CHAPTER 12
Amanda held her breath and inserted the SD card Alan had found in the trunk of Jodi Wilburn’s VW into the card reader. She prayed there was something on it that would be useful to the case. The image of the card popped up on the computer screen and she double-clicked it.
It was blank. The card was totally empty.
So much for that, she thought.
She removed the card and set it aside, still staring blankly at her uncle’s laptop screen. What in the hell had made her think she could take over this case while Alan was gone in the first place? She wasn’t a sleuth—she was in marketing with a business major. And here she was playing private eye, pretending she knew what she was doing.
She suddenly recalled what Alan had once told her—how he often had doubts about what he was doing while on a case and how his private investigation classes had been utterly useless. That the truth of it was, having an overwhelming desire to unveil the unknown was the only credential he really needed to do this job.
Well, she certainly had that. She wanted nothing more right now than to find out who murdered Jodi Wilburn and get Nick off the hook.
She sighed and felt a little better. She could do this.
Blaine Evans. That was her next order of business. She needed to find out where he was on the day Jodi was murdered. He’d said he had a lawn maintenance business and she assumed he worked from his home. How could she find out if he really was on the job the morning of May thirtieth?
She had no idea. If he did in fact work out of his home there would be no way to check his records or appointments for that day without breaking and entering. She was not about to do that. So what else could she do?
She snapped her fingers. Facebook! She recalled that Blaine was a habitual social media user—one of those people who posts everything like when they shit last, as if anybody gave a damn. She hadn’t even considered checking to see if he had posted anything on the day of Jodi’s murder—she had only visited his Facebook page to find out what he looked like. She opened the web browser, logged into her Facebook account and typed Blaine Evans into the search field. After his page loaded, she scrolled slowly down through his postings, grateful that his privacy setting was set so that anybody who landed on his page could peruse it without having to friend him.
She clicked on the link for older posts at the bottom of the page, searched his May entries and located the thirtieth. Blaine had made five posts that day, beginning at 8:14 AM:
Must have overdone it last night, feel hungover as shit! Gotta cut some old lady’s grass in fifteen minutes or she’s gonna fire my ass. Would rather stay in bed than have to work at this ungodly hour but what the fuck?
His next entry was at 10:17 AM:
Finished Goldman’s yard and heading to my next one. At least I’m starting to feel half alive.
The next post was at 12:04:
Worked up a sweat so i’m throwing down a cold one at Jack’s. One more job and I’m done for the day. Damn this Bud’s going down good!
His finals posts involved his final lawn job, with Blaine whining about how worn out he was and how he couldn’t wait to get blasted after dinner at McDonalds and a shower.
Unless he had only made up this boring blow-by-blow account of his humdrum life to establish an alibi, Blaine Evans couldn’t have killed Jodi. And since the guy was such a dullard, Amanda seriously doubted he had the foresight to cover his ass in this way.
So now what?
Alan had specifically told her not to investigate Sheriff Foley and she had no intention of defying him. But he had been referring to her tailing him and potentially putting herself in harm’s way. What could be wrong with taking another approach, a safer one?
She hadn’t trusted the fat slob from the very moment she laid eyes on him at Jodi’s house. She couldn’t help but notice the way he had looked her over—the same way middle-aged horny bastards gape at women with their tongues hanging out. As disgusting as the mere thought of it was, she would be willing to bet the good sheriff would let his guard down a little if some chick started flirting with him. Even some chick he wasn’t particularly fond of.
That chick being herself.
Amanda hadn’t told Alan that she had already done a little snooping around after he’d made it clear she didn’t want him to investigate Foley. She figured if she had told him, he might have gotten pissed at her or overly paranoid. But she couldn’t undo what was already done, so what the hell? She had been able to find out among other things where the sheriff lived and that he hung out at the Holiday Inn lounge during his off time on a fairly regular basis. He was divorced, probably lonely and from what she’d heard, quite a womanizer after a few drinks. Why any woman would ever consider shacking up with the overweight redneck was beyond her comprehension, but she knew from experience that anything was possible in this one-horse town.
Her mind made up, she would drop by the Holiday Inn tonight on the off chance that Foley would be there. She had a feeling that without Alan at her side, the creep just might loosen up enough to give her what she wanted from him.
