Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [47]
“But I’m not rushing into it. I’ve been thinking about this ever since the day we signed the papers buying the Newsome place.”
Jake and Sophie exchanged a look.
“Tell you what, sis. I know a couple of guys, Clementine’s regulars, who run their own construction business. Maybe they can look at the property and give us an idea on what it’d take, dollar-wise, to make the structure habitable.”
Hope’s head came up. She stared at me, eyes liquid, lower lip quivering. “Seriously? You’ll do that?”
Fuck no. “Sure. But it’ll be preliminary. There is no guarantee what they find will change anything.”
“I understand that. But if it’s about money, I have some left over
from selling the trailer, and I’m sure Jake is willing to pitch in.”
Not a question for Jake, but a statement.
“If we get the go-ahead, and the repairs are affordable, can we start fixing it up right away?”
“Absolutely,” I lied.
“Oh, this is the best news!” Petulant Hope vanished. Hope the conqueror beamed sunshine at Jake. “I know we didn’t talk about this, but it’ll be a good thing for all of us. A fresh start.”
Jake couldn’t muster a smile. Not even when he reached out and played with Joy’s tiny sock-clad foot.
“I’ll get her ready for her bath,” Hope announced, and flounced upstairs, jabbering away to her baby.
“Ah. I’ll help her,” Sophie said, and scurried out.
Neither Jake nor I spoke.
Jake’s hands tightened on the back of the chair. His voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t do it. I can’t live there. I just . . . can’t.”
“I know, Jake.” I had half a mind to squeeze his shoulder. Offer him reassurance. But actions spoke louder than a pansy-assed gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Took about ten seconds, but Jake shook his head and walked off.
Hope would get suspicious if a tragedy befell the Newsome house the very day she’d announced her intention to inhabit it. I’d give it another day.
Looked like John-John’s vision was about to come true after all.
In the meantime, I hit the ground running investigating J-Hawk’s murder. I locked myself in the office and took out the three lists I’d photocopied. Winona’s was the most detailed. I cross-checked the customers’ descriptions I’d jotted down. When an hour passed and I hadn’t made progress, I realized I’d have to ask for help deciphering the names. Hopefully Winona wouldn’t ask how I’d gotten ahold of a list that was supposed to be confidential.
The parking area at Clementine’s was deserted, except for Winona’s rusted-out Toyota Camry and John-John’s El Dorado.
But John-John wasn’t behind the bar; Muskrat was.
His eyes lit up. “Have mercy.”
Before I braced myself, Muskrat picked me up in a bone-crushing hug. When he set me down, I wheezed, “That couldn’t have been good for your back.”
Muskrat scowled. “John-John oughten been telling you stuff like that about me.”
“He was worried.” I straightened the collar on his plaid shirt. “And he didn’t tell me anything you wouldn’t have told me if you’d been around.”
He grunted.
“Where’s Winona?”
“Taking a smoke break. Why?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Pull up a stool while you’re waiting. You want a drink?”
“A Coke.” As long as there weren’t customers around, I spread the lists out on the bar.
“What’re those?” Muskrat asked.
“The lists Dawson asked for, detailing who was in here the night Jason Hawley was killed. I don’t know everyone, so I’m trying to figure out who was who.”
“Why?”
“Because Dawson isn’t doing dick on this case.”
“So as the new candidate for sheriff you trying to solve the case and show him up?”
“The news already spread out here?” Another thought occurred to me. “Or did John-John have a vision about it?”
“No, he was here when the campaign committee asked you to fill in, remember?”
“Yeah, but I intended to say no.”
“But you didn’t say no. You said yes.” Muskrat pointed to the lists. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Please.” I cross-referenced and jotted down observations, Muskrat