Read Online Black-Eyed Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #1) by Callista Foley - Free Book Online Page A

know who that is?"
    I shook my head.
    He glanced at the police station. "Maybe I can do something about that," he said. He started walking to his dingy white truck.
    "Do you have the murder weapon in your truck or something?"
    Skeeter got in, leaned across the seat, and opened the passenger-side door.
    I looked back at the p olice station. "What do you want to show me? Can't you just tell me?"
    He rolled his eyes. "Just get in. What, you think I'm the killer?"
    I didn't know what to think. But if Skeeter had information...I gave the station a fleeting look, patted my back pocket to make sure I had my cell phone, and got in. The stun gun my Granddad insisted I carry was in the glove compartment of my car.
    He started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "I may be an accidental killer, but I'm not a murderer."
    Our eyes briefly connected. Intense regret. Deep and oppressive self-pity. Longing and loneliness. Anybody with any sensitivity at all could sense these things about Skeeter Watson. But I couldn't be sure his regret had to do with killing Kate recently, killing his father-in-law years ago, or both.
    He jerked a thumb behind him. "And I'd have to be pretty stupid to kidnap the chief's granddaughter in broad daylight and take her somewhere and kill her."
    I heard a car engine start and watched a car drive by. "Are we going to Jepson's Point?"
    "Yep," he said, flicking ashes out the window.
    "Who do you think did it?"
    His laugh turned into a cough. "What would you say if I told you I think Officer Timmy did it?"
    I shook my head slightly but otherwise stared at the road.
    "Come on," he said. "I knew Tim was sleeping with that girl long before everybody else found out. He's got the motive."
    "Just because he slept with her..." I trailed off, not sure I believed what I was going to say.
    He took another long drag and tossed the stump out the window. "Let's say he had motive because she was going to spill the beans. Did he have the means? Kate was hit with something blunt. A tree branch, maybe. That's easy. Next, did he have the opportunity?"
    I realized I was gaping at him. "Tessa said he was at home with her, in bed."
    He glanced at me, his eyebrows raised. "What else would a wife and mother of young kids with a husband suspected of murder say?"
    "So you're saying Tim might have killed her, and Tessa is covering for him?"
    "I'm just considering possibilities."
    "You found the body at what time?"
    He cut his eyes at me. "Like I told the cops, around eight Sunday morning."
    "What were you doing out —"
    He held up a hand. "Not the point. It's not against the law to go for a walk. Stay with me here."
    I stared at his profile as he rattled off how Eric was too obvious a suspect and how Tim was a stronger one. He also brought up a drifter-murderer theory because the Interstate-77 access ramp was a few miles from the center of town.
    "That's unlikely, though," he said. "Just tossing things out. You?"
    I told him about Kate rejecting Eric and Adam, which he already knew.
    "That's all you got?" He shook his head. "Chief of police's grandkid and town psychic. You ever thought about going deeper than that?"
    "Well, the pool of potential killers is limited," I said, feeling defensive.
    He shifted in his seat. "That's right. Limited to people she knew. Now, think beyond the men she screwed and screwed over. Who else would have a reason to kill her. And," he said, holding up a finger, "did the person intend to kill her?"
    A half-formed thought teetered at the edge of my mind. "So you think the person might have lured her there just to talk, and then things went wrong?"
    Skeeter shrugged and gave me a sideways glance. "Did your granddaddy tell you what the murder weapon was?"
    I shook my head. "They're not releasing that information, so when they question people—"
    "Yeah, yeah, the murderer might give himself —or herself—away. But I thought your grandfather might have told