She and Uncle Ken went to dinner at Milldale’s only Mexican restaurant and spent most of the time talking about old times, her job at UrbanGroup and her life in Columbus. There had been little to discuss regarding the case other than what she had learned about Blaine Evans. She sensed that her uncle was disappointed that Alan had left so abruptly despite his insistence that he was fine with it. This had made her want to break the case all that much more and she now found herself anxious to encounter the sheriff.
After brushing her hair and putting on more makeup than usual, Amanda looked herself over in the mirror. She had decided to wear a low cut blouse and designer jeans that accentuated her body curves just for the sheriff. She told her uncle she was going to look up some old friends and told him not to wait up for her.
It was almost ten o’clock when she pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. She looked for Foley’s gray Suburban but didn’t see it. The place was already crowded judging by the packed lot. She finally found a space, parked and headed for the entrance.
The pulsating bass of a live band was the first thing to greet her ears as she made her way into the lounge. Throngs of people were standing around and all of the tables were filled as she fought her way over to the bar. She ordered a Margarita and surveyed the scene while waiting nearly five minutes to get her drink. The band was playing a cover version of Sweet Home Alabama, reminding her of how incredibly backward Milldale was. The song was a moldy oldie back when she had lived here and now seemed like an overly covered relic—a symbol of how nothing ever changed here.
Taking a sip, she decided to get away from the packed bar and move toward the rear of the place. For a town that was economically challenged, the Holiday Inn was an ironic anomaly. It wasn’t even midnight and the place was hopping with half the customers already shit-faced or well on their way.
Amanda headed toward a less congested area in the corner and thought she saw somebody familiar sitting at one of the tables. As she drew closer, she realized that it was Jodi’s old friend, Summer Moore sitting with a couple of other girls.
“Hi Summer,” she greeted.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned—it’s the detective! How the hell are ya?”
“Fine. Small world, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again—hey, have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
“This is Amanda, she’s in town looking into Jodi’s murder.”
“Hi, I’m Carly,” one girl said.
“Nice to meet you,” Amanda said.
“Christine,” said the other. “So where do you live, Amanda?”
“Columbus. I used to live here a long time ago. I was good friends with Nick.”
“Her uncle is Ken Barker, the lawyer,” Summer explained. “He’s Nick’s attorney.”
“Oh, I get it. You think Nick’s innocent and you’re trying to prove it,” Carly said.
“That’s pretty much the gist of it.”
“We know he didn’t do it,” Christine said. “But from what I hear, they got a bunch of evidence that makes him look guilty.”
“I heard that somebody spotted him near Jodi’s house the same morning she was murdered,” Carly said.
“Who told you that?” Amanda asked.
“Oh hell, I don’t know. I just heard it somewhere.”
“All I know is that I miss her an awful lot. She was such a sweetheart,” said Summer.
“Remember that time she took us all out in her new car? God did she ever love that car—wouldn’t even let us smoke in it!”
“That car was her baby,” Carly said. “I think that—”
“What have we here?” Amanda heard behind her. She turned and saw Sheriff Foley standing over her. He suddenly recognized her and his dopey smile turned into an even dopier sneer.
“Well I’ll be, if it’s not the PI from Cowtown!”
“Hello, Sheriff,” Amanda said.
“Where’s your sidekick?” he asked.
“Somewhere else.”
“Hmm, still a smartass—even when you’re by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself, as you can see.”
He laughed heartily. “Don’t think I can’t see these other beautiful women sitting here! How’s it going, girls?”
“Good, Sheriff,” Carly replied.
It became evident to Amanda that this scenario with the sheriff had most likely played itself out before. He seemed to be about half-lit, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
He knelt down beside Amanda and drew close to her face, making her want to vomit.
“Hey, no hard feelings, eh? I’m willin’ to forget our little differences if you are. What do ya say?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ve gotta go to the lady’s room,” Christine said, getting to her feet.
Foley stood up and said, “I’ll keep your chair warm.”
He eased his girth down in Christine’s place and smiled confidently, as though he was doing everybody a favor.
“Good band,” he said.
“Not bad,” said Summer. “Wish they’d play something that was released within the last twenty years, though.”
Foley laughed. “That’s classic rock they’re playing—best music ever!”
“So who’s your favorite all time rock band, Sheriff?” Amanda asked.
“Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Probably Marshall Tucker.”
Figures he’d choose a southern rock band, she thought.
“I always liked Can’t You See?” she said.
“Is that right? I would’ve never thought you’d say that.”
“I’m full of surprises,” she said, in disbelief that she was actually leading this slob on.
