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As we drove, I called First Baptist and identified myself as Detective Judy Anderson. I talked to the woman who called bingo every Sunday, and she verified Phillis Saunders’ attendance on the night of Mrs. Kenilworth’s death.
On the far western edge of town sat the small garage with a dirty red and white sign over the front door. Miller’s Transmission was barely discernable beneath the grime applied by who knows how many years of harsh weather and sunshine. Yet, despite the condition of the sign, the place seemed busy enough. The side lot was full of cars, apparently waiting for an open bay and a free mechanic.
Jason parked the car before we got out and crossed the cracked, ancient blacktop to the entrance. Inside, the shop counter and waiting room seemed as old and neglected as the sign outside. The walls were made up of wood paneling that looked like it was installed in the 80s. Hanging from one section of this wall was the obligatory pin-up girl-with-classic-car calendar that was so often seen in these shops. In the waiting area was a slender woman with graying red hair who had her rather large and pointy nose buried in a romance novel and a morbidly obese man with thick, dark curls and a Star Wars hoodie, keeping his full attention on his phone.
After a few minutes of waiting, a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties appeared behind the counter. He had a neatly trimmed blonde beard and a fair complexion that seemed to emphasize the taut muscles in his forearms. His jumpsuit and hands were covered in grease. The skunky stench of marijuana wafted off him despite his best efforts to cover it with cheap cologne.
“How can I help you?” he inquired.
“Hi,” Jason answered, stepping forward. “We were hoping to speak with Kenny Miller.”
“You’re looking at him,” the man smiled. His cheerful demeanor did not match the story we had just been told about his parent/teacher meeting. “What’s this concerning?”
“My mother,” Jason stated, and I could detect a sudden edge in his voice. I had to cut in before Jason said something stupid that would jeopardize getting information from this man.
“Shannon Kenilworth,” I told him, stepping up to the counter. “Could we talk to you in private?”
Kenny Miller looked at each of us in turn, clearly not happy about the proposed topic. Finally, he nodded and gestured toward a closed door to the left of the counter. “Sure. Step into my office.”
We followed him into the small office. It held an old metal desk littered with invoices and car parts. On the corner of the desk was a sleek, brand-new desktop computer that looked out of place among the clutter. “I’m afraid I only have two chairs,” Miller pointed out, motioning to the matching seats in front of his desk.
“I’ll stand,” Jason offered, that angry edge still apparent in his voice.
Gwen and I took a seat, and I began. “We were hoping we could talk to you about the meeting you had with Mrs. Kenilworth and other members of the faculty.”
“To what end?” Miller asked, a look of suspicion in his green eyes.
“Well, despite police reports, the three of us have reason to believe Shannon Kenilworth was murdered.”
Understanding suddenly dawned on Kenny Miller. “Hey, now wait a minute. You’re not honestly suggesting I had something to do with it, are you?”
“So far, you’re the only one we can find who would have a motive. Plus, you did threaten her life. Right?”
Kenny Miller suddenly looked anxious. “Look, I lost my temper and said some stupid things, but I would never act on something like that.”
“Then tell us your side of the story,” I suggested with a shrug.
He snorted a laugh. “You guys ain’t cops. You’re just kids. I don’t have to say anything.”
“Our goal is to avoid getting the cops involved until we have something solid to go on. But we could always have them snoop around your business and see what’s what. After all, I doubt that’s actual skunk I smell on your clothes.” I couldn’t help but smirk.
Miller sneered at me. “You may be too smart for your own good, you know that?”
I leaned forward and took a different approach. Maybe Mr. Miller could be reasoned with. “Look, we just want to get to the bottom of this. Find out who was responsible and bring them to justice. If you weren’t involved, there’s no reason to keep anything from us.”
The mechanic let out a long sigh as he studied us and weighed his options. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Just tell us about the meeting. In your own words. The information we have is second-hand.”
“Well, we were called in to discuss my son’s struggles at school.” He started.
“We? You and your wife?” I pulled out my pad of paper and began taking notes.
“Ex-wife. Anyway, I got down there, and the meeting was being held in the library. Mrs. Kenilworth was there; she was Scott’s teacher. There was also a school counselor and the vice principal. Scott didn’t take the divorce well. Most kids don’t. He’d been acting out and being difficult. But, he’s also a really creative kid.”
