But J.D. hadn’t had a crack at him yet.
For now, however, it was dinnertime and he was starving. He’d seen a little hole-in-the-wall diner down the road that had looked like a good bet for some home cooking.
At the diner, he ordered a barbecue-pork sandwich and beer-battered onion rings from a woman he quickly learned was the diner’s owner, Margo, a bottle-blonde in her late forties. She’d pegged J.D. as new to town immediately and, like a lot of Southerners when strangers came to their small towns, Margo was friendly but wary—until she heard J.D.’s slow, Southern drawl and realized he was Alabama born-and-bred. She quickly warmed to him, sitting with him at his solitary table while he ate and telling him everything she knew about everyone in the diner.
By the time he polished off a bowl of peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream, he felt as if he knew the business of everyone in town.
He turned the discussion to Carrie Gray’s murder, certain Margo probably knew more about what was going on in Terrebonne, Alabama, than even the cops knew. “I ran into her sister—Natalie, I think her name is.”
Margo’s eyes lit up at the mention of the name. “Oh, lord, that girl sure knows how to stir up a mess. When she decided not to go into the family business, you could hear old Darden Becker whoopin’ and hollerin’ all the way to Mobile.”
“He didn’t think she should be a deputy sheriff?”
“Good grief, no. The girl went to Yale, for pity’s sake. Can you imagine sending your girl to a place like that for four years, only to see her up and join the sheriff’s department after all that schooling? I’m surprised he didn’t ask for his money back!” Margo laughed with delight. “Oh, Natalie’s a fine enough deputy. She was promoted to investigator just this past spring. Don’t reckon old Roy Tatum would’ve done so if she wasn’t pulling her weight around there.”
“Is she married?” J.D. asked, though he wasn’t sure why. It didn’t really matter, did it? He hadn’t even thought to ask about her marital status earlier, when he’d been asking people in Millie’s Pub about her.
But that was before you got an up-close look at those big green eyes, Cooper.
Margo’s gaze fell to the wedding band on his left hand, then snapped up to look him in the eyes. “Why do you ask?” Her voice was suddenly wary.
He felt a flush warm his face, as if she’d caught him at something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He forced himself not to cover the ring with his other hand. He wasn’t pumping Margo for information about Natalie Becker so he could ask her out on a date, after all. He had nothing to feel guilty about. “No reason, really. Just wondered if her daddy disapproved of her choice in men, too.”
“Suppose it would depend on the man.”
“What did they think of Carrie’s husband?”
“That she was lucky to catch him. Hamilton Gray’s slipped the noose more than once since he was a boy, though God knows every girl in town’s been after him at some point.”
“Even Natalie?”
“No, not Natalie. She never has liked him much.” Margo lowered her voice. “I hear she thinks he had something to do with her sister’s murder.”
“What do you think?” J.D. asked.
“I can’t see the motive. He wouldn’t get her money—old Darden Becker made sure there was an airtight prenup. And I don’t reckon he’d have tired of a pretty little thing like Carrie so soon after the wedding. Besides, I heard he had an alibi.”
Alibis could be deceiving. “Say, do you know anyone around town named Alex?”
Margo’s forehead bunched with thought. “I think Ruby Stiller over on Beacon Road has a grandson named Alex. Why?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth, so he improvised. “I ran into a guy at the gas station yesterday. Said his name was Alex. We got to talking about fishing and he said he could show me some good spots, but I forgot to get his phone number.”
“That’s definitely not Ruby’s grandson—that kid’s in kindergarten.”
“Maybe I’m remembering the name wrong.”
“Well, if it’s fishing you’re after, you should hunt down Rudy Lawler. He lives up the road a ways—just out past Annabelle’s, in fact, maybe a mile or so.”
“Annabelle’s—that’s the place where Carrie Gray was murdered?” he asked, even though he knew very well it was.
“That’s right. Carrie bought the restaurant a few months ago and was trying to get it ready to reopen.” Margo pointed right, toward the west. “It’s about a half mile up the road.”
J.D. gently pushed his plate away. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Margo. I’ll be back, I’m sure.”
Margo smiled brightly at him. “You just tell your friends about Margo’s, okay?”
She walked him out, waiting in the door while he slid behind the steering wheel. J.D. waved goodbye, then pulled out on the highway. But he didn’t head back to the motel.
He headed up the road to Annabelle’s.
AT 6:00 P.M., THE SUN was only just reaching the horizon, still hot enough to make Natalie wish she’d left her jacket in the Lexus. But she’d stopped off at her house to get her spare weapon, and she didn’t like walking around with her holster showing, not even at a place as secluded as Annabelle’s.
The restaurant had once been a favorite among Terrebonne locals, one of the few nice restaurants in the sleepy little bayside town. Then Annabelle Saveau and her husband, Marcel, had moved back to New Orleans to take care of Marcel’s aging parents after Hurricane Katrina, selling the property to a real estate speculator who’d thought the restaurant and surrounding acres of scenic woods would be an easy sell.
Years later, it was still for sale when Carrie decided she was tired of running the Human Resources Department at Bayside Oil and wanted a different career. Natalie’s sister had bought the place a couple of months ago.
It had become the place of her death.
“Oh, Carrie, why were you so fearless?” she murmured, walking around the low-slung building until she could see the back door. Carrie’s body had been found in the kitchen, laid out supine, as if she were merely asleep. Of course, the slashing stab wounds in her abdomen, and the blood pooling around her body gave the real story away.
The sound of tires crunching on the asphalt parking lot in front of the restaurant set Natalie’s nerves humming. Unsheathing her Glock 19, she eased her way back to the front and flattened her body against the side of the building to avoid being seen as long as possible.
The engine cut off and she heard a car door open. She darted a quick look around the corner of the building.
There was no mistaking the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man walking to the front of the building. J. D. Cooper stopped in front of the door and tested the lock. The handle rattled in his hand but didn’t open.
Trespassing son of a—
Natalie eased away from the building, edging into the darkening woods behind her. She’d left her car down the road, not wanting to be seen snooping around what was, technically, still a crime scene, since she was on administrative leave.
But if she didn’t get to look around, she’d be damned if J. D. Cooper got to, either.
When she reached her car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911. “I’m calling from Sedge Road, near Annabelle’s. I just saw a man trying to break into the restaurant.”
Chapter Three