“You’re dry—let me get you another drink,” he offered.
“Why thank-you.”
Foley looked around, spotted one of the servers and whistled at her.
“Hey Janie, how about another round over here?” he hollered.
The woman held up a finger for him to hold on a sec then came over to their table.
“What are we having, Sheriff?”
“A margarita for our beautiful visitor from up north. What you girls drinking?”
“I’m good, sheriff,” Carly said.
“Me too.”
“I’ll take another Jack on the rocks, Janie.”
“How did you know what I was drinking?” Amanda asked.
“Salt on the rim of the glass—a dead giveaway.”
She tried to look impressed. “You’re very observant.”
His eyes travelled down to her breasts. “Very observant.”
Just then a guy wearing a cowboy hat and jeans jacket came over and spoke to Summer.
“We’re going over to the One-Eye. Ya wanna go?”
Summer eyed Carly. “Want to?”
“Yeah, might as well.”
Christine returned, saw that Foley had taken her chair and looked at Summer questioningly.
“The guys are all going to One-Eye’s,” Summer said. “We are too.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Summer picked up her drink, drained it and smiled at Amanda.
“You want to go with us, Mandy?”
She could feel the sheriff’s eyes on her, hoping she would say no.
“Thanks, but I’m turning in early.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Nice seeing you again.”
“Me too. Nice meeting you guys,” she said.
They took a last sip and left a tip before leaving the table.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” the sheriff said.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“So where you staying while you’re in town?”
“At my uncle’s house.”
“Your partner, too?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“I guess so—not sure I’ll give you an answer, though.”
“Fair enough. Are you and your partner—Swansea, isn’t it? Are you two a number?”
“You mean are we seeing each other?”
“Yeah, whatever you want to call it.”
“Not really. We’re just good friends—after all, we work together. A romantic relationship wouldn’t make for a very professional arrangement, would it?”
“Nope, reckon not.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you married?”
“Used to be, but I’m divorced. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Their drinks came. Foley nearly drained his in a couple of gulps. Amanda wanted to drain hers and try to forget what she was about to do.
“Have any kids?” she asked.
“Yeah, two—a son and a daughter.”
“That’s nice. They still live around here?”
He nodded, a look of surprise on his face that she had even asked the question. “They would never dream of leaving Milldale.”
Amanda caught him staring at her breasts again and was repulsed. She had to force herself not to show it—to act like she was actually enjoying the company of this fucking asshole.
“You by any chance like antiques?” he asked.
Here it comes, she thought. “I do, as a matter of fact. Why?”
He smiled brightly. “I’m a collector of sorts—a hobby of mine. I’ve got some beautiful pieces that go back as far as the early seventeen hundreds.”
“Wow, that’s interesting. I would never have thought of you as an antique collector.”
“Just like you, I’m full of surprises. Would you like to come to over and see my collection?”
“I don’t know, sheriff. It’s getting late and I really should be going.”
“It won’t take long. Tell you what, let me take you to my place just long enough for you see my stuff and then I’ll bring you back the second you say you want to go.”
“Well. . . Okay, I guess so. But I can’t stay long, remember.”
“Fair enough. We’ll leave as soon as you finish that drink.”
Amanda chugged it down effortlessly. “I’m finished.”
He guffawed and managed to heave his ungodly mass out of the chair. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Amanda followed him out of the bar, feeling the eyes of everybody in the place upon her.
“I can just follow you,” Amanda said when they were outside.
“Be a lot simpler if I just drive. Only take ten minutes.”
She walked along side the sheriff, feeling like a slut. What in the hell am I doing? Alan would shit a golden brick if he could see her now.
It wasn’t until he opened the door to his Suburban and she got inside that she actually starting feeling apprehensive. Although this huge, gross bastard was a lawman, he could also be a serial killer for all she knew. When he got in and started up the engine, she drew in a deep breath in an effort to compose herself, making a silent vow to quit watching so many crime documentaries on TV.
He backed out of the parking space, reached into the console and pulled out a pint of Jack Daniels. When he noticed Amanda staring at him, he cast her a sheepish grin as he removed the cap and took a gulp.
“One of the perks of being sheriff,” he said. “Nobody would ever bust my ass for DUI in this town. They’d burn in hell.”
All Amanda could think at that moment was if the sheriff could so blatantly break the open container law without fear of any consequences, what would keep him from robbing and murdering Jodi Wilburn? The man apparently thought himself invincible.
