A High-End Finish(52)

“No problem,” he said gruffly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do this by the book. I mean to question you about every single thing you said or did, every interaction that transpired between you and Jarvick.”

“Okay.”

He pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Right now it doesn’t look good and I’m sure you know why.”

“Yeah,” I said gloomily. “My house. My pink screwdriver. My threat to kill him.”

“You ought to stop making those threats,” he said dryly, “innocent or not. But let’s move forward. I want you to be completely honest with me. I can’t do anything to mitigate this situation if I don’t have your cooperation.”

“You’ve got it,” I said, understanding exactly what he wasn’t saying: that if I didn’t give him every last bit of information I had, I might be going to jail after all. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me where you were last night between the hours of eight o’clock and two this morning.”

“I got home from the mechanic’s shop around seven thirty last night. I was able to park the truck in the driveway for the first time in a week. Usually Wendell had his stupid car parked there and he refused to move it.”

He glanced up from his notes. “You sound angry about that.”

“It was driving me crazy.” I blew out a breath, took in another, and let it go slowly. It wouldn’t do to start ranting about the man whose dead body had just been found on my property. “Yes, I admit I was angry. Wendell was a horrible person, always pushing people’s buttons and leaving chaos in his wake. You saw what he did at the pub the other night, right? He pulled stuff like that all over town. For a little while yesterday, I even thought he might’ve been the one who cut the brake line on my bike. But then I figured he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty.”

I took a drink of water before continuing. “I was literally counting off the days until he finally left town. Most of the people here feel the same way about him. We’ve put up with his abominable behavior every single year for the past twelve years. He’s always unpleasant. You can ask Cindy at the Cozy Cove Diner. He was so awful to her last Sunday, I thought Rocky was going to throw him through the plate-glass window.”

Eric stood and removed his brown leather bomber jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair before sitting again. “I’ll talk to Cindy, but why don’t you go ahead and tell me what happened in your own words?”

“All right.” I related the hot-coffee incident in detail. “The place was full so there were plenty of witnesses who saw the same thing I did. I heard that he pulled a number at Lindy’s on the Pier, too.”

Eric continued to jot down notes in his pad. After a minute, he looked up, frowning. “If you knew what he was like, why did you agree to let him stay here?”

“Good question.” I grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t imagine it would be that big of a deal. I mean, I knew he was unpleasant, but wow. The thing is, I joined our local innkeepers’ association last year and I wanted to be part of the team. Ordinarily, our policy is that we don’t turn away a paying guest, but the group has a whole different set of rules for Wendell. Each member is required to let him stay at their establishment once. After that, they can refuse him a room.”

As Eric wrote it down, he shook his head. “Sounds like he might’ve been more trouble than he was worth.”

I sighed. “I was so looking forward to refusing him a room next year.”

His lips twisted in a smile.

“But I didn’t kill him,” I said, repeating myself. Frustrated, I added, “I don’t know how I can prove it. He was parked in my driveway and killed by my screwdriver. But I didn’t do it. I mean, seriously, would I do something like that outside my own home? And use my own screwdriver? I’m not an idiot, Chief. Er, Eric. Really.”

He reached across the table and touched my hand lightly. Trying to calm me down, I figured. Strangely enough, it worked.

“Look,” he said, “I intend to follow up on every lead and track down even the smallest clue in order to close this investigation, but let me repeat what I told you before and maybe ease your mind a little. I really don’t think you killed Wendell Jarvick.”

I looked at him for a long second or two and read reassurance in his steady gaze. For the first time since finding Wendell dead in my driveway, I took an easy breath. “You really don’t.”

He shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re too smart to kill someone with your own screwdriver and then leave the body in a car parked in your own driveway.”

“Thank you.” But then something occurred to me. “You don’t worry that I might’ve used my own tools to fool you?”

His smile was placid. “‘I’m not a great fool.’”

“Of course not.” My eyes widened. “Wait. I know that line. Are you quoting The Princess Bride?”

He grinned and it warmed me down to my ribs. “Yeah. Your remark reminded me of that scene.”

“I love that movie.”

“Do you remember the next line?”

“I’m pretty sure I know every line.” I thought for a second. “‘I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.’”