—Emily Dickinson
FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, Dean concentrated on researching Deputy Stanley Tagert. The information was limited, but a picture emerged of a surly, unpopular man who’d drifted into law enforcement because of his need for power. He’d married and fathered three children, only one of whom had stayed in the area after Tagert died in the hunting accident.
Dean tracked down Tagert’s grandson, who owned a struggling grocery store in a small town less than ten miles from Destiny. He explained that he’d purchased the Cameron Inn and was researching its history for his own curiosity. “I understand your grandfather was the officer who attempted to arrest the Cameron twins.”
Genial and cooperative, Arnold Tagert nodded his balding head. “Yup. My grandma told us about it. Said he was a real hero, but he paid the ultimate price for his dedication to the law.”
“What did she mean by that?”
Arnold looked around as though afraid he’d be overheard, though the few customers shopping in the store were yards away from the corner where he and Dean stood. “My grandma never believed the Peavys’ story about my grandfather droppin’ his gun and accidentally shootin’ hisself. She says she thinks Gaylon Peavy shot him.”
Dean looked properly scandalized, though he wanted to cheer, instead. Finally, he’d found someone who doubted the “official” story. Maybe, at last, he was coming closer to the truth. “Why would she think that?”
“Revenge. She says Gaylon was mad as a hornet at my granddad for shootin’ his stepkids, even though my granddad swore they shot first.”
Dean frowned, not at all satisfied with that explanation. “But I understood Gaylon was never close to his stepchildren.”
Arnold Tagert shrugged. “Around these parts, family loyalty goes a long way. Folks said as how Gaylon promised his second wife, the twins’ mother, that he’d look out for’em as long as he was livin’, and he might have thought he’d let ‘em down by not protectin’ ’em from their own criminal ways.”
“That doesn’t sound very likely,” Dean murmured.
Tagert smiled ruefully. “I know that. But Grandma was never quite right after her husband was killed, you know? And as she got older, she just got more peculiar. She always did hate the Peavys.”
Again, that darting look around, as though his grandmother were there to eavesdrop. “My mother had the idea that maybe ol’ Granddad had chased after Mary Anna Cameron while he was married to my grandmother. They say Mary Anna was a real knockout.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve heard.”
“Be that as it may, no one ever took Grandma serious about Gaylon killin’ her husband. Far as I know, it was ruled an accident and the case was closed within a few days. Grandma never spoke to a Peavy again, not that it bothered ’em any. But she kept up with ‘em, for all that. She seemed to know everything they did. Claimed she was waitin’ for justice to assert itself.”
Dean was getting desperate. “Mr. Tagert—”
“Arnold.”
“Thanks. Arnold, is there anyone still alive who actually knew Gaylon Peavy, or the twins? Anyone who might possibly know a bit more about the scandal than is generally known?”
Tagert frowned and scratched his head. “Ain’t no one still alive that I know of. Except maybe ol’ Bill Watson.”
Dean froze. “Bill Watson?” This was a name he hadn’t encountered before.
“His mama used to work at the inn, and she and Bill lived there when he was a boy. They moved to Hot Springs not long after the twins died, but Bill went back to Destiny years later and went to work for the Peavy family. Worked for ‘em till he was too old to even do odd jobs, and then they shipped him off to some nursing home. If he’s still alive, I guess they’re still payin’ his bills.”
“No one’s even mentioned him to me before.”
Tagert shrugged. “Not surprisin’. or Bill always was a loner, never had family or many friends to speak of. And it’s been years since he left. He’d have to be in his late eighties now, assuming he’s still alive. Most folks have probably forgot all about him.”
“If he is still alive, it’s possible that he would remember the twins. Remember that night, maybe.”
Tagert nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Would have stuck in his memory, for sure, even if he was just a kid at the time. Not that I ever heard him mention it while he worked for the Peavys. Nobody ever really understood that situation much, anyway.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Far as anyone could tell, ol’ Bill never did much. A little drivin’, some gardenin’, runnin’ errands. But the Peavys kept him on the family payroll for years, then took care of him after he got too old to do anything useful. The Peavys w
eren’t exactly known for their loyalty and generosity—unless it was something they could do real public-like, to make’em look good, you know?”
Dean nodded to show that he got the point. Bill Watson was sounding more interesting all the time. Was it possible that Watson knew something about the shootings, even though he’d been a mere boy at the time? Or were the Peavys more loyal to longtime employees than the grandson of an embittered widow had been led to believe?
Whichever the case, Dean wanted to talk to Watson. “You don’t know which nursing home he’s in?”