Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [70]
“Explain,” Maleah said.
Richey shrugged. “It was years ago. But word was that when Hilary quit the business, Dillard threatened her. She was his biggest star and everybody knew he was hung up on her. He would have married her in a heartbeat, if she’d have had him. Could be he finally made good with his threat and he killed the other two to make it look like Hilary was just one of several victims.”
“Interesting theory,” Derek said. “You know Dillard’s dying, don’t you? Stage four pancreatic cancer.”
“Wish I could say I was sorry, but what goes around comes around. Dillard treated me okay, I guess, but the man was a real SOB.”
Maleah couldn’t agree with Richey more. Dillard was a real SOB. But he had no history of violence, where on the other hand, Kyle Richey did. He had almost killed his ex-wife, Charlene Strickland, another Midnight Masquerade alumna. Was it possible that his theory of killing several people to cover up the motive for a single murder was his idea and that Charlene was his real target?
Mike could have sent one of his deputies to inform Lorie that Hicks Wainwright had recommended to his superiors that an FBI task force be formed ASAP. And it was possible that the Powell Agency already knew and had informed Shelley Gilbert.
As he stood on the sidewalk outside of Treasures of the Past, he tried to rationalize his reasons for being here. He was just doing his duty as the county sheriff. Jack and Cathy would appreciate him taking a personal interest in Lorie’s case.
Yeah, sure, whatever you have to tell yourself.
Just as he reached to open the door, a customer came out of the shop, someone he recognized, but he couldn’t recall her name. The woman paused, smiled at him, and said, “Afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Afternoon,” he replied, still unable to remember exactly who the middle-aged woman was.
Glancing inside, he noticed Shelley busily running a feather duster over a section of china and glassware that occupied several antique cabinets arranged in the left back corner on a raised platform. From that vantage point, she could see just about every square foot of the shop, including the checkout counter. He suspected that whoever had leaked the info about Lorie being under twenty-four/seven protection hadn’t realized the trouble they had caused. He figured that at least half of the small crowd milling around inside the shop were curiosity seekers and not customers. Gossip traveled fast in these parts. It was only a matter of time before the entire town knew. And if—make that when—Ryan Bonner convinced his boss at the Huntsville Times to run the exposé on Lorie that he had planned, everyone in north Alabama would follow the story of the former Playboy centerfold whose life was being threatened by someone from her sordid past.
Mike walked over to the checkout counter where Lorie was busy wrapping a silver tea service in bubble wrap.
“Busy afternoon,” he said.
“You should have been here earlier,” she told him. “When Shelley and I arrived at eleven, we had a block-long line waiting to get in.”
“Selling much?”
“More than I thought I would. Mostly small stuff, knickknacks and such. Of course, my feeling like a bug under a microscope has been an added bonus. Apparently a lot of the folks I know and some that I don’t are curious to see what a real bodyguard looks like. I think Shelley has been a disappointment to most of them. They were probably expecting some big, broad-shouldered guy wearing sunglasses and an earpiece and brandishing a semiautomatic.”
Mike grinned. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Returning his smile, she gently placed the wrapped tea set items into a heavy cardboard box and set the box under the counter. “I have a customer who wants this shipped to her daughter in Birmingham as a birthday present.”
Mike nodded. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”
“Good news first, please.”
Mike leaned across the counter and lowered his voice. “Special Agent Wainwright