Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek: A Samuel Craddock Mystery (Samuel Craddock Mysteries) by Terry Shames

glad to talk to him.”
    “I doubt that would work out, but I appreciate the offer.”
    I nod. “Down to business: I’m trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Gary Dellmore.”
    Krueger sits back. “And you think I can help you?”
    “I’m questioning everybody who was at the meeting the other night.” I ask if he remembers hearing or seeing anything notable after the meeting.
    He shakes his head. “I had James Harley’s situation on my mind and I wasn’t thinking about anything else.”
    “I heard Dellmore talking to someone around the side of the building when I was leaving, but I don’t know who it was,” I say. “Any ideas?”
    “Hold on a minute.” Krueger leans back and looks at the ceiling for a couple of seconds, smoothing his belly with his hands. “As I was walking out, I heard Rusty Reinhardt say he’d like a word with Dellmore. But whether or not they went outside to talk, I don’t know. Have you talked to Reinhardt yet?”
    Reinhardt didn’t mention that he met Dellmore after the meeting, so I dodge the question. “I’ll have to ask him whether they talked. If you think of anything more, let me know.”
    I get up. We shake hands, and Krueger sees me to the door, friendlier than when I walked in.
    As I put my hand on the knob, Krueger says, “There is one more thing. I don’t know if I should even mention it. It’s something my wife heard in confidence. But with Dellmore being killed, you ought to at least be aware of it.”
    I turn back to him. “I appreciate any help you can give me.”
    “My wife is friends with Cookie Travers, who works down at the bank. Cookie told her that Alan Dellmore had had it with Gary. Ever since Gary came to work for his dad, the bank has steadily lost customers.”
    “That’s been several years.” Since I’m one of the customers they lost, it’s no surprise to me.
    “Yes, Cookie said it’s a steady trickle. Apparently she had private talks with some of the customers who left. They said Gary didn’t keep their financial affairs confidential. Cookie said she was worried the bank was losing too many customers.”
    “Well, I’ll look into that. Thank you for mentioning it.”
    It’s possible that Alan and Gary Dellmore had an argument that got out of hand, but it’s hard for me to picture Alan pulling a gun on his son and killing him, no matter how mad he was.

    Zeke Dibble came on duty at noon, so I swing by the station to see how his afternoon has gone. I meant to check in earlier and haven’t made the time.
    Zeke’s playing solitaire, cards laid out on the desk. He doesn’t pick them up when I walk in.
    “Something tells me it’s been a nice, quiet day,” I say.
    Zeke is only a few years older than me, but he looks like life has used him a lot harder. Deep lines etch his pale face and his hair is a dull color of gray, giving him a sickly look. If you were meeting him for the first time, you’d want to send him to the doctor—but he’s looked like that ever since he moved here.
    “Quiet except for Plymouth O’Connor calling to complain that neighbor boys are tearing up her yard.” Plymouth is one of three maiden sisters, all named after cars, who live together. One of them always has a complaint. Often over the years when they have gotten no satisfaction from the police, they’ve called me. I think their complaining is a way of passing the time when they get bored.
    “What did you tell her?”
    “I told her you’d call her back, but that you had a lot on your hands right now and it may take some time.”
    “Zeke, you think this is something you can take care of tomorrow?”
    He chuckles. “I don’t see why not.” He picks up his cards, slips the deck into his desk drawer and gets up from his chair. “I ought to be heading home. My wife will have a fit if she has to keep dinner waiting.”
    After he leaves I look around at what I’ve inherited. I’ve been here off and on since they built the new station, but I never