The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(36)

Sharp had too much work on his plate to be sidetracked by Tessa. The sooner one of them filed papers, the better for both of them.

As he slid into the car, he checked his voice-mail messages. An officer in the city of Richmond had an eyewitness who’d seen Terrance Dillon about 11:00 p.m. on Sunday. He redialed the officer’s number. “This is Sharp. Got your call regarding Terrance Dillon.”

“Yes, sir. We have a bartender who thinks he saw your murder victim with an older guy on Sunday night.”

Sharp cradled the phone under his chin as he pulled a notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. “Do you have a number of the bar?”

“Sure do.”

Sharp scribbled the name and number, thanked the officer, and dialed. The bar manager answered and told Sharp to come in about four when the Sunday-night bartender arrived for his shift.

He drove the twenty miles north toward Terrance Dillon’s town, parked, and walked down the street toward the diner called Bessie’s. He remembered as a teenager how he’d hated hanging around town. It had felt so small and confining, and he was always angling for any reason to leave. He’d left, anxious to chase the thrill of battle and conflict. Finding both had given him a new appreciation for large lawns with old oaks; historic, slow-paced charm; and the tedium of everyday life.

He pushed through the front door of the diner he’d eaten at dozens of times as a teenager. The 1950s decor and the smell of coffee and burgers brought back memories as he sat at the counter. Back in the day, he sat here dreaming of better places. Excitement. Now he wondered why he’d hated the place so much.

The waitress, a redhead in her late thirties, set a menu in front of him. Sharp ordered coffee and the number six without looking at the menu.

“You know what the number six is?” she asked as she set a coffee mug in front of him.

“I’ve eaten here before.”

She filled his cup and studied his face. “You’re the Benson boy.”

“Roger Benson was my stepfather. I’m Dakota Sharp.”

She set a creamer pitcher within reach. “You were a couple of years ahead of me in school. Weren’t you the one who set off those fireworks in the center of town when we were in high school?”

A smile edged up the corner of his lips. He and Jacob McLean had gotten ahold of extra fireworks left over from the Fourth of July celebration and decided to re-create the show with what they had left. It did not go over well that it was the middle of August and two in the morning.

“That would be me.”

“I’m Ellie Duncan. You’re a cop now, right?”

He nodded. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“I heard folks talking at breakfast this morning. You’re here to ask about the Dillon kid, aren’t you?”

He sipped his coffee as the flicker of nostalgia vanished. “That’s right.”

“Damn shame about him. Terrance was a good boy. Always looking for odd jobs and ways to make extra money. He wanted to go to college.”

He set his cup down. “How well did you know him?”

She rested her hand on her hip. “Knew the family better than the boy. Father was bad news, but the kid was on the straight and narrow thanks to his grandmother.”

The front doorbells jangled and she glanced up, grinning. “Hey, Norman.”

His answer sounded warm. “Ellie. How are you today?”

Sharp tossed a glance toward the baritone voice as the man settled at the counter several places to his left. Tall, fit. He was the funeral director who’d overseen Roger’s graveside service.

Ellie set a cup in front of him and filled it with coffee. “Norm, this is Agent Sharp. He’s working that dead boy’s case, like you.”

Sharp extended his hand. “DeLuca, right?”

His grasp was firm, his gaze direct. “That’s right.”

Ellie tapped her fingers on the counter. “Norm, let me get your to-go order.”

As she vanished into the kitchen, Sharp faced the man. “You will be handling Terrance’s funeral service?”

“I am. I spoke to his grandmother this morning. Sad, sad thing to happen. They are a good family, and the kid had so much promise.”

“You know the family well.”

“Know them well enough to say hi. Henry has the maintenance contract with the cemetery, and I see him often. The guy works hard, and I know he was proud of his cousin’s football career.”

“What about Jimmy Dillon? Do you know much about him?”

“He’s been in prison for at least nine or ten years. I think his last conviction was related to drugs. He was in prison when his wife, Terrance’s mother, died.”

“Did Terrance have any contact with his father?”

“I did see Jimmy at Terrance’s football game a couple of weeks ago. He was off to the side, I think, trying to go unnoticed.”

“Why do you say that?”

Intelligence burned in DeLuca’s stare. “He stayed close to the bleachers and close to the exit. Thirteen years of running funerals and you get a knack for reading people.”

“Why were you there?”

“DeLuca’s was a sponsor. We were being recognized that night by the boosters.”

Ellie reappeared with a large brown bag stapled closed with a ticket on it.