“Want a snort?” he offered.
“No thanks.”
He turned on the stereo and tuned in a country station. The nasal whine of Randy Travis filled the SUV for about five seconds before Foley promptly changed stations.
“Can’t stand that little twerp,” he declared.
He found a classic rock station and left it there. They were heading east on Route 52 toward the outskirts of Milldale. She recalled from the Google satellite image that he lived on a good-sized plot of land about three miles from the highway. The sheriff spoke very little along the way, seemingly in his own world, no doubt with visions of a sexual conquest dancing in his bald head.
When they arrived at Foley’s home, Amanda was impressed by the layout of the property. The house had obviously been built very recently and had a modern look to it. She could see an in-ground pool in the side yard as well as a natural wood gazebo and massive greenhouse occupying the grounds, which were now bathed in bright floodlights. She realized that real estate was cheap in this struggling town but she seriously doubted that what she saw could be built on just a small town sheriff’s salary.
He pulled into the driveway outside the three-car garage and shut off the engine.
“Welcome to my abode.”
“Very nice,” Amanda replied.
“Thank-you.”
He stuck the Jack back into the console before getting out and leading the way to the sprawling split-level home. He held the door open for her as she stepped inside. The first thing to catch her eye was a beautiful baby grand piano visible through the atrium.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” he said, following her eyes. “That actually belonged to Wolfgang Mozart.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He chuckled. “I am, but you wouldn’t believe how many yahoos around here have fallen for that!”
The pot calling the kettle black, she thought.
“How about a drink before we begin the tour?”
“Maybe just a short one,” Amanda replied, walking over to the piano. “So how old is this?”
“Actually it’s old enough to have been Mozart’s—it was built in Vienna in 1786. See how small the keyboard is? It’s two octaves shy of a modern grand.”
As she admired the instrument, Amanda had to admit she was impressed with Foley’s apparent knowledge of antiques. She looked around the room in awe of the beautiful pieces: what looked to be a Louis XIV bureau, a pair of matching chairs and a giltwood center table. Seeing such elegant pieces of French furniture in the home of an overweight, overbearing county sheriff in southern Ohio was nothing short of surreal.
She followed the sheriff into the kitchen and looked around while he fixed their drinks. The kitchen was clean and modern with all stainless steel appliances and granite counters. If she didn’t know better, the cabinets could be antiques with their richly detailed accents and crafted ebony wood.
Foley produced a bottle each of Tequila and Triple Sec and began preparing a margarita, winking at Amanda as he rubbed the rim of the glass with a lime slice before adding the rock salt.
“I always keep a fully stocked bar—just in case a pretty girl like you shows up,” he explained.
If she didn’t despise him so much, she would have allowed herself to be impressed with how much he was doting on her. He had so far been a perfect host.
After mixing the drinks he handed Amanda her margarita and tapped her glass.
“To my guest, one of Milldale’s most beautiful losses.”
It took her a moment to decipher what he had just said before she got it. “How should I respond to that, sheriff?”
“No need to. Just know I meant it.”
“Thanks, then.”
“Follow me—I’ll show you my most prized possession.”
Thus began the tour. For the next fifteen minutes the sheriff led her through his home to share his collection of antiques, which was stunning. Amanda wasn’t knowledgeable of what the market value of such an array of antique pieces would be but it didn’t take a genius to realize that it had to be a small fortune. When the sheriff had first mentioned an antique collection she envisioned something like stuff from the thirties or forties or maybe even dating back to the early nineteen hundreds. Instead what she was seeing were museum quality pieces of exceptional value and rarity.
Furthermore, her host was quite knowledgeable about history and how each piece reflected the time period in which it was built. She would never have guessed she’d admit it, but the sheriff was not quite the redneck boor he appeared to be; but rather he was a well educated, nearly likeable individual.
One thing bothered her though. How in the hell was he able to acquire what appeared to be a priceless collection of antiques on a public servant’s salary? Not to mention this custom built house?
Unless he came from a wealthy family—which she doubted based on what she had found in her research—the sheriff was involved in something to boost his income. Probably illegal too, like drugs, extortion, or something as simple as burglary. Like Jodi Wilburn’s inheritance, for example, which had included several valuable pieces of antiquity and precious jewelry.
Could Sheriff Foley have robbed Jodi to help finance his passion for antiquity?
They had returned to the kitchen for another drink. Amanda let him talk her into one more only because she needed to buy some more time. After he handed her a drink, she decided to cut to the chase.
