Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [43]
“Roxie said you were looking for me.”
I swiveled on my seat and found a balding man wearing a shirt with metal collar tips, a bolo tie and the gaudiest cowboy boots I’d ever seen in my life. “Mr. Graybill?”
“You can call me Marty; everybody does,” he said as he stuck out his hand.
I took it, then said, “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thank you kindly, sir. Now what can I do for you?”
I took a sip of coffee, then said, “I’m here to talk to you about Gretel Barnett.”
Marty stiffened slightly beside me, then said, “Don’t know much about her. She was new in town. It’s a shame what happened to her.”
“That’s a pretty charitable attitude, considering that you must have been pretty upset with her.”
His “boy howdy” attitude was slipping quickly. “Why do you say that?”
“I’ve talked to Runion, I know all about the deal she blew for all of you.”
Marty suddenly didn’t seem all that friendly anymore. “We’re doing fine here. I’m not even sure I was going to sell myself. I’m happy running this restaurant.”
“That’s not what I heard. So where were you last Saturday?”
He looked at me like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “You’re asking me for an alibi? The way I hear it, you’re the one who shot her.”
I felt an icy chill. “So you know who I am.”
“Son, everybody in the county knows your mug after that spread they did on you in the newspaper.”
“The police know that I didn’t kill her,” I said, a statement that was more optimistic than I felt. “They’re looking for alternate suspects now.”
Marty said, “I’ll answer to them, but I won’t answer to you.”
It was time to nudge him a little. “So you do have something to hide.”
He got up, leaned over me and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was right here, just like every other Saturday since I’ve owned this place. It’s our busiest day, and no one gets off; not even me. I’ve got to go.”
After he’d disappeared, I waved the waitress over. She said, “Are you ready now, Sugar?”
“Just the check,” I said.
She scribbled out something on a pad, then slipped it to me. I left her a tip, a lot bigger than she merited, then took my bill to the register. The redhead was ringing someone up ahead of me, and when she got to me, I said, “Thanks for pointing Marty my way.”
“You’re welcome,” she said as she took my money.
“I heard you’all were selling the place,” I said as casually as I could manage it.
“He was going to, but the deal fell through. Marty hasn’t been the same since.” She lowered her voice and added, “I shouldn’t say anything, but we’re just squeaking by here. Marty always wanted to move out West, and he was afraid this was his last chance.”
I was about to ask something else when Marty suddenly reappeared. “Roxie, I need you in the office.”
“But Thelma’s on break. Somebody’s got to run the register.”
“Let Shelly do it. Now, Roxie.”
She handed me my change, then walked back to Marty. He didn’t say another word to me, but his glare was smoking as I left.
As I walked outside, I thought about how casual Marty had tried to play me, and how earnest he’d really been about selling out, according to Roxie. I hoped she didn’t get in trouble for leveling with me, but I was glad she’d been forthright. Marty Graybill could stand a little more scrutiny. Even though he claimed he’d been working all Saturday, it shouldn’t be all that hard to check. I’d have to leave that to Morton, though. He had the resources to follow up on alibis. All I could do was point the sheriff in the right direction. Morton and I were going to have to have a long talk soon. I had to come up with some way to share what I’d learned without stepping on his toes. It was going to have to be a delicate dance, but I’d done it before.
I had some time on my hands before I had to get to the candleshop for my shift, so I walked down the block toward Flickering Lights. I wanted to see if Jubal had been able to track down Gretel’s brother. As I walked down the street, I saw for rent signs in three of the buildings along the way. These were most likely Mrs. Jorgenson’s properties and the Minnesota investor. At least