A Willing Murder (Medlar Mystery 1)

“I thought...” Kate trailed off.

“Jack was in a bar celebrating that he finally got those houses, and he drank too much. He called Evan, his beloved brother, to say how happy he was. Jack was going to get a ride home, but Evan said he’d come get him even though it was after midnight. Evan drove Jack’s truck. Jack fell asleep, and...that was it. He woke up when the truck was turning over. Evan was killed instantly.” Sara grimaced. “The brake fluid had drained out and Jack thinks it was because he’d driven over some rocks that day. His fault.”

“I misunderstood,” Kate said. “I’m sorry.”

“Gossip. It all goes back to Roy. People are waiting to see if Jack is going to be like him.”

“He doesn’t seem to be headed in that direction.”

Sara grinned as though she’d just heard the greatest compliment ever. Jack appeared with a cold can of beer and four kinds of deli meat.

“You need French bread with that,” Kate said.

“That’s what I say, but in this house, there’s no bread and no sugar.”

“Whole Foods is on University,” Sara said. “Brand-new and big. They let anybody in, even males.”

Jack ignored her comment. “So why aren’t you looking at your photos?”

“It didn’t seem fair to see them first. As soon as we get rid of the lawmen, I think we should put them on the big TV and look at them together.”

“Did you tell the county guys that you’d taken hundreds of photos of the site?” he asked.

“Darn! I forgot to mention that. But I’m sure they have a photographer of their own.”

Jack looked at Kate. “They won’t be as good as our Sara’s. Did you try some of this ham?”

“That is hundreds of calories a bite. I’ll stick with the fruit.”

“Which is all sugar,” Sara said. “Might as well be eating cane sugar with a spoon. You should—”

The doorbell rang.

“Thank you, Lord!” Jack said. “Saved from hearing more about fructose and grams of carbs. If this guy gets too boring, tell him about the glycemic index. He’ll leave before you even get to the horror of foods that grow underground. The evil of carrots!”

“That’s what I have to put up with,” Sara said as she got up to answer the door, but she was smiling as she left the room.

“I guess we better go.” Jack stood up and finished his beer. “Are you going to play Little Miss Hostess again?”

“Only if you do your bad-boy act and try to start a fight.”

“Deal.”

They went inside the house to the living room.

Sheriff Flynn and Sara were with a tall man of Cuban descent who was wearing a suit. He was in his forties, looked to be in good shape, and he was holding a laptop computer and a file folder. From the way he stood in front of Flynn, the man was clearly the boss.

“This is Detective Cotilla,” Sara said, her face serious as he reached out to shake hands with Jack and Kate.

Cotilla turned back to Sara. “I just want to say, ma’am, that my wife loves your books. I think she has all of them. I had to build a bookcase just to hold your novels.”

“Thank you.” Sara managed a small smile.

“I guess we should get to it. Could we sit down?” the detective asked. “I have things to show you.”

“Would anyone like something to drink?” Kate asked. “We have—”

“No, thanks,” Detective Cotilla said. “We won’t take a lot of your time.” He and Daryl sat on one of the blue sofas, while Jack, Sara and Kate sat across from them on the other one.