Chapter 11
Old Jack Garvey lived up to his name. Look up “grizzled” in the dictionary and his picture was there. Yet, he’d worked for the Muskrats as hard as anyone half his age.
Harper was fond of Jack. As they pulled up to his house, they found him outside, cutting down a rotting tree in his yard with a large chainsaw.
The house was one story and sided in white wood. What took her aback was the tricked out shiny new van in the driveway and the extensive remodel of the front of the house to make it wheelchair accessible. The usual ramps weren’t there. Instead some sort of fancy hydraulic lift would hoist the wheelchair up to the front stoop.
“That’s some van,” Noah said in guy-awe over anything with four wheels. “I thought Jack was financially struggling.”
“I thought so, too.” She exited the car and lifted her hand to wave at Jack. He turned off the saw. “Kimmie said he was fired and only had a tiny pension. I don’t know how he can afford all this.”
As they walked up the driveway, she noticed upgrades to the property that hadn’t been there when he’d showed her a picture of his house, and Mrs. Garvey, when he got a new smart phone for his birthday. A big satellite dish crouched on a new roof as if awaiting news from the mothership.
“Does he rob banks?” Noah said as he gave the van an examination. “I’d guess he paid well over fifty grand for this alone.”
Old Jack set the saw down and headed their way with an uneven gait. His arthritic knees had always given him trouble.
“I guess we’ll find out.” She smiled widely and met Jack halfway. He scooped her into a hug.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.” He patted her back and released her. His eyes twinkled. “Kimmie told me you got canned, too. Did you come to get coupon clipping tips from the missus?”
Still smiling, she shook her head, then turned serious. “Maybe some other time. We’re actually here to talk about Gerald’s murder.”
Jack shook his head grimly. “Sad business that was.” He leaned to rub his knee. “Gerald was a bad seed, but he didn’t deserve that. God is the only one to judge him.”
Harper agreed and took a moment to introduce the two men. After their handshake, she turned back to the investigation. “I hate to do this to you, but we need to talk to anyone who had a grudge against Gerald. Unfortunately, you’re on the list.”
The elderly man walked over to a fancy rock wall—also a new addition—and sat. This, and all the other purchases, triggered warning bells in Harper. For a man who’d spent nearly everything he had on medical bills for his ailing wife, he’d come into a sizeable windfall.
Could that be tied to the murder?
She didn’t want to believe he could be guilty of possibly aiding in the crime. It was unlikely he could take Gerald down on his own. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be someone’s co-conspirator. Money could make a desperate man do unthinkable things.
When they joined him, he said, “Ask away.”
Noah took the lead. “I understand that you worked for the team for about four years?”
“That’s right. However, I knew Gerald much longer.”
Harper interjected, “He worked as the groundskeeper for Gerald and Betty Anne for almost twenty years before moving over to the team.”
“Being the equipment manager was easier on the knees,” Jack said. “I did a good job for that man.” There was a trace of both pride and bitterness in his voice.
“Harper told me why you were fired,” Noah said, sounding very FBI-like. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”
In that moment, it was easy to picture Noah in a suit, grilling suspects and solving cases. Someday she’d ask him why he’d been let go.
The old man’s story was much the same as the one Harper told him. He ended with, “I’m innocent of the charges.”
Harper believed him.
“You think someone else deflated the balls?” Noah took notes. “Any idea who the culprit might be?”
Jack hesitated. “I have no proof.” His desire to help soon outweighed his reluctance to point fingers. “I think it was either Deke or Cosmo. Who else would benefit?”
“Cosmo is Dave Comosavitch. The wide receiver,” she explained. “Did you ever see either one act strangely?”
“I did not,” Jack said. “I only have my suspicions.”
* * * *
Noah tried to wedge Old Jack into his idea of a killer. The piece didn’t fit. However, the old man had a motive, if not the strength to carry it out. Still, he could’ve been the lookout or getaway driver. He didn’t need strength for that.
He went in for the kill. “Can you tell us where you were Wednesday night?”
“Here with my wife, Sally.”
“Can anyone other than Sally confirm this?”
His gray head shook. “We did watch a pay-per-view chick flick that my wife likes. The heroine’s name was Buttercup. I’m sure the cable company can confirm the purchase.”
The information didn’t strengthen his alibi. A movie buy didn’t prove he was home to watch the show. He let that go for now.
“Harper said when you were fired, you were denied your full pension.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How can you afford to fix up your house and buy an expensive van on Social Security?”
Nice Jack morphed into angry Jack in an instant. His arms crossed tightly over his chest. “That, young man, is none of your business.”
Noah made a note. He’d have to dig for the answers in Jack’s financials. “Did you or were you involved with others to plan and execute the murder of Gerald Covington?”
Jack stood. His knee crackled. “I did no such thing.” He glanced at Harper. Disappointment filled his expression. “Now get off my property.”
Harper looked on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”
Jack walked away.
They left with more questions than clues. Noah felt a twinge of guilt that he may have ruined her relationship with the elderly man.
“In order to help you,” he said. “I have to ask tough questions.”
“But did you have to be so hard on him?” she asked after they returned to the car. “He couldn’t have killed Gerald. He’s a frail old guy with a bum knee.”
Yep, he saw that coming. “A year or so ago, a hundred-year-old man killed his wife with an ax. Don’t tell me that Old Jack, with the right motivation, couldn’t be a killer.”
“Is that true?”
“It’s true.” He faced her. “I don’t believe he did the actual murder, but something smells funny and it isn’t burnt oil from the car.” He let that sink in. “The money came from somewhere and we need to find the source.”
This seemed to pacify her. She returned him to the garage so he could get his truck. “I agree with your tactics to a point, even if I don’t like grilling my friends and accusing them of murder. Now get lost. I need a hot bath and a glass of wine before we tackle the funeral tomorrow.”
* * * *
The drive back to her motel didn’t ease her worries. Spending the day with Noah had her heart beating like a drum. He liked to tease her and he smelled so good, like woods and spice. He hit every nerve in her body, good or bad, and she had a hard time focusing.
Unfortunately, there were many more days like that ahead.
Once inside, she wandered into the bathroom and turned on the water. After checking in, and horrified by the condition of the room, she’d gone to the store for supplies.
She’d taken cleaner and a scrub brush to the tub to fight against whatever cooties it contained. Although stained by hard water and ill-use, she was confident it was clean.
When the trickling water changed from ice to tepid, her mind drifted back to Noah. Wet. Naked. With her. Darn.
“Why does he have to so sexy?” She reached for the bath tray in the counter and the bubble soap. It wasn’t there. “Huh.”
She looked around. “Where did I put that?” It took a bit of searching to find the item in the small closet. “Weird.” She must have set it down there and didn’t remember. The distractions had piled up over the last few days.
With the bath filled, she poured a small glass of wine, stripped, and hoped the warm water would wash away the disappointments of the day.
Her eyes drifted to the bubble soap. Odd that she’d put it in the closet. That made no sense. She closed her eyes and leaned back to relax.
Somehow, she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something on the outer fringes of her world was off.