Perfect Night (Mason Creek)

She stopped. “Why?”

“Why, exactly. He claims not to want outsiders to get ownership of any of the local shops. I can see that. But he also brought up Jack as a potential buyer.”

“What?” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be surprised. No one around here keeps their mouth shut about anything.”

“I don’t know much about Jack. What do you know?”

As she spoke, I ran the paint roller down the wall because I had a hard time looking at her without wanting to put my hands on her.

“Jack was Dad’s right-hand guy, besides me. I know he relied on him when I was busy with school.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“I don’t know now. Like I told you before, one of the first things he told me the day after Dad’s funeral was how Dad was going to sell him the bar. I want to believe that maybe he’s afraid I’ll sell it without giving anyone a chance, but it did seem odd.”

I agreed with her. “I hate to think anyone in this town is capable of murder.”

“Me either, but something isn’t right. I feel it deep in my bones.”

“I won’t give up. Though what I can do is limited. If I didn’t work for the sheriff, I could act more like a PI. But because I do, legally, my hands are tied beyond asking a few questions. We need to get the sheriff to formally open an investigation.”

“How do we do that?” she asked.

“I think at this point, we should consider an autopsy.”

“You said they can do that.”

“They can. The problem is it will cause quite the stir. Everyone will wonder. The sheriff will likely hate it. But it’s your right.”

She put her roller down. “How should we handle this?”

“As his living relative, you would have to request the autopsy. I can’t as it isn’t classified as a criminal investigation at this point. I’m not sure how long it would take, and it could be expensive like the sheriff suggested. But if the results show foul play, I’ll be able to take more of an active role in looking for the killer.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll do that. Whom should I call?” she asked.

“I’ll find out and let you know.”

She bent with her hand outstretched to grab the roller again but hesitated and stood again. “And if the results show no foul play—”

“Or inconclusive results,” I added.

“That too. Then, what?”

“That will be up to you. I’ll search until there are no viable leads. It would be great if you have a security system at your house that I don’t know about that we could look back at that night to see when your dad left.”

She shook her head. “I would have looked at that myself.”

“There are other businesses in town that might. That’s something I’ll look into. It would be easier to get that video with a search warrant. Time isn’t on our side. I’ll ask those that might have it as they might have caught your father’s route to the bar or anyone else that might be seen going there. The bigger problem is the gossipers in town. The best way to get unbiased answers is if those I ask don’t know why I’m asking. It would be best for me to get those answers before your father’s body is exhumed.”

“What can I do?”

“You can give me a list of business on the route you and your father take from home to the bar. A lot has changed since the last time I was here.”

“I can do that,” she said.

It was a struggle not to ask about her relationship and tell her she had other options, namely me. I dipped my roller in the paint when she said my name. When I turned to face her, I brought the roller brush around too fast and paint went flying. Splatter hit her face and hair.

“Oops,” I said, but damn if she wasn’t cute.

“Oops?” There was only a glimmer of retribution in her expression before she flicked her brush my way. “Oops,” she said a second time. This time a statement.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” I asked, sporting a smirk.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned.

“You have no idea what I’m going to do.”

She didn’t wait to find out. She ducked, putting her brush down and ran for the door.

I hadn’t expected that, which left me a second or two behind.

Outside, she had her hands up. “You don’t want to do this.”

I waved the brush. “Don’t I? You look good in paint.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” she said, taking off in the direction of my backyard.

I gave chase. Granted, she was quick, but my strides were longer.

Over her shoulder, she yelled, “That better be water-based paint.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I shouted, closing the distance.

She had no hope of winning and turned again, palms up. “Wait.”