“It belonged to her father.”
“Past tense?”
“He died several years ago.”
“She owns it now?”
“I suppose.” Honor hadn’t mentioned her father or his boat since his demise. It had never crossed Stan’s mind to ask what had become of the trawler. It was hardly a coveted legacy.
Crawford said, “You might have mentioned the boat yesterday.”
“I didn’t think of it. In any case, I wouldn’t have known where it was moored.”
“You didn’t keep track?” he asked, sounding surprised. Or maybe skeptical.
“No. I didn’t like her father. He was an aging, dope-smoking hippie who called himself a shrimper but was actually a ne’er-do-well who never had two nickels to rub together. He wore beads and sandals, for godsake. Look around,” he said, raising his arms. “He lived on this boat. The condition of it speaks to the kind of person he was.”
“And yet your daughter-in-law came here to hide.”
Stan actually took a threatening step toward the deputy. “I resent the implication that Honor is hiding from me.”
Crawford wasn’t intimidated. He didn’t back down. “You’ve heard the rumor about Coburn being a fed.”
He stated it as fact. Stan said nothing.
Crawford pulled a knowing frown. “Come on, Mr. Gillette. You’ve heard the rumor. What do you think about it?”
Stan wasn’t going to confirm or deny anything to this man in whom he had little confidence. “All that concerns me is the safe return of my daughter-in-law and grandchild. I’m going to leave you now and try to find them myself.”
Crawford sidestepped to block Stan’s path. “Couple of things first.” He paused for a beat, then said, “Mrs. Gillette obviously had access to her cell phone. So why didn’t she call 911? Or you? If she wanted to be found, wouldn’t she have done that instead of letting her little girl play games on her phone?”
Stan schooled his expression not to change. “You said a couple of things.”
“You might want to reconsider who you ally yourself with.”
“Why?”
“I received an initial ballistics report. The bullet that killed Fred Hawkins didn’t match any of the ones fired during the warehouse mass murder.”
Stan was quick with an explanation. “Coburn would have dumped the guns he used at the warehouse. They’re probably at the bottom of a bayou. He used another to shoot Fred.”
“Or,” the deputy said, drawing out the qualifier, “he wasn’t the warehouse shooter.”
Chapter 29
She’s a babe.”
It was the first time either Coburn or Honor had spoken in five minutes. Even Emily sat still and untalkative in Honor’s lap, having stopped the game of her own invention with Elmo and lapsed into the same brooding silence.
Coburn looked at Honor. “Come again?”
“Tori will knock your eyes out. She’s a babe.”
“What Tori is,” he said tightly, “is not here.”
“She will be.”
“We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”