Kenny Miller’s expression changed, and a slight smile graced his face as he talked about his son.
“He draws a lot,” Miller continued. “Damn good too. I think it helps him cope. It’s like an escape for all the tough things he’s had to go through, you know.” He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before going forward.
“Going into the meeting, I was already on edge. I had a feeling the pills would come up. Scott’s mother and I never agreed on much, but we always said there was no way we’d put our kid on ADHD medication. That, we did agree on. Our convictions only strengthened when he started to show a talent for art. There was no way I’d start shoving pills down his throat because his teacher couldn’t handle the little wild side he had. That stuff would make him a zombie and stunt the development of his talent. It was out of the question.”
“What exactly did he do that made him so troublesome?” I queried, wanting to understand.
Miller waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, weird noises in class, distracting other kids, not turning in his homework. What’s messed up is we help him with his homework every night. Make sure he gets it done. For some reason, he wouldn’t turn it in. His mother would get in his book bag a week later, and there was all of his homework. Smashed under his books and ungraded.”
“Strange.”
“Not really,” Miller said, chuckling. “Scott, he has a tendency to daydream. There’s a whole fantasy world up in that head of his, and that’s what comes out of him when he puts pencil to paper. He gets caught up in it, which causes him to lose focus and forget things. Like turning in his homework.”
“Did you explain all this in the meeting?” I asked, tapping my pen against my chin.
“Of course. That was before Mrs. Kenilworth brought up medication. It was a slow build from a short distance, I’ll admit, but when she said that, I lost it. And yeah, I threw my chair and broke the window. And yeah, I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“Did you say,” I checked my notes, “quote, ‘I’d choke the life out of you before I put my boy on pills’?”
Shame and regret came over Kenny’s face. “Yeah, something like that. But I didn’t mean it, and I sure as hell didn’t act on it. It’s like when people argue, and one says to the other, ‘I’m going to kill you’.” He shook his fist in the air for emphasis. “It’s an empty threat.”
“Where were you the evening of the seventh between five and ten?”
“Easy. I was helping my sister move. I got a mechanic who can confirm that. He helped out because he had a crush on her. Plus, she had two friends helping out.”
“Okay. Which mechanic?”
“Slayton. He’s working in bay one.”
I stood to leave, and Gwen followed suit. Jason still glared at Kenny Miller like a tiger ready to pounce. “We thank you for your time and cooperation.” I took Jason’s hand, ready to drag him out if needed.
Miller stood as well, and an expression of uncertainty clouded his face. He looked as if he wanted to add something but instead said, “I’ll walk you out.”
Through the waiting room and out the front entrance, Miller stepped outside and strolled just behind us, silent until we reached the 4 Runner. He called out to one of the mechanics and waved him over. The man joined us instantly. “Slayton, do me a favor and tell these kids what we were up to Sunday the seventh.”
Slayton looked at him with a lop-sided grin. “Oh, that was the day we helped your hot sister move.”
Miller looked agitated. “I told you to stop saying that stuff about my sister.”
Slayton chuckled and ran back toward his bay.
“You see?” Miller said to me with his hands out in the direction of his retreating employee with an I-told-you-so gesture.
“Yeah, thanks for clarifying.” We turned to leave when he stopped us.
“There’s something else you should know,” the mechanic mentioned suddenly. I waited for him to continue. “I’ve been thinking about it since you said the teacher may have been murdered.”
I noticed then how Miller seemed to avoid eye contact with Jason. Not only that, he didn’t address Jason directly or refer to our victim as the boy’s mother. It was always by her name or title.
“My ex-wife maybe someone you want to check into,” Miller went on. “She can be sadistic. Even crazy, some might say. She’s not the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve. More of a plotter who waits for the right time to take out her revenge.”
“Is there a history of violence there?” I inquired.
“Well, she once stabbed me while I was passed out drunk.”
“Holy crap!” Gwen exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Miller agreed, “Over a comment I made about her best friends two weeks before. She let it fester until I was basically helpless. Then gave me a knife to the side.”
“Did you press charges?”
“Yeah. But I told her I’d drop them if she granted me a divorce. She loves our son more than anything and would do nothing to hurt him. Anyone else is fair game.”
“Can you give us a name and address?”
“Yeah. But if you go there to question her, you best be careful.”
I nodded to Miller as Gwen and Jason looked at me with identical expressions of worry.