“That counts against Laurel as a suspect for Pan’s murder. She’d already moved on. There’s no motive to kill the competition when she’s no longer competition,” Maggie said — not for the first time since they’d left Rambler Farm.
J.D. didn’t disagree, but he had a different priority.
“Wade’s the one we should be talking to,” he said — also not for the first time.
At Rambler Farm, he and Dallas had finally shaken loose of the judge’s hospitality, but barely reached the hallway outside the dining room when Maggie came from the back of the house, jerking her head toward the front door in silent order.
Dallas demurred, but didn’t physically resist when she took his arm and ushered him out.
As she drove to Monroe House, she’d recounted her conversation with Charlotte.
There’d been a brief break when they arrived, while Evelyn issued orders to all of them that got their delayed dinner on the table in short order.
All of them included Scott.
He’d stopped by to drop off copies of the transcripts for Maggie and Dallas. Evelyn insisted he join them for dinner.
In light of Dallas’ comment to Maggie about people feeling obliged to ask you to stay for dinner if you came by at a certain time, J.D. suspected Scott timed his arrival to get a dose of Evelyn’s cooking.
No matter what motives were at work, the five of them sat down for the meal — and for Dallas’ grilling of Maggie, aiming to pull out every last detail of her talk with Charlotte.
Neither Evelyn nor Scott said anything, but J.D. doubted they missed a syllable. He sure didn’t.
At the end, he repeated, “Wade next.”
“Not yet.” Maggie didn’t look his way.
“Wade’s done everything but paint a sign on his back. What more do you want?”
“Evidence.”
“You want an eyewitness, too?” The sarcasm was sharper than he’d intended, and he saw her absorb the slice, then reassure herself he couldn’t possibly know…
He did know.
Her family history. The trial. What followed.
The facts, those he knew. Where or how those facts made her vulnerable, he didn’t know. Not completely. Not yet.
“Hard evidence is always better than an eyewitness,” she said.
Having been an eyewitness all those years ago, she would know.
Yet she made no effort to soften that judgment on herself. Whatever else, he admired that in her.
“Not with a jury,” Dallas said.
“Juries are built to be led,” she shot back.
“Who better to lead them than a good eyewitness?”
“That’s an oxymoron — a good eyewitness. All witnesses are bad, tainted by their biases, by their hopes, by their beliefs, by their—” The break was more a breath than a hesitation. “—weaknesses.”
“That’s where a good lawyer comes in,” Dallas said. “To make the most of a witness. Shore up the weaknesses if it’s your witness and spotlight the weaknesses if it’s not.”
“And the hell with the truth?” Before Dallas could respond, Maggie slashed air with her hand. “This is all terrific fodder for discussion, but we have work to do. And that’s to get information to the sheriff—”
“I’ll call when we finish here.”
“—and pursue what we discover with an eye to whether the two cases connect.”
“Wade,” he said. “He’s got means, opportunity, motive. For both.”
“Motive? Why would he kill Pan when she was going back to him?”
He noticed her slight emphasis on he and its implication that Rick’s motive wasn’t clear, while J.D.’s was.
“She changed her mind again,” Scott said. “She could have. Told Rick it was over. Rick hates losing at anything and especially…” He looked up, then away.
“Especially to me,” J.D. filled in.
The trailer rat, the whore’s bastard, the witch’s pet.
Maggie’s frown deepened. “You said on the stand that she wasn’t leaving him, that she’d decided to give it another try.”
As her gaze came toward him, he dropped his to that tapping fork.
“We’d agreed she would go back to Wade and give it another try. I encouraged her. If I hadn’t, she might still be alive. I have to live with that.”
“Only with that? I notice you don’t proclaim your innocence, Carson.”
“Not since the trial, no. Waste of breath. Wouldn’t convince those who believe I’m guilty and it’s not necessary for those who believe I’m not. Besides there’s already enough proclaiming going on.”
“Meaning Wade?”
“Meaning accusing someone else could be one hell of a diversion.”
Her brows arched. “Given that some thought, have you?”
“Have you noticed I didn’t accuse anyone until evidence pointed to Wade?”
She slapped the fork on the tablecloth. “Supposition. It’s all supposition. And without saying Wade killed Pan, there’s no motive for him to kill Laurel. Unless you’re saying Laurel killed Pan.”
“The guilt of having an affair with her,” Dallas said, “and how he betrayed Pan.”
“Why now? The affair ended four-and-a-half years ago.”
“Guilt built up over time until he couldn’t handle it,” Dallas said.
She grimaced.
“Laurel threatened to topple his alibi,” J.D. said. “If Laurel thought she wouldn’t get more money out of Eugene, she might have tried Wade. He’d realize his alibi wasn’t safe.”
“Blackmail,” Dallas murmured. “Could be, could be.”
“Could. But Laurel was going to get more money out of Eugene. She was holding those papers he needed signed as hostage.” Maggie tapped the tip of her unused dessert fork on the tablecloth. “Besides, you missed an obvious possible reason for why now.”
“J.D., will you pass me that fine potato casserole of Evelyn’s?”
“Dallas,” Evelyn protested.
“Just another bite.”
As J.D. passed the dish to Dallas at the head of the table, Maggie continued as if she hadn’t heard the potato casserole exchange — and maybe she hadn’t. “Because Carson’s back in Bedhurst full-time. Anyone hoping to deflect suspicion onto a likely suspect would think of that.”
He didn’t turn his head toward her, but he didn’t try to stop his eyes.
Yes, it was there in her face — she knew it represented the first time she’d offered anything that might indicate his innocence in this murder.
It didn’t last, of course. He wasn’t fool enough to expect it would. But it was a step, a necessary step.