Silence. Then, very slowly, Sheriff Cantrell nodded. “My apologies. Sometimes this job makes me think the worst of people.”
Except for Bill. You didn’t want to even consider he might have had a mistress. Of course, she didn’t voice this thought out loud.
She pushed to her feet again. “Please let me know what you find out,” she said, gesturing toward the credit card statement. Jacob’s carrier once again in hand, she turned to go.
The sheriff followed her to the door. “I’ll give you a call if I learn anything,” he said. His detached, professional tone had returned. Nicole wished she had confidence in him actually doing his job and checking the new lead out.
She didn’t understand his sudden loyalty to Bill’s reputation. Though they’d attended the same superstrict church, as far as she knew Bill and Sheriff Cantrell hadn’t been particularly good friends. Though of course, clearly she knew next to nothing about what her husband had done when he wasn’t at home with her. Anything and everything was possible. For all she knew, the two men could have gone bar hopping together. At this point, nothing would surprise her. The one thing marriage to Bill Mabry had taught her was that nothing was as it seemed on the surface.
Once she had Jacob buckled into his rear-facing infant seat, she started Bill’s car and drove away. It had been a long time since she’d driven, though her driver’s license hadn’t expired. Bill never let her drive his BMW and after one of the deputies had delivered it to her along with the keys, she’d felt extremely nervous sitting behind the steering wheel. Now she supposed she’d get used to it eventually.
She drove to Briggses’ Funeral Home. Despite not hearing anything from the Mabrys, she needed to see about making arrangements. Of course, Pastor Theodore would handle the funeral. That was a given. Her parents and Bill’s parents were founding members of The Church on Top of the Hill. Bill had been a deacon there. Of necessity, Nicole had attended as a child and then again once she and Bill had married. After the funeral, she never intended to go there again.
Since there were other things to attend to, such as choosing a casket and a burial plot, she asked to speak to the owner, Joe Wayne Briggs. His son Junior came out to greet her instead.
When she told him the reason for her visit, he led her to a tastefully decorated small office. She couldn’t help but notice the box of tissues placed conspicuously close to her chair.
“Now what can I help you with today?” Junior asked, his attempt to mimic his father’s sonorous tone coming off surprisingly well.
“I’m sure you know my husband, Bill Mabry, recently passed away. I need to see about selecting his casket and purchasing a burial plot.”
Confusion crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Dan and Theresa Mabry have already made all the selections. He’s going to be interred in the Mabry family plot.”
Made all the selections. Without her. One more slap in the face. “I’m his widow,” she began. “I should have been consulted.”
Then, as he stumbled all over himself trying to explain what had happened, she realized this was okay. All of it. Bill’s parents had adored their only son and mourned him, definitely far more than she did. If they knew his true character, their love for him superceded all that.
She, on the other hand, had only been married to him for one year. He’d bullied and abused her, regarded her as a possession rather than an equal partner, and in her heart of hearts, she felt relief rather than sorrow.
“Thank you very much,” she said, interrupting him. “I assume they’ve also handled the obituary?”
At his nod, she exhaled. “Do you happen to have anything printed out yet?”
“We do. We do. Let me get you a copy.” He scurried out of the room. When he returned, he handed her a sealed envelope. “Everything is in here. The casket, the burial plot number and a map to the area, and information on the service.” He took a deep breath and adjusted his tie. “I do apologize for not realizing we should have contacted you. I assumed you were too grief stricken to attend any planning sessions.”
She let that one go. Thanking him, she once again picked up Jacob’s carrier and turned to go.
When she lifted him up to buckle the carrier into the backseat, she realized his little face was bright red. His eyes were closed, and she did a panicked test, wetting her finger and placing it under his nose to make sure he was still breathing.
The instant she did this, he began flailing his arms about and let out a loud cry. Once he got started, his crying increased in volume and intensity, letting her know something was very wrong.
She took him out of the carrier and checked his diaper, finding it dry. No amount of rocking or singing to him made any difference. When a bubbling rash of red welts appeared on his face and arms, she knew something was drastically wrong. Buckling him back into the carrier while he still wailed, she jumped into the car and drove straight for the hospital emergency room.
Kyle finished unpacking his groceries, then stood back and eyed his full refrigerator. He knew he should feel some sort of satisfaction at having successfully begun his journey toward living on his own out of the military, but the best he could summon up was exhaustion.
His doorbell rang. A uniformed deputy stood outside. What now?
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” the deputy said, handing him an envelope. “Please step aside.”
Stunned, Kyle didn’t move. “Search for what? Don’t I have the right to know what it is I’ve supposedly done?”
“It’s all in the warrant, sir.” Motioning to another uniformed officer, the deputy let his hand hover near his holstered weapon. “Now, please. Step aside.”
With a shrug, Kyle did as he was told.
While the two officers searched his small rental home—which wouldn’t take them very long since Kyle had very few belongings and only the basic furniture that had come with the house—Kyle read the search warrant. The reason given, and approved by a judge, was listed as Bill Mabry’s murder.
Which made absolutely zero sense. Kyle hadn’t even been in town when the guy had died.
Aware that arguing with the deputies wouldn’t change anything, he wandered out to his small back deck to wait until they’d finished their search. He only hoped they didn’t trash the place too badly.
“Sir?” The urgent tone of the deputy’s voice had him jumping to his feet. “Could you come in here please?”
Kyle hurried inside. The two deputies stood near his gun safe, one of the few purchases he’d made before driving back to Anniversary.
“Could you open this for us?”
He wondered if he could refuse. Probably not. A search warrant would definitely include firearms. Heaving a sigh, he dialed in the combination for the lock and opened it. He let the door swing wide and took a step back. “Please handle with care,” he said. “Those pieces were chosen carefully and I can’t afford to replace them.”
To his eternal relief, they treated his small gun collection with respect. All of his weapons were clean and well taken care of, something he’d learned to do while in the army.
“Great condition,” one of the deputies commented.
“And none of them have recently been fired,” said the other.
Kyle simply waited until they’d finished. When they moved away from the safe, he closed the door and locked it. “Anything else you need?” he asked.
“No.