Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

cheek, took a breath, and nodded.

“Did you know this Lowry guy who did it?”

“Yeah, I knew him. He was a few years younger than me in school.”

“When you heard it was him, were you surprised?

“Yeah. Lowry was pretty quiet, but nice enough. I was gone so I didn’t know about all the trouble he got himself into over the years.”

“The drinking?”

“Yeah, and I think he broke into a couple of homes.”

“But that’s a giant leap to shooting six people.”

She nodded silently and I asked, “When did you start putting the flowers at the memorial?”

“A couple years ago, I bought some flowers to put on my dad’s grave, and I was walking past the memorial and I just decided to leave five of them there. Then it became a habit. I try to do it every few weeks.”

“Did you ever question what happened at the store? That it went down the way everybody said it did?”

“There was nothing to question. Most of it was captured on video, and what’s not, Victoria was able to tell.”

“Victoria?”

“Victoria Page. The only survivor.”

“Where is she now?”

“Still here. She’s the town comptroller.”

“Comptroller?”

“Like a treasurer. But she only does that part-time now. Mostly, she breeds horses. I was actually out at her place just last week.”

She took the last drink of beer, set the bottle down, then asked, “Why do you care about the murders so much? You miss the old job?”

Because I was forever the skeptic. Because something about the murders seemed off. Because some douchebag told me to leave it alone.

“Just curious,” I said.

We were both silent a moment, then I said, “I got pulled over yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, right on County Road 34. For speeding.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of anyone getting a speeding ticket around there.”

That’s because he was waiting for me.

“I was wondering if you knew the police officer. Little guy, butt chin.” I squished my chin together with my fingers.

She looked at the ground, exhaled, then glanced up. “Matt Miller.”

“You know him?”

She puffed out her cheeks and nodded. “I was engaged to him.”

“You were engaged to him?” I asked, my disdain for the guy increasing ten-fold. “What happened?”

“We were high school sweethearts. Actually, we were middle school sweethearts. I started dating him when I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen?”

“Seventh grade. I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins.”

“Remind me what that is again.”

“It’s the school dance where the girls ask out the guys.”

“Right.”

“So I asked him, and we were together until I was twenty-one.”

“Weren’t you in college by then?”

“Yeah, we both went to the University of Missouri. He wrestled for them. We got engaged after our junior year, then I called it off.”

“Why?”

“He was the only guy I’d ever been with. I wanted to see what else was out there.”

“Understandable.”

“Anyhow, after I broke up with him, he messed up his knee and lost his scholarship. He moved back home.”

For just a split second, I felt a twinge of empathy for the guy. He makes it out of his small town, then he loses his girl, then his knee, then he has to head back to Tarrin with his tail between his legs. And he was just so small.

“What happens when you guys see each other now?”

Her face flushed slightly.

“I should have said that I was engaged to him twice.”

“No!”

She lowered her head. “I know.”

“So, what? When you moved back home four years ago, you guys got back together?”

“Yeah, we dated for another couple years, then he proposed again. We moved in together. Even had a date set.”

“And then you backed out?”

She let out the longest sigh I’d ever heard. “Yep.”

“You are a terrible person.”

“I know.”

“A monster.”

“Stop.” She covered her face in her hands.

I laughed and said, “I can’t believe you stuck around.”

“Trust me, I thought about moving to Alaska, but keeping my dad’s practice going…” Her breath caught and her soft hazel eyes began to water. “Working there just makes me feel like he’s still around.”

“I get it.”

She wiped her eyes then looked at her watch. “I should get going.”

I walked her to her truck and shut the door.

I grinned and said, “Thanks for stopping by, Wheeler.”

“My pleasure, Dergen.”

Chapter Eight

The next day was Friday.

I parked the Range Rover in the Tarrin Police Department parking lot, then headed inside.

“Is the Chief in?” I asked the woman behind a small reception desk. Behind her there were three small desks. Two empty, one filled by a female officer in uniform.

When you get thrown in jail, they say the first thing you should do is find the biggest, scariest guy on the block, and knock him out.

That’s what I was doing.

The woman furrowed her brow and asked, “What is this regarding?”

“The Save-More murders.”

Her breath caught. Evidently, the words “Save-More” were the equivalent of “Voldemort” in this town.

The woman picked up the phone, turned her back, then spoke softly. A moment later, she turned back around. “He wants to know your name.”

“Thomas the Magnificent.”

She relayed this.

If for no other reason, I was certain he would see me just to put a face to the name.

The woman put the phone down and said, “I’m gonna need to see some ID before I can let you back.”

I pulled out my wallet and handed her my license. “Don’t look at the weight. I’m a little pudgy right now.”

She forced a smile and said, “I’m just gonna make a quick photocopy of this,” then disappeared from view.

I didn't wait for her to return but headed toward the back of the room and to a door that read “Chief Leonard Eccleston.”

The door was ajar, and I pushed through.

Chief Eccleston sat behind a black desk. He was in his late fifties, but had the jowls of a man twenty years older. His face was badly sunburned, his forehead and nose peeling in chunks.

“Chief,” I said with a nod.

He pushed back from the desk and surveyed me, soaking up my now only thirty-seven-pounds-overweight frame and rugged good looks.

“What can I do for you?” the Chief asked, his loose jowls shaking with each word.

He reminded me of that