The Back Door of Midnight

The Back Door of Midnight by Elizabeth Chandler Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: The Back Door of Midnight by Elizabeth Chandler Read Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Chandler
not—” He gave a little shrug.
    “Psychotic?” I suggested.
    “But I need to figure this out soon as possible,” he went on. “I don’t want outsiders questioning things—you know, folkswho aren’t used to Iris and might read into things just because she’s a little peculiar.
    “Sure you don’t want a doughnut?” he asked. “Won’t find any better than Jamie’s. I get the day-old. Half price, just as good, great with coffee.”
    “No thanks.”
    He broke the second cruller in half and dunked. “We searched the house and property and William’s boat, which was found empty and adrift a mile or so up the creek. The crime lab’s got the boat, looking for stuff the eye can’t see, but so far we have no idea where the murder occurred. Do you know of any place your uncle liked to go?”
    “No. When I was little, he fished with me off the dock. I didn’t go in the boat with him.”
    “Do you know of any conflicts in his life, any people he didn’t get along with?”
    Other than Aunt Iris?
I thought. “No.”
    “Maybe you’ll think of something and let me know.” He looked at me expectantly.
    “Zack, from next door, said you were investigating some kids.”
    “Zack Fleming told you that?”
    “Zack Whoever from next door,” I replied. “He said there’ve been three previous arsons, which the police haven’t solved.”
    “And?”
    “And that’s it. I was hoping you could tell me more.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, like why you think it was kids.”
    He nodded. “This site and the others have an amateurish look. And there are always beer bottles, which usually mean high school or college kids partying it up. They like to throw them into the fire.”
    I flinched. In my first dream an object had whistled close to my ears and exploded, sounding like glass against metal.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Nothing. It just seems . . . hard to imagine,” I said lamely. “Where’s Tilby’s farm? Can you give me directions?”
    “There’s nothing much to see there,” he said, then tore a sheet from his notebook. “But I guess I’d want a look too.”
    He drew a map, which I tucked in my pocket.
    “William ever talk to you about his relationship with local kids?”
    I shook my head. “No. Not really.”
    He chewed a doughnut and swallowed. “Aside from those ‘not really’ times, what did he say?”
    “Well, he thinks—thought—that most kids today are spoiled, that they’re given everything and don’t value anything. That’s pretty much it.”
    “Did he ever tell you about someone vandalizing his boat?”
    “No.”
    “Spray painting his truck?”
    “No.”
    “Setting fire to the grass at the top of his driveway?”
    “No! I had no idea he was having trouble.” I felt badly, as if I should have somehow known and helped him out.
    “Are you psychic?” the sheriff asked.
    I straightened, surprised. “No.”
    “Keep your cell phone charged and with you.”
    Because I couldn’t sense danger? Did one statement follow on the other?
    “Tell Iris that I’ll be coming around to check on how she’s doing and that I know she wants William back as soon as possible.”
    “Okay.”
    He handed me his card. “Call me. Any thoughts, any questions, any worries. Any time.”
    “Thanks. There is one other thing. Uncle Will liked to hunt. I went through the house, but I didn’t see any guns.”
    “He kept them locked up in his pickup. Legally, I can’t remove them; illegally, I took the key. Do you want it?”
    “No. But thanks for doing that.”
    I asked him for the lawyer’s phone number and address,which he wrote down, then I asked for directions to Jamie’s, feeling as if I needed strong coffee and carbohydrates to think through what I had just been told.
    “Go for the day-olds,” the sheriff advised.
    I nodded. “Half price and just as good.”
    “Exactly.” He got a funny look on his face, then laughed. “I told you that.”
    “Just a few minutes ago.”

seven
    ELEVEN A.M.,

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