But what if…?
The telephone rang. Knowing Tressie was busy with a customer, she reached for it, grateful for the distraction. “Intriguing Interiors. May I help you?”
“Hey, sis. Tommy’s having a pool party next Friday and he wants to know if me and Jimbo can spend the night. His mom will be there and everything. Is it okay?”
Thinking of Mac’s truck again, she wondered if she should ask Brad about it. If there was any chance he’d been involved…
“Tommy’s mom said you can call her if you want to ask her anything, but she’d like to know as soon as possible so they can make plans. Is it okay?”
She gave his request another moment’s thought. She was beginning to have doubts about Brad spending so much time with Jimbo, but Tommy seemed like a decent kid. She’d met his mother, a PTA officer and soccer mom who, while spreading herself a bit thin with all her volunteer activities, seemed involved in her two sons’ lives. “I suppose there’s no harm in it.”
“Cool. Thanks, Sharon.”
He sounded so genuinely pleased and grateful that she couldn’t help softening. “You’re welcome, Brad. Promise me you’ll be good.”
“Sure. No problem.”
The guarantee was given so glibly that she couldn’t take much reassurance from it. “Brad,” she began impulsively, suddenly needing an answer about Mac’s truck.
“Mmm? I’ve got to go. Jimbo’s waiting for me. We’ve got baseball practice.”
She swallowed the words she’d almost blurted. This wasn’t the time to question him, not about something so important. Not over the phone. And not while Jimbo was waiting for him.
Besides, she reminded herself, she didn’t really believe Brad had done it. More likely Joe Wimble had gotten drunk again and felt like causing trouble. Until someone had decided to try his hand at larceny recently, Joe’s drunken shenanigans had been the worst crimes Honoria had seen since Sam Jennings had been hauled off for murder more than four years ago.
Her little brother wasn’t a criminal. She was sure Mac would see that for himself soon.
They only needed time.
WORK FINISHED for the day, Mac locked the Garrett house and headed for his truck. He found Wade Davenport leaning casually against the driver’s side.
His first instinct was to curse. He was tired and confused, and he needed some time alone. He was in no mood to be interrogated by the police chief. His nod was curt. “’Afternoon, Chief.”
“Hey, Mac, how’s it going?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Nasty scratch on your truck here. Get too close to something?”
“Apparently.”
“Do you know who did this, Mac?”
“Not for certain, no.”
“But you have suspicions?”
Mac only shrugged.
“Officer Dodson’s concerned that you’ve got a feud going with someone. He said he got the feeling you were planning to handle this yourself.”
“Now comes the part where you tell me you don’t want any trouble around here, right? I know the speech, Chief. Your officer already gave it to me.”
“Yeah, but did you listen?”
Mac let silence be his answer.
Wade shook his head, glanced at the scarred truck again, then changed the subject. “We found the van that was used in the Porter robbery.”