Demon Hunting In the Deep South (41 page)

“Whose locker did you find the knife in, Sheriff?”

“Cole Peterson’s locker. He’s been dead for more than twenty years, or so I’ve been told. But, for some reason, his old locker was never reassigned. Sentiment, maybe, since he was one of the founders of the club. The manager used his master key to open the locker. The knife was inside an old golf bag.”

“How can you be sure it’s the same knife?” Mr. Collier asked.

“Aside from the fact that it’s a handmade Scagel worth twenty thousand dollars, whoever stole it from the Department of Forensic Sciences didn’t bother to remove the evidence tag.”

“Were you surprised to find the knife in Cole Peterson’s locker?”

“No,” the sheriff said.

“Why not?”

“There aren’t many folks around here can afford a twenty-thousand-dollar knife. Cole Peterson was a rich man. It’s common knowledge he was a knife collector, and that he was partial to fancy knives, like that Scagel. When Cole died, his son Blake inherited his knife collection. I know this for a fact, because Blake Peterson told me as much, and I’ve been in his home and seen them myself.”

Trey jumped to his feet. “I did it,” he said in a loud voice.

Evie turned in her seat to stare at him in astonishment. So did everyone else in the room.

Blake Peterson yanked him by the arm. “Sit down, Trey.”

Trey jerked free of his grandfather’s grasp. His chest heaved and sweat ran down his face. “No. I did it.”

Judge Ward gave Trey a mournful look over the edge of his bifocals. “You did what, Mr. Peterson?”

“I killed her. I killed Meredith.”

The courtroom erupted as everyone began to talk at once.

“Shut up, Trey,” Blake Peterson shouted over the ruckus. “Don’t say another word until we talk to a lawyer. You’re crazy with grief. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Judge Ward pounded his gavel. “Bailiff, clear the court-room.”

The courtroom was cleared of spectators. Evie caught a whiff of cedar and bergamot; Ansgar had remained, although he’d made himself invisible. Meredith stayed, too, of course, there not being a ghost bailiff on hand.

The judge glared at Trey. “Mr. Peterson, I do not appreciate such antics in my courtroom. I recommend you listen to your grandfather and seek the advice of counsel.”

“I don’t want an attorney. And I want it on the record that I’m not crazy and I’m not drunk or on drugs. I know what I’m doing. I killed Meredith and planted the knife in Evie’s car.” He looked at Evie. “I’m sorry, Evie. I panicked. I love you. I never meant to hurt you. ” Straightening his shoulders, he looked at the judge. “I stole the knife out of the evidence locker because it was one of my grandfather’s favorites, and I knew he would miss it and start asking questions. And I was afraid the sheriff would trace it back to my grandfather’s collection. I couldn’t take it back to the house. That was the first place the police would look. So I hid it in Great Granddaddy Cole’s locker at the club. I figured it would be safe there. I’ll make a statement now and sign it.”

Evie stared at him in confusion. Something was wrong. Something did not feel right. “Why, Trey?” she blurted, unable to make sense of it. “Why did you kill Meredith?”

“You do not have to answer that, Mr. Peterson,” the judge said. “Again, I advise you to remain silent until you speak with an attorney.”

“Goddamn it, Trey, listen to him,” Blake said.

Trey shook his head. “Meredith and I had a fight. We used to fight a lot, but this was a real knock-down drag-out. We haven’t been getting along for ages, but Thursday night she went nuts on me and accused me of having an affair with Evie. I told her there was nothing between me and Evie, although I wanted there to be. She went ballistic when she found out I had feelings for Evie. I told her I wanted a divorce, but she refused. I lost my temper and killed her.”

Brenda Starr screamed and burst into tears. “Oh, Trey, how could you?”

Her husband George put his arms around her and tried to comfort her.

Blake Peterson was red in the face. “Preposterous. He’s made all of this up to protect that woman, Judge.”

“I’m not making it up,” Trey said without looking at his grandfather. “I killed Meredith.” He glanced around, his expression frantic. “Sheriff, where are you? I want to make a statement right now.”

“Hold your horses, Mr. Peterson,” Judge Ward said. “We’ll get to you in a minute, but first there’s something I want to ask the sheriff.”

“Yes, Judge?” Whitsun said.

“How did you know where to look for the knife?”

