Going Through the Notions(95)

I breathed in a whisper of intoxicating aftershave. It was silly, but being alone with this devastatingly attractive man in a high-performance vehicle made me suddenly tongue-tied.

“You miss the New York delis, Daisy?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, grateful for the opening gambit. “Although there’s a deli in Doylestown that’s pretty good.” We chatted for the next few minutes about wonderfully safe topics such as smoked salmon and what constituted the best pastrami sandwich.

We passed the Kratz farm as we headed up Sheepville Pike, and I tried to breathe as evenly as possible and not look too guilty about giving the one piece of evidence away.

“Um, Tony, did you ever check into that estate company that contacted Jimmy?”

Serrano’s tanned fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I searched for other items they’ve sold, for anything that would stand out as an unusual item better handled with the bigger auction houses. There was one table that Angus sold for them a few months ago, and I thought I was on to something, but I checked with Christie’s, and it reached close to what they estimated it should bring. I’ve checked with other police departments, and no one has any wind of anything like this in the area. If it exists, it’s a very small operation.”

“And what about the gambling ring? Did Jimmy owe anybody money?”

Serrano shook his head. “Not according to the guys who were there at the game that night. They all swear they had nothing to do with Jimmy’s death. And no reason to kill him.”

“Any of them own guns? Do you have any idea who might have tried to shoot me?”

“Well, Ramsbottom, of course. And the Perkins boys go hunting all the time. Sounds like even the old lady was packing.”

I remembered Angus’s story about the grandmother shooting one of his friends in her pumpkin patch.

“The thing is, the guys you saw inside that building were all still sitting there when we picked them up. They say that no one left at any time. And it’s not like they had a chance to coordinate their stories.”

I gasped. “Except for Bobby. He was outside. No one would have known when he came and went.”

The one who had seemed so much nicer than his brother.

Serrano glanced at me. “And Bobby doesn’t have an alibi for the night of Jimmy’s murder either. He dropped Tom Perkins off after the pub and went home alone. Apparently there’s some woman Tom sees in Sheepville.”

I resisted the urge to say eeuw.

“She’s married. They get together when her old man’s out of town. She was reluctant to admit it at first, but our boy Tom drove the bus over her as fast as you like to save himself.”

“But what’s Bobby’s motivation?”

Serrano grinned. “Hey, I’m supposed to ask those kinds of questions.”

I smiled back. In the waning sunlight, his eyes were deep blue smoke.

“In a small town like this, everything’s connected. It’s like a big fricking spiderweb touching everyone, and it’s easy to get on each other’s nerves.”

“True enough.”

The cruiser swung onto Grist Mill Road. “Wonder if there’s some long-ago feud we don’t know about,” Serrano said. “Know of any kind of connection with Jimmy and Bobby, or Bobby to Reenie?”

“No. But I have my sources.” I’d ask Martha.

He frowned. “This case strikes me as a crime of passion.”

“Passion for a woman, passion for the arts, what?”

“You’re thinking about Tague. He’s a little off, but I don’t get the killer vibe from him. He probably doesn’t weigh much more than you, Daisy, no offense. No way could he have handled a murder weapon like that barn beam.”

As we drove up to the house, Joe was standing on the front step, his arms crossed. Like a father waiting for his errant teenager to come home after a date.

“Good luck. Talk to you later,” Serrano murmured as I got out of the police car.

I waved as he pulled away, and then I walked past Joe into the house. I refused to get into a screaming match out on the street.

“You promised, Daisy! You promised not to get involved anymore.” The disappointment in Joe’s eyes was worse than his anger.

“You know what,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible, “this has nothing to do with Angus and the murder investigation. I wasn’t in any danger. I was just giving the pen to Fiona before she went back to New York.”

“What pen?”

Oops.

“Well, I sort of found one buried in the farmyard. Actually Jasper dug it up. I think the killer must have dropped it, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t trust Ramsbottom.”