“How can you be so sure that Nick Wilburn murdered his wife, sheriff?”
The question caught him off guard and for a moment she thought he was going to go off on her. But he didn’t.
“I should have known this was going too well,” he complained. “Can’t you just forget about business for a change and relax, woman? That’s the problem with all you big-city folks. You never take the time to just have a good time.”
She forced a laugh. “I am relaxed, sheriff—probably too much in fact. I just really care about Nick and don’t believe he killed his wife. But you seem to be dead set on convicting him based on what can only be considered circumstantial evidence. You have no proof.”
“You’re shitting me, right? Everything points to Wilburn’s guilt—the coins in his car, the call to his ex-wife on his cellphone; plus he had motive, opportunity, everything! And you know what they say, if its quacks like a duck—”
“But you haven’t even considered the possibility it could be somebody else.”
“And how could you possibly know that?”
“Well, I don’t know for certain. But it sure seems that way from what I’ve heard.”
“So you believe all the gossip you hear?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I’ve read the police reports and there hasn’t been a single mention of anybody else being considered as a suspect. It’s like it has to be Nick Wilburn and can’t possibly be anybody else. You call that good police work?”
“What you’ve read is the city’s side of the story. You don’t know what all my department has done in this case, now do you?”
“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “If you’ll just answer one more question for me, I promise to drop this whole conversation.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Okay, what’s the question?”
“Is it really true that somebody saw Nick near Jodi’s house the morning of the murder?”
He paused a moment and grinned like a fox. “What’s it worth to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s it worth for me to answer? What will you give me in return?”
She gathered every ounce of resolve she could muster before responding. Then she cast her finest coquettish smile. “You’ll see.”
The sheriff beamed, confident that his conquest with this chick from the big city would be successful.
“Nobody has reported seeing Nick in the area that morning. Now you see why you should never believe any of the gossip you hear in this town.”
Amanda’s relief was palpable. This is huge, she thought. Without an eyewitness, there was still a chance Nick could be exonerated.
“Thank you, sheriff. For your honesty.”
“Anytime. Now, let’s see what my honesty has earned me.”
“I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. I’m really tired and need to go. But I won’t go back on my word. How about us getting together again tomorrow night?”
“But you said—”
“I told you that you’d see—and now you’ve seen. We will continue where we left off tomorrow. That’s the best I can give you.”
“How do I know you won’t welch on your promise?”
“I am a woman of my word.”
“I think I’m being shanghaied is what I think. I need some collateral. How about a little down payment, just to seal the deal?”
“Like what?”
Amanda held her breath. She didn’t like the way this conversation was heading and it was obvious that the sheriff was getting hot and bothered now that she’d gotten him primed up. The liquor was coming into play, too—his perfect host persona was slipping swiftly.
“A look at those,” he replied, eying her breasts hungrily.
Amanda was mortified—an embrace or even a kiss she may have been able to deliver—she would have just closed her eyes and pretended that this insidious slob was anything other than what he was. Afterwards she would be free to leave and never be in a room alone with him again.
But not that!
“Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?”
“That’s not a down payment,” he replied, his voice thick.
Jesus, Amanda! What in the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
She could almost imagine his penis hardening right now as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
“Give me a second,” she said, as an attempt to stall.
She tried to imagine grasping her top, pulling it up and exposing her breasts, feeling an icy coolness against her skin. She looked over at Foley, who was now literally gaping at her, a huge stupid grin on his face.
She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. He would just have to accept it.
As if he had read her mind he suddenly grabbed at her with both hands. She shot up, trapped his wrists, brought an elbow up and broke his grip before hammering him in the jaw with her other elbow. He let out a howl, reeling from surprise at the attack. Amanda stood back, poised to strike again. Foley stared at her in utter disbelief.
“What the fuck?”
“You asked for it, Sheriff. So you got it.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Self defense class,” Amanda replied. “We’re leaving now, sheriff. I have half a mind to report you for attempted sexual assault—I’ll have to think about it. If I decide not to report you, you should thank your lucky stars. Either way, I definitely won’t be keeping that date with you tomorrow. You totally blew that.”
“No one will believe you,” he replied matter-of-factly, his hand nursing the bruise on his jaw.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
She reached in her back pocket and pulled out her iPhone. She hit the stop button and played back a portion of the night’s conversation she had recorded. Sheriff Foley’s face turned beet red and he lunged toward her.