Mr. Collier, Evie noticed, didn’t look at the sheriff. All of a sudden he seemed mighty interested in making notes on his legal pad. Huh.

“Just a hunch,” the sheriff said.

“Did you have a warrant for this search?”

“Didn’t think I needed one, Judge. A dead man has no expectation of privacy and neither do the Petersons. The locker’s not theirs. No one has paid the dues on that locker since the old man died. It’s been unused all these years.”

“This morning has been something of a surprise,” the judge said, his beagle face growing longer. “I don’t like surprises. Remember that in the future, Whitsun, and you and I will get along.” He shook his head. “Very well, let him make his statement. But, for God’s sake, make sure you inform the fool of his rights.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Taking Trey by the arm, the sheriff escorted him out of the courtroom. Evie glanced back at Meredith. Her lips were curved in a smile of pure, unholy satisfaction.

Chapter Forty

T
wo hours later, it was over. The Peterson family attorney, a high-powered, $350-an-hour muckety muck from Mobile, made a mad dash to Paulsberg at Blake’s insistence, but Trey had refused to talk to him. After being advised of his rights more than once and signing a waiver form, he’d made a statement to the sheriff and confessed to murdering Meredith. The judge, with obvious distaste for the whole kit and caboodle of them, dismissed the case against Evie and she was free to go.

“OhmahGod, ohmahGod, ohmahGod,” Addy shrieked when Evie walked out of the courtroom with Mr. Collier, and then she promptly burst into tears.

Ansgar materialized in the hall. “Why all the leakage?” he demanded, looking down his nose at Addy. “Is it your aspiration to become a watering pot? Evangeline was never in any danger. I would not permit it.”

“Watering pot?” Addy bowed up at once. “Why, you pompous ass, I oughta—”

Brand pulled her into his arms. “Thank you, brother. You have taken her mind off her distress.” He smiled at Evie. “I am happy for you, too, though I dare not cry, for fear of earning Ansgar’s reprobation.”

Evie was hugged all around and oohed and ahhed over by Bitsy and Muddy.

“And
you
.” Wiping her cheeks and blowing her nose into a lace handkerchief, Muddy glared at Mr. Collier. “I know what you’ve been up to now, you old rascal. You used your contrabulator to find that knife, didn’t you?”

“Shh.” Mr. Collier glanced around the hall. “That’s not something I want advertised. The ADA might get the wrong idea, like maybe I planted that knife there to get my client off.”

“You’re a hero,” Muddy said. “Folks ought to know.”

Evie kissed Mr. Collier on the cheek. “You’re my hero. Thank you, Mr. C.”

Mr. Collier looked proud enough to pop. “That’s good enough for me,” he declared.

As they filed down the hall to exit the courthouse, Evie pulled back.

“There’s something I have to do,” she told Ansgar. “You go on ahead, if you like. It won’t take long.”

“No. I stay with you.”

She smiled up at him, loving his concern for her, loving
him.
“Notice I’m not arguing? I know it would be a waste of time.”

“Yes, it would.”

They waved good-bye to the others and retraced their steps through the courthouse, crossing the magnificent domed lobby. Going down the stairs into the bowels of the building, they pushed open the door to the Behr County Sheriff’s Department. Willa Dean Mooneyham sat behind the receptionist’s desk, looking as formidable and intimidating as ever. She could give a Dalvahni warrior a lesson in grim.

“Hey, Miz Mooneyham, how you doing?” Evie asked.

“I sit behind a desk all day and deal with idiots,” Willa Dean said. “How do you think I’m doing?”

“Oh.” Evie mustered a bright smile. Willa Dean’s fuchsia lipstick was crooked, like she’d put it on without looking in a mirror. Her lips were skinny and she’d missed. The result was scary, so Evie stared at Willa Dean’s smokestack of gray hair instead. “Would you tell Sheriff Whitsun that Evie Douglass would like to speak to him, please?”

“Humph,” Willa Dean said, jabbing a button on the phone with the eraser end of a pencil.

Evie decided it was more of a general principle “humph” than a “humph” based on any personal animosity. At least, she hoped so. Willa Dean was one scary broad, especially when she was channeling the Joker, like now. A part of Evie, the suicidal part, wanted to tell Willa Dean that her lipstick was crooked. Fortunately, the suicidal part of Evie was the size of a gnat’s behind. The rest of her wanted to run out the door and come back in a few years when Willa Dean had either retired or nas-tied away.

