CHAPTER 23

MRS. LOUISE KIRKWOOD SAT UP STRAIGHT, fingers interlocked and resting on the desk in front of her at her station in the Pickett County Library reference section. Cal thought he detected a faint smile on her face the moment he and Kelly walked into her line of sight.

“Back to solve some more mysteries?” Mrs. Kirkwood asked, clapping her hands quietly.

“We’re trying,” Kelly said.

“Yes, and we were hoping you might be able to help us some more,” Cal added.

Mrs. Kirkwood stood up. “Give me a moment while I lock up my desk, and I’ll meet you back in the microfiche room.”

Cal and Kelly followed Mrs. Kirkwood’s instructions and waited for her, spending their time discussing how Drake could have orchestrated a hit on Jordan Hayward from prison.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Cal said. “Why wait all this time? If you had the resources to kill Hayward, why not do it years ago? The timing of it all makes me want to dismiss that theory altogether.”

“Let me play devil’s advocate for a moment,” Kelly said, holding up her index finger. “What if Drake took all this time to figure out a way to get the state’s major eyewitness to recant . . . and now Drake needs to make sure nobody else talks or jeopardizes his chances at getting cleared in a retrial?”

“That’s an interesting theory, though when we talked with him, I never detected any animosity from Drake regarding his childhood best friend.”

“Psychopaths are good at hiding things.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “So you think Drake is a psychopath now?”

“Remember, I’m just being the devil’s advocate. If you’re going to write a comprehensive feature on this story, you need to consider all the possibilities.”

“I’m having a hard time seeing that.”

“All I’m saying is it could be true. Just think about it.”

Before Cal could ponder Kelly’s theory any further, the door clicked open and Mrs. Kirkwood entered.

“So, what is it I get the pleasure of helping you with today?” she asked.

“I just want to say first that we appreciate your willingness to help us again,” Cal said. “You have no idea how difficult it is for us to piece this story together as outsiders.”

Mrs. Kirkwood snickered.

“What’s so amusing?” Kelly asked.

“Oh, you two think it’s difficult to delve into the dark secrets and hidden motivations of Pickett County residents as outsiders? I think it’s far more difficult to do that as an insider. It’s hard to get your preconceived ideas, notions, and history about your neighbors out of the way.”

“When you put it that way, I tend to agree with you,” Cal said. “I’ve lived and worked in a small town before. It certainly has its unique challenges, especially when it comes to privacy.”

Mrs. Kirkwood raised her right hand in the air. “Amen to that, brother,” she said. “Now, what can I help y’all find?”

She clicked on the microfiche machine as the light flickered and the cooling fan whirred to life.

“We want to read up about Jacob Boone and find out about his criminal past—or professional one,” Cal said.

Mrs. Kirkwood marched over to the filing cabinet and pulled out one of the sheets. “This won’t be difficult,” she said. “He had a case that was a big deal around here at the time. It really divided the community.”

“How so?” Kelly asked.

Mrs. Kirkwood slid the microfiche sheet into place as she talked. “In February of 2003, Jacob Boone was arrested for possession of meth with intent to distribute. He was facing hefty jail time. He claimed that he was set up, but he looked the part of a junky. He lived in a run-down trailer on the outskirts of town with his two kids, who were ages five and seven at the time. His wife died of an overdose a year after their youngest was born. He struggled to hold a job but wasn’t on welfare as far as anyone knew, so the prevailing assumption was that he ran drugs to pay the bills. I don’t like to engage in such gossip, but that was how most people viewed him . . . and it certainly made sense.”

“What happened in the trial?” Cal asked.

Mrs. Kirkwood pointed at the screen and stood up, offering the seat to Cal. “As you’ll read, it was a lengthy trial and full of emotion,” she said. “One of the biggest reasons why Jacob was so upset was because he would lose his children to the foster care system if he went to prison. There were no fit relatives to take the kids, and with a father in prison on drug charges, it was unlikely he’d ever get the chance to get them back.”

“And how might this be tied to Susannah Sloan?” Kelly asked.

“Susannah was the prosecutor in the case and showed no mercy in what the state was asking for at sentencing—fourteen years. However, the judge showed leniency and sentenced him to seven years. However, he was released after three months for good behavior. Yet the damage was already done when it came to his kids, who became wards of the state. After he came back, he turned into an even more bitter person, as if that was even possible after his wife died. It was just sad to watch.”

“Has anyone spoken with him about it since?” Cal asked.

“A few people here and there. He still maintains his innocence, but I think everyone in town knows he’s still dealing drugs. Why Sheriff Sloan hasn’t arrested him again is beyond me.”

Cal scanned the article by Larry Arant about the trial, confirming everything Mrs. Kirkwood said. “It blows my mind that no one investigated him as a person of interest in Susannah Sloan’s death,” he said. “Jacob Boone was released from prison just a few months before her murder. Seems like he’d be a good candidate to murder her.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but everyone around Pickett trusts Sheriff Sloan implicitly,” Mrs. Kirkwood said. “Well . . . almost everyone. Every sheriff has detractors.”

Cal stood up and offered his hand to Mrs. Kirkwood.

“Thank you for your help, ma’am,” he said. “You’ve proven to be most helpful, and don’t be surprised if we pop in here again before we leave.”

Mrs. Kirkwood shook Cal’s hand and then Kelly’s.

“It’s my pleasure. Always a joy to help people.” Mrs. Kirkwood gestured toward the door. “Let me walk you out.”

Cal and Kelly followed Mrs. Kirkwood through the double glass doors and onto the sidewalk in front of the library. As soon as they all stepped into the warm sun, Mrs. Kirkwood’s mouth fell agape as she watched a BMW roll by on the street.

“You like that car?” Cal asked, grinning as Mrs. Kirkwood continued to gawk. “I don’t think I would’ve pegged you for a car person.”

She turned slowly toward Cal. “I’m not, but I know that’s a nice automobile . . . and Keith Hurley is the one driving it.”

Kelly whipped her head in Mrs. Kirkwood’s direction. “Did you say, Keith Hurley?”

“Sure did,” Mrs. Kirkwood replied. “I know he’s not making enough working at Ludwig’s Tires to afford that car. Look at it—brand spankin’ new.” She turned back toward the library. “Y’all have a good day now, okay?”

Cal and Kelly waved at her as she returned inside. He was thinking something, but Kelly said it out loud.

“Renounces his testimony, gets a high-end foreign car. Makes sense to me,” she said.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Cal said. “Besides, we’ve got enough suspects to vet before I write this article. Let’s not add any more.”

“Why not? It’ll just be that much more of a better story.”

Cal sighed and shook his head slowly. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to leave this town before we start getting our mail at the Okefenokee Inn and little Maddie forgets what we look like.”

Kelly hung her head. “You just had to mention Maddie, didn’t you?”

Cal nodded. “You should call her.” He checked his watch. “She should be getting out of her preschool class about now.”

Kelly pulled out her phone and started to dial her sister’s number. However, an elderly woman interrupted Kelly, and she froze.

“Are y’all the ones writin’ for a big newspaper and investigatin’ the murder of Ms. Susannah Sloan?” the woman asked.

Cal and Kelly both turned around to see a woman hobbling on a walker toward them.

“Yes, ma’am, we sure are,” Cal said. “Can we help you?”

“I hope so,” she said. “My name is Gertie Rollins, and there’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to get off my chest for quite a while now.”

“And how can we help you do that, Ms. Rollins?” Kelly asked.

“I saw Sheriff Sloan at his daughter’s house the night she was murdered right around the time she supposedly died.”