something to do with him bein’ killed?”
    Genuine surprise, or a damn good job of acting? Tom cautioned himself not to underestimate Wilson. “Are you telling me you didn’t watch everything that went on over there after the fire? You didn’t see the hearse?”
    All the bravado and contempt drained out of Wilson’s face. “I saw a bunch of people comin’ and goin’ but…I never…You mean the wife?”
    “We found her body after the fire was put out.”
    Wilson flopped against the back of the couch. “Good lord. If I’d have knowed she was in there, I would’ve—well, I don’t know what I could’ve done. Called for help, at least.”
    Tom rapped his pen against his pad. “Her car was parked outside the house. Why would you think she wasn’t at home?”
    Wilson shook his head like a dog trying to throw off a fly. “If she was in the house, she would’ve run out when the fire started, wouldn’t she?”
    “If she’d been able to,” Tom said. “I think she was already dead by then.”
    “Sweet Jesus,” Wilson murmured. “I had my disagreements with her, but I never…To tell you the truth, I didn’t believe she was at home. I thought she went off with that fella, like she does sometimes.”
    “What fellow? So you did see somebody over there this morning?”
    Wilson straightened and shot a resentful look at Tom. “Yeah, I guess I did. Two of ’em, matter of fact. Different cars.”
    He fell silent again and seemed lost in thought. Tom prodded, “Who, Lloyd? Who was over there? This is important.”
    “One of ’em was drivin’ a fancy car, but I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. It had them windows that look real dark from the outside.”
    “When? What time?”
    “Maybe ten o’clock. But could’ve been earlier, could’ve been later.”
    “How long was the car over there?”
    “I don’t know, I didn’t time it.” With a trace of indignation, Wilson added, “I didn’t stand around starin’ through the trees. I got better things to do than spy on the neighbors.”
    Not usually, Tom thought. Why the hell did Wilson pick this day to dial back on his snooping? “You said she had two visitors. Do you know who the other one was?”
    Wilson snorted. “Ought to. Seen him over there enough times.”
    A pause without further elaboration.
    “Lloyd—”
    “Scotty Ragsdale, that’s who it was,” Wilson said. “You know him, his folks own the hardware store in town. I seen him drive up over there, but I couldn’t tell you when he left.”
    Tom’s expectation deflated into disappointment. “Meredith and Scotty have been friends a long time.”
    “Friends? I guess that’s one word for it. Real close friends, if you get my drift.”
    “You have some reason to think it was more than that?”
    “I seen ’em kissin’ on the mouth one day, right out there in the yard, him with his hands all