“Sheriff, there’s someone to see you,” Willa Dean barked into the receiver.

Sheriff Whitsun came out of the back a few minutes later. “Miss Douglass.” He nodded at Ansgar and they did the male grunt thing. “Let me guess,” the sheriff said. “Now that the charges have been dropped, you want your car back. The paperwork will take a few days, but we’ll get it out of impound.”

“Uh, no . . . I mean, yes, I want my car back, but that’s not why I’m here.” Evie took a deep breath. “I’d like to speak to Trey Peterson.”

The temperature turned frigid. Uh-oh, the big guy was miffed.

“No,” Ansgar said.

“I know you don’t like him,” Evie told him, “but I have to talk to him . . . to thank him for what he did. In a way, he saved my life.” She turned to the sheriff. “So, is it possible? Is he allowed visitors?”

“I don’t see why not. His grandfather pulled some strings, and his bail’s already been set and posted, by you-can-guess-who. But Peterson won’t go. Insists he belongs in jail. Begged me to let him stay.” The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe he’s afraid of what his in-laws might do.”

Evie and Ansgar followed him through the swinging door, past the office section of the department, and into the jail. Once again the metal door slammed shut behind her with awful finality. She shivered, resisting the urge to run screaming back the way she’d come. This time, though, things were different. She didn’t have a murder rap hanging over her head—thanks to Trey. Ansgar was with her, like before, only this time he wasn’t invisible. They stopped a few feet away from the door to a private cell.

“I figured I’d better keep him segregated,” Sheriff Whitsun said in a low voice. “Pretty boys don’t do well in here, especially rich pretty boys.”

Trey was sitting on a cot. He looked so lost and alone that Evie’s heart twisted for him. She knew what alone felt like. He looked up when the sheriff unlocked the door.

“Evie,” Trey said, getting to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Evie said.

The sheriff motioned to Ansgar. “Come on, let’s you and me give them some privacy. We can wait down the hall.”

“No.” Ansgar’s jaw tightened. “This I cannot allow. I will stay with you.”

Shades of Brand, Evie thought, swallowing a smile. How many times had she heard Brand say that very thing to Addy, especially when she was about to do something dangerous?

She put her hand on Ansgar’s broad chest. “This is something I need to do. For myself.
By myself.
Nothing is going to happen to me. I’ll be fifteen feet away if I need you. I have to talk to him. To thank him . . . to try and understand. It’s important.”

He swore under his breath and stalked a few feet away from the door. “I will wait for you here. See that you do not tarry long.”

Whew, bossy. Evie nodded and entered the cell.

Trey gave her a crushing hug as soon as she walked in. He was shaking. “Evie, my God, Evie. I’m so sorry I put you through this. I should have done something sooner, but I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Evie said, stepping back. “You did the right thing. I think you’re incredibly brave.” She gazed at him, noting his pallor and his eyes, red with unshed tears. “You
did
do the right thing, didn’t you, Trey?”

He looked away. “Of course. I couldn’t let you go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “But what about you? Are you going to prison for a crime you didn’t commit?”

Trey walked back to the cot and sat down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Meredith was stabbed to death. You can’t stand the sight of blood. I don’t think you’re capable of killing someone with a knife.”

“You’ve known Meredith since grammar school. You know what she’s like. There’s an old saying.
No matter how beautiful she is, someone . . . somewhere is tired of her shit.
” He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe I got tired of her shit.”

“Or maybe you’re covering up for somebody,” Evie said. She perched on the edge of the cot beside him. “Who are you protecting? Who killed Meredith?”

Meredith materialized on the other side of Trey. “Butt out, you walrus,” she said, giving Evie a hateful look. “Trey’s better off where he is.”

“Better off,” Evie repeated. “Not ‘I want him to rot in prison for killing me.’ That would be the Meredith I know and dislike. Instead, you say he’s better off in jail. Trey didn’t murder you, did he?”

Meredith gave her a look that said
duh.
“Of course not, you moron. I’d be haunting the shit out of him if he did.”

“Like you’re doing now, you mean,” Trey muttered.

“There, there, Snookems.” Meredith patted Trey on the hand, and he jerked his hand away like he’d been stung. “We’ve talked about this already. We decided this is what’s best for you. You’ll be safer here.”

Evie gave Trey a sharp look. “Safer? Safer from whom?”