Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [100]
She stared at the picture and bit her lip. “I haven’t seen him recently. I’d remember, because he has nice glasses.”
“In January. It was a Sunday night and it was raining pretty badly.”
She brightened and nodded. “Oh, yes! I remember. I think.” She bit her lip again. “I think so. But it was a long time ago. But I have a good memory.”
“You think you might have seen this man in the bar?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously. “I think he came in late, after dark.”
That didn’t help—in January it was dark before six in the evening.
“Do you know if he met with anyone? Maybe had an argument?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I just remember what he looks like. I’m good with faces. And he was sitting in his car a long time after he left.”
“His car? Do you remember what kind of car?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Tip was walking me home. It was raining pretty hard and we were walking really fast. I thought maybe he didn’t want to drive in the rain.”
Steve asked, “Did Tip see the man in the car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.”
Mitch retraced the conversation. “This man came in after dark, and how long do you think he stayed in the bar?”
“I don’t know. Long enough to have a drink.”
“Did he seem nervous? Agitated? Angry?”
Lora Lane frowned, her eyes worried and confused. Mitch backtracked. “Did this man act strange?”
“I don’t remember.”
“But you remember him having a drink?”
She blinked in confusion. “I got to bring him his beer. Tip lets me do that sometimes, especially when it’s slow, and I like to help.”
“Were there any other strangers in the bar that night?”
She looked worried. “I don’t know. Should I know that?”
“No, not necessarily.”
“If you have a picture I might be able to remember. I’m very good with faces,” she repeated.
“You’ve been a big help already, Ms. Lane.”
“I have?”
“Yes. Thank you for your time.”
They left.
“Who did Maddox call at the Rabbit Hole?” Mitch asked. “Directions? And why the second call?”
“Maybe it was a mistake, a misdial,” Steve suggested.
“A rainy Sunday night. No other strangers. Barney has the only connection to Maddox through Frank Lowe. But why?”
“Maybe he followed Maddox out of town. Ran him off the road.”
“Maybe. But why was Maddox sitting in his car?”
“Waiting for Barney to leave, maybe. Want to go back and push him?”
“We need something else. Lora Lane is not a reliable witness. Something definitive, otherwise we’re just fishing and if he is guilty, then we’ve tipped our hand.”
“No pun intended,” Steve said as he unlocked the car.
Mitch rolled his eyes and slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s get the background check on Mr. Barney and see what we can find. We can always come back.”
“Great,” Steve said sarcastically as he turned onto River Road. “I hate driving this road.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“It could be dark and raining.”
Lora Lane liked pretty things.
Ribbons for her hair. Shiny jewelry for her fingers and ears. Manicures and pedicures and keeping her boring brown hair blond.
She didn’t like working in the dirty tackle shop, but she liked the money she earned every Friday. Her mama always said she was a pretty little girl without an ounce of common sense. Daddy let her live at home because she wasn’t very good with her money and he said people would take advantage of her.
She knew she wasn’t a smart girl, but she was smart enough to know that people thought she was a retard. She’d heard them talking. Her daddy shut them up right quick, but she heard them sometimes. She ran the tackle shop almost all by herself, knew the difference between a night crawler and a butterworm, and made the world’s finest lures. Her daddy said so himself, and everyone came into the shop to buy them because they worked.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew how to mind her mouth. She didn’t tell those nice men about her agreement, did she? No, she didn’t. She kept it to herself like she’d sworn on the grave of her grandmama that she would.
For two years, Lora had watched Tip Barney like she was told. Every night she went to