Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(51)

“No.” Mrs. Alexander shook her head almost violently. The whites of her eyes shone. She bowed her head and studied the tiles under her feet. “I can’t.”

Her fear was palpable.

“Thank you anyway.” Sharp lowered his hand and inclined his head in understanding. She flushed, almost looking ashamed, but fear overrode any sense of pride she might have. She closed the door, and the dead bolt slid home with a loud click.

Stella and Sharp turned away from the house. As he reached the passenger side of the vehicle, Sharp spotted a middle-aged neighbor rolling her trash can to the curb. The neighbor gave Stella’s sedan a curious look. She didn’t hurry into her house but watched them.

“She looks talkative. Let’s get the neighborhood gossip.” Sharp led the way across the street. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for Ronald Alexander.”

“Better you than me.” She lined her garbage can up with the curb. “Ronald is one miserable SOB.”

“Is that so?” Sharp asked.

The neighbor frowned at the Alexander house.

Sharp offered her a business card and introduced Stella as his associate.

“I’m Iris.” The neighbor inclined her head toward the house. “I don’t suppose she told you anything. I’m surprised she even answered the door.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I don’t think he lets her out of the house by herself.”

Sharp frowned in disapproval but didn’t comment. Iris was on a roll, and he didn’t want to interrupt.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he beats her.” She shook her head. “He’s the type.”

“Type?” Sharp prompted.

“He thinks all women should be subservient to men. Every time he sees my husband—which is rare because Fred can’t stand him—he tells him that a woman belongs in the home, and that he should teach me to stay in my place.” She barked out a laugh. “That is so not Fred. Ronald would be funny if he wasn’t so scary.”

“Scary how?” Stella asked.

“He beat the hell out of a neighbor, Larry Brown, for not picking up his dog poop. Just ran out of the house, tackled him, and started punching him in the face.” Iris shuddered. “Larry put his house up for sale as soon as he got out of the hospital. We were all hoping Ronald would move when he got out of jail, but he didn’t.”

“That’s terrible,” Stella said. “Does he frighten you?”

“Yes and no.” Iris tilted her head. “It isn’t anything he does. It’s how he looks at me. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s angry. I can feel his rage from across the street, like heat radiating off a sidewalk in August, and I haven’t done anything to him. I avoid him. If he comes out of his house, I go inside mine.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh. “Thank goodness Fred was a linebacker for his college football team. Ronald won’t mess with him.”

“Did you see him beat your neighbor?” Sharp wondered if this woman was the witness.

Iris shivered and rubbed her arms. “No. I came home from work just as the ambulance picked up Larry. His face . . .” She closed her eyes for a few seconds. A tremor passed through her. “It happened a long time ago, but everyone who lived here back then remembers.”

“Do you know where he might be now?” Sharp asked.

“Sure.” Iris looked at her watch. “Ronald just got a new job at Frederick’s Garden Center. It’s on Highway 12. I used to buy my perennials there. This year I went to Home Depot.”

“Good call.” Sharp pointed at the business card still in her hand. “If you remember anything else, you can give me a call.”

“I will.” Iris pocketed the card. “The entire neighborhood would love it if Ronald went back to prison and stayed there.”

Stella and Sharp returned to her vehicle.

Stella fastened her seat belt. “Let’s try the garden center.”

When he and Stella were engrossed in the investigation, he could almost pretend he was working a normal case. But the moment his brain was unoccupied, Olivia appeared front and center. He rubbed the aching emptiness above his heart as Stella drove away from the Alexander house.

Frederick’s Garden Center was only a few miles away. The rural roads had little traffic, and the drive took just a few minutes.

After she parked next to a pallet of pumpkins, Stella used her dashboard computer to pull up Ronald’s driver’s license photo. “This is who we’re looking for.”

Ronald Alexander was about fifty years old, with a mean squint and the veiny red nose of a longtime alcoholic.

They stepped out of the car and walked down several aisles of plants. They found Ronald in front of a greenhouse, loading trays of purple cabbages onto a display table. He was an average-size man, but his body and face looked hard, as if he had spent most of his life doing physical labor and being pissed off about it. His hairline had receded past his ears, leaving him with a crown of greasy brown-and-gray hair. Over his jeans and sweatshirt, he wore a green apron displaying the Frederick’s logo.

“Excuse me, Mr. Alexander?” Stella moved her jacket aside to show the badge on her belt.

Ronald’s eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked scared. “What do you want? I haven’t done anything.”