“You goddamn—”
Just then they both heard the front door open. Foley froze in his tracks and a moment later a man in his mid-twenties entered the kitchen carrying a can of beer and smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, pops—oh, you have company!”
The sudden appearance of his son threw the sheriff off guard as he struggled to compose himself.
“What have I told you about busting in here like this, Mark?”
“Just stopped by to snag a couple of beers. So who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“This is Amanda Linville. This is my rude son.”
Mark offered his hand to Amanda. “Nice to meet you.”
Amanda nodded and shook his hand. “Same to you.”
Mark Foley looked a lot like his father, if you shaved off a hundred pounds or so. His eyes were bloodshot and Amanda could smell a mixture of alcohol and pot on his breath.
“You don’t look familiar,” he said.
“I live in Columbus—I’m just visiting,” she replied. “You father was just getting ready to take me to my car.”
“You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing on my account. I’ll just get those beers and be on my way.”
“Lock the door behind you, son,” the sheriff said, obviously wanting this conversation to end immediately. “Let’s go, Amanda.”
“Whatever,” his son said. “Hey, what happened to your face? You look like you just got clocked, Dad!”
“Had an accident at work,” the sheriff replied lamely before leading the way out of the kitchen.
“Right, pops!” Amanda heard him say as she followed Foley to the front door.
On the way to the Suburban, Amanda noticed a sheriff’s department patrol car parked beside it.
“Your son works for you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’s not with the department. His car’s been in the shop so I’m letting him borrow one of the cruisers until it’s done.”
“Is that legal?”
“It is when your father’s the county sheriff.”
Apparently the earlier incident had done little to stifle the sheriff’s pompousness. Amanda wondered if reporting him for attempted sexual assault would knock that arrogance down a notch or two.
As she got into the Suburban Amanda realized that this man could in fact do her some serious harm to her now if he chose to. Although he had just tried to assault her and it was recorded as evidence, she wondered how far it would go if she actually did file a report. She had only set up the sting for something to hang over Foley’s head if necessary; now she doubted it had done any good. Was the sheriff truly as omnipotent as he thought he was?
She didn’t plan on finding out. The important thing was that she now had his word that nobody had seen Nick in the area when Jodi was murdered. Assuming he was telling the truth, it would seem that Nick still had a chance of avoiding arrest, at least for the time being.
Foley reached into the console, got out his bottle of Jack Daniels and took a big swig. Neither spoke during the entire ride until they approached the Holiday Inn and the sheriff broke the silence.
“A word of warning, little lady: don’t even think about saying a thing to anybody about what happened at my place or you will seriously regret it. You hear me?”
“I hear you, sheriff. And what happens if I defy you? Would you shoot me? Rape me?”
He chuckled menacingly. “Oh, nothing like that. Let’s just say you don’t want to find out and leave it at that.”
“We’ll just do that then,” she replied.
He pulled up behind her uncle’s Jeep and she opened the door. “Thanks for the memories, sheriff. It’s been an enlightening experience.”
“Don’t forget what I said.”
She shut the door.
Foley spun out as he pulled away. Amanda found her keys, opened the door and got in before realizing that she was trembling. She stuck the key into the ignition but didn’t start the engine. Instead she merely sat there, staring straight ahead.
What in the hell had she just done? Not only had she gone against Alan’s advice not to mess with the sheriff—there would be no way of fudging her way out of that by mincing words—she had actually put herself in serious danger on purpose, for chrissakes! Yes, she’d been a stellar student in her self-defense classes but that didn’t make her Jackie Chan. Plus, Foley was at least three times her size. Yet there she was, egging him on, practically begging him to make a move on her so she could show off her ability to stave off an attack. All so she could frame him if need be.
Pretty damn stupid, Amanda.
She couldn’t tell Alan what happened. He would fire her—after reaming her out for taking such extreme measures just to get info about the case. Against his orders, no less.
She started the car and backed out, looking forward to going to her uncle’s and hitting the sack. All she wanted was to put this all behind her.
It wasn’t until she pulled into her uncle’s driveway that she recalled something Alan had told her before leaving for Columbus. That one of Jodi’s neighbors had seen a sheriff’s department patrol car around the same time Jodi had been murdered. That the sheriff had reacted strangely when she had told him that.
Could the sheriff’s son been the driver of that patrol car?
Tomorrow she would have to find out more about Mark Foley and where he had been on the morning Jodi was murdered.