Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) by Laurinda Wallace

difficulties the bank had encountered dealing with D. B.’s estate. D. B. had promised them Greerson’s Meadow. The board was feeling serious pressure to make the wind farm deal happen. The land, of course, was the big holdup and a major inconvenience for Isabelle, who was scouting properties for them. Greerson’s Meadow was currently the only acceptable property because of the elevation. Nothing on the Jackson farm was remotely in the running.
    “Isabelle told Marlene that this Mitch Allen of New Energy Strategies Team made it clear to her in a meeting that N.E.S.T. didn’t especially care who they did business with now, it just needed to happen,” Theresa finished.
    Gracie was still mulling that bit of information over, when her father chimed in with news about the Memorial Day activities.
    “This N.E.S.T. company is sponsoring a carnival for the whole village after the parade this year,” he offered, pushing back from the table after two generous helpings of everything.
    “A carnival? That’ll put a different spin on the day,” Gracie said, shoving the last bit of macaroni, with the wonderful crunchy breadcrumb topping, into her mouth.
    “I guess we’ll find out all about it next week,” said Theresa. “You will be there, right?”
    “Wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a chance to find out more about this N.E.S.T. mess.”

Chapter 13
     
    “If he hadn’t assaulted a police officer, I could get a bail hearing,” the young and earnest Gary Haskins, Esq., told Jim.
    “I understand,” Jim said matter-of-factly. “I tried to tell you, Toby. I wish you’d listened to me.”
    Jim threw a worried look at the attorney. Thrusting his hands back in his pockets, he began pacing again. Everything about being in the jail area made him feel like a trapped animal. Toby must be feeling even worse, he reasoned.
    Toby, who sat in a straight-back chair in the empty visitors’ area, nodded, looking glumly at his feet.
    “I know. I know. It’s my own fault.” He leaned back in the chair to face Jim and his lawyer. His eyes were weary with fatigue and uncertainty.
    “However,” the attorney continued, “the sheriff’s department is continuing their investigation. With the statement from Roscoe Myer and his recording checking out, we stand a good chance that the murder charge will be dropped today. You need to tell me if you saw or heard anything unusual that night. Did you hear a gunshot?”
    “Not that I remember. My trailer’s a good ways from the field. I guess I could’ve heard somethin’ if I was outside, but me and Roscoe was in the trailer for the whole time, except for when he left. I walked him out to that little car of his, but that was pretty late.”
    The young attorney nodded, snapping his briefcase shut. “All right. If you think of anything, call me. I’m due in court right now. It was nice seeing you, Mr. Taylor.” The sandy-haired man in the navy blue suit stood to leave.
    “Thanks. You too.” Jim stood to shake the attorney’s hand, then quickly returned to his seat by the glass partition. He hoped he could jog something loose in Toby’s memory of that night. Before he could ask his next question, a male voice behind him greeted Toby.
    Jim turned to see a well-dressed man with a neatly trimmed beard approach them, smiling confidently.
    “You must be Jim Taylor,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Ben Richter.” Jim stood, hesitantly accepting the extended hand.
    *****
     
    Investigator Hotchkiss exited her county SUV, quickly surveying the manicured lawns and gardens. A patrol car turned into the driveway and parked behind her. Giving the deputy a quick wave, she pulled out her notepad. The athletic investigator climbed the broad steps to the front door of the Jackson home, with the deputy close behind her. The doorbell chimed pleasantly when she pressed the ornate brass button. The heavy door, decorated with a simple grapevine wreath and silk apple blossoms, swung open almost