Lizzy watched as he disappeared down the drive, unable to shake the stench of him. Or the hard glint in his eyes when he’d looked at her. There might be a tattoo parlor and a brand-new café downtown, but Dennis Hanley’s snub made it clear that some things in Salem Creek would never change.
She was still scowling when she spotted Evvie prowling what remained of the vegetable garden in her faded chintz apron. The garden was nothing like it used to be, but it had fared better than much of the farm, and still boasted a decent selection of berries and vegetables.
Evvie dropped a fistful of string beans into her apron pocket and looked up, appraising Lizzy through narrowed eyes. “You look like someone ran over your best pig.”
Lizzy scowled at her. “I look like . . . what?”
“It’s something my daddy used to say. It means down in the mouth. I take it things didn’t go well with the chief.”
“That’s one way to put it. Apparently, the case was closed years ago, and he has no intention of reopening it. His exact words were sometimes justice takes care of itself.”
Evvie’s expression hardened. “How did you leave it?”
“I told him I was going to do a little asking around.”
“I’m sure he loved hearing that.”
“Not really, no. He made it pretty clear that he’d like me to leave it alone. Gave me some line about property values and scaring people off. I asked to talk to the detective who was in charge of the investigation—Roger Coleman was his name—but he’s apparently moved away. According to Summers, no one’s heard from him since he quit the force.”
Evvie grunted, scraping dirt from under her nails. “Shows how much he knows.”
Lizzy caught her by the wrist. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s someone who knows exactly where that man went, and he happens to live right next door.”
Lizzy looked in the direction of Evvie’s crooked thumb. “Andrew?”
“Mmm-hmmm. Came over one day a couple years back and asked your gran if she had a problem with him renovating the detective’s new house. Said he wouldn’t take the job if she didn’t want him to. He meant it too. But you know Althea. She said the man was just doing his job, and that he’d never been anything but polite while doing it.”
“So he took the job?”
“Far as I know. But if you want to know for sure, go knock on his door and ask.”
Things had definitely changed at the Greyson place. The bedraggled hedge that had once threatened to swallow the house whole had been yanked out, replaced by a terraced garden blooming with dahlias, helenium, and bright-orange daylilies.
The house itself was also undergoing changes. There was an addition going up on one side, with large windows, a fieldstone chimney, and a wraparound deck that would look out over the hills when it was finished. Andrew had obviously decided to put his own stamp on the place when his father passed away.
Lizzy followed the walkway to the front door, surprised to find it standing open. The sound of hammering echoed from somewhere inside. She knocked, then called out over the steady banging. “Hello? Andrew?”
The hammering stopped. Andrew appeared moments later, clearly surprised to see her in the doorway. “Hey.” He paused, wiping his face on his sleeve, then brushed a smattering of sawdust from his hair. “What’s up?”
Lizzy hesitated as she noted the state of the house. The furniture had been removed, the floor strewn with heavy canvas drop cloths. “I can come back if you’re busy.”
“Don’t you dare. I was looking for an excuse to knock off. Come on in.”
The air was sharp with the smell of freshly cut wood and the sticky-sweet fumes of varnish. “You’re remodeling,” she said, as she moved deeper into the room. “I noticed the gardens out front. They’re beautiful. I’d put down some fresh mulch, though. It’ll cut down on the need to water, and help keep the weeds down.”
“You sound like your grandmother. She wrote it all down for me, by the way. In fact, the whole thing was her design. I’m a wiz with walls and wiring, but when it comes to the outside stuff, I’m clueless. You want the tour?”
Lizzy followed him into the kitchen, where the new floorboards were littered with sawdust. It was large and open, with a cooking island in the center and wide windows that opened out onto the new deck. The appliances were state-of-the-art stainless, the lighting updated with recessed canisters, the cabinets fashioned of some satiny dark wood.
“It’s going to be gorgeous when you’re finished,” she told him, running an admiring hand over one of the cabinet doors. “I love the wood.”
“I still need to decide on the granite. Care to weigh in?” He pulled a trio of samples from the top of the refrigerator and held them out. “I’ve narrowed it to three.”
Lizzy glanced around the kitchen, then back at the samples. After a moment she took the middle sample—the lightest of the three—and held it up against one of the cabinet doors. “This one,” she said, handing it back. “The creamy background will brighten up the room, while the dark veins pull the wood and stainless together.”
“Done, madam. But be warned, I may consult you again when it’s time to choose the hardware. Oh, speaking of which, did Dennis deliver the wood for the barn?”
“He did. Though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was Dennis. I never could tell the two of them apart.”
“Yup. Definitely Dennis. He works the night shift at the meatpacking plant, but does delivery and odd jobs for me a couple days a week.”
“He’s not very friendly, is he?”
Andrew shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but don’t take it personally. He’s been worse since his brother died.”
“Hollis died?”
“Two years ago. Car crash out on Route 125, not long after he got back from Afghanistan. Poor guy couldn’t catch a break. He was always a little slow, but Dennis looked out for him. They enlisted together and assumed they’d be stationed together, but it didn’t work out that way. Hollis had a rough time on his own. Came back a mess. I think Dennis feels responsible for the way things went. I’m pretty sure that’s why he took the job with me, so he could help Hollis’s wife.”
“Oh no. He was married?”
“He was. Married Bonnie Markham’s youngest daughter, Helen. The baby was barely a year when he died. A little girl named Kayla. She’s about three now, I think.”
Lizzy shook her head, grieved by the thought of a little girl growing up without her father, a young wife without her husband. “How awful. But it’s good of Dennis to look after his brother’s family. I wouldn’t have thought him the type, but then I should know better than to judge.”
She glanced at the granite sample still in her hand. She’d forgotten she was holding it. She handed it back, feeling timid suddenly. “I came to ask for a favor.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I went to talk to Randall Summers today about the Gilman case.”
“Seriously?”
The look on his face said it all. “I know. Why dredge all that up again? I swear, I never meant to. But now that I’m here, all I can think about is how awful it must have been for Althea, knowing people believed her capable of . . .” She looked away, leaving it to Andrew to fill in the blanks. “I thought he might be able to tell me something new.”
Andrew pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I get you wanting to clear Althea’s name. I’m just surprised you thought Summers would be willing to help. He’s certainly been no friend to the Moons over the years.”
“Maybe, but I had to start somewhere. And you’re right. He isn’t willing to help. He hung around just long enough to tell me I was wasting my time. Then he hurried off to some luncheon with the mayor.”
“Of course he did.”
“Why of course?”
“Summers has been counting the days until Cavanaugh either retires or dies. And last week it became official. The mayor’s packing it in, heading to North Carolina and the grandkids. Your chances were never good, but with an election looming you’ve got zero chance of getting help from Salem Creek’s finest.”
“Which brings me to the favor I mentioned.” She stepped away, wandering toward the window to peer out. “I asked to talk to the detective who headed up the case. Summers told me he left the force several years ago and moved away. He also claims no one knows where he went. But Evvie thinks you might.”
“Roger.”
Lizzy turned away from the window, suddenly hopeful. “Yes! Do you know how I can get in touch with him? An address or a phone number?”
Andrew scrubbed a hand through his hair, clearly weighing his response. “I have both, though I doubt he’d be thrilled with me for sharing either. He’s a private investigator now, works for his brother in Dover. I could give him a call, though, ask if he’d be willing to speak with you. He might not be. I have a hunch his memories of the Salem Creek PD are far from happy.”
“Call him. Please. I just want to ask a few questions, see if anything new comes up. It’ll probably come to nothing, but it’s worth a conversation.”