Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5) by Thomas Hollyday

brutality.”
    “Just be there, Tench,” said the Mayor. “If anyone starts any name calling, you can help me get out of there. The room is pretty small and I don’t want to get hit with a flying copy of the Bell,” she said.
    The Sheriff put his hat in his lap. He smoothed his thin hair with his right hand and looked at the Mayor.
    “Smote still has a problem about his grandfather’s death,” he said.
    The Mayor looked at Tench, and said, “Tell you something, Tench. I know this is coming from you and I thought I made myself clear. People are talking about you helping out this friend of yours. I know he’s a good baseball coach for the kids, but most people don’t like him being so arrogant.”
    “So what does it amount to?” asked the Mayor.
    “Yes, Ma’am,” said the Sheriff. He had a way of licking his lips with his tongue as if he had to wet his lips before speaking. “Autopsy results were negative. Nothing to make us think it’s a crime.”
    “Why does Smote think it is?” asked the Mayor.
    “You know the ‘Spaniard.’ He can be pretty hard to work with,” said the Sheriff. He pulled over a small chair and sat down in front of the Mayor. His body dwarfed the chair.
    Tench said, “He doesn’t think Captain Peake would have been careless.”
    The Sheriff smiled in a fatherly way, and licked his lips. He said, “Well, I could tell you, Jimmy, about a lot of men who died in boats, men who were as good a sailor as Captain Bob.”
    The Sheriff went on, looking over again at the Mayor, “Smote thinks he was hurt up at Strake’s.”
    Tench said, “Smote thinks, and I agree with him, the old man might have been anchored for some reason off the shoreline.”
    “Sheriff,” said the Mayor. “I don’t want any trouble with Smote or the Latino community. Election is coming up.”
    He back looked at Tench and said, “We all know Smote doesn’t speak for any of the other Latinos around River Sunday.”
    The Sheriff added, “Don’t think I don’t take all this seriously. It’s just hard to figure why there would be a crime, why someone would want to hurt the old man.”
    “My question too when Smote first came to me,” agreed Tench. Then he wished he had not said anything because he knew from seeing the Sheriff’s quick smile he had just let Satter off the hook. The Sheriff’s next statement proved him right.
    “So you got doubts too.”
    The mayor nodded. “Such a fine old man.”
    She pulled at his arm and he followed her to her office. “Come here. I want to show you,” she said, no longer interested he knew in talking about Smote. She pointed to the plans for the proposed River Sunday sports complex.
    “I’ve seen these at Smote’s house,” Tench said.
    “Right. With all his sports background, we asked his opinions. I guess pretty much everyone in town had seen them for one reason or another.”
    She began to fold the plans.
    “I haven’t been able to get up to see Mister Strake about the first check. Everything is in hold. Apparently he’s just not feeling very well, according to Stagmatter. You can see why I don’t want any trouble.”
    She tapped on her desk. “OK,” she said, “I like Bill Strake and he likes me. Also I wanted to tell you something else you might put in your cap. I don’t think Bill or his family like Stagmatter taking care of his cars. I think there’s friction up there at the farm. Bill’d offer you the job if he knew you were interested. Would get you a nice little income, maybe allow you to build your race cars. Think about it.”

Chapter Seven
    9 AM Wednesday August 18
     
    Tench was at his desk and, glancing out his office window at the diesel noise, noticed the oversize truck go through town for Strake’s earlier at about ten o’clock. It had a canvas top strapped down over the sides which Tench thought strange since the cargo was antique cars and they should have been secured inside a totally metal box. The phone rang.
    “You better get up