answered. “I didn’t talk to him directly, but I talked to his parents.”
“So at least he wasn’t alone,” Ali said.
Billy nodded. “His dad said Bryan was in pretty bad shape—still in shock, couldn’t believe what had happened, and all that. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it myself.”
“It was great that you and your guys came to work this morning. I really appreciate it.”
“We’re not the only ones,” Billy said, waving aside her praise. “Bryan’s other crews are doing the same thing. We’re moving forward as well as we can without him. He can’t afford for us to shut the jobs down. If he does, he’ll go broke, and so will we. Ifany of us could afford to work for free, we wouldn’t be here every day busting our butts, Bryan included.”
That answered one of Dave Holman’s questions: The employees being on the job had very little to do with loyalty to their boss or with sympathy for him, either. Their showing up had far more to do with enlightened self-interest. They were working because they needed the money. Bryan’s regular paychecks fed their families and covered their bills.
“If you have a chance to talk to him directly,” Ali said, “let him know I’m thinking of him, and if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“Knock, knock,” someone called behind her.
Ali turned to find that Dave Holman had followed her down the hallway. One hand held his notebook. In the other, he clutched a half-eaten doughnut. Dave glanced at Ali and then back at the doughnut. “At least I’m eating breakfast,” he said, then he turned to Billy. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Obviously, no introductions were required. From the guarded way the two men looked at each other, Ali was reasonably sure they were already acquainted—and that there was no particular love lost between them.
Billy had been cordial enough with Ali. Now he glanced pointedly at his watch, as if to say that he did mind—a lot. “I suppose,” he allowed gruffly. “As long as it doesn’t take too much time.”
Dave polished off the last of his doughnut. “So tell me about yesterday,” he said. “We’re trying to get a time line on Mr. Forester’s activities. He claims he was here on the job all day long. Do you happen to recall what time he showed up?”
Ali knew better than to hang around listening to the interview. Leaving the two men alone, she went back outside and madeher way over to the canopy-covered patio. Leland had started the propane heater, and the outdoor space was warmer than it was inside the house. The butler had covered the redwood table with a clean white cloth and had stocked it with several thermal carafes of freshly brewed coffee and stacks of Styrofoam cups. The spread included a selection of baked goods—a platter of blueberry muffins and a box of mixed doughnuts with one (Dave’s, presumably)—conspicuous in its absence.
Ali was pouring herself a cup of coffee as Leland emerged from the fifth wheel with sugar, cream, and a fistful of spoons. “A good morning to you, madam,” he observed. “A bit nippy, but lovely.”
Ali looked out at the bright, cloudless sky arching overhead. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is lovely.”
“I see that Detective Holman is hot on the trail, as it were,” Leland continued. “He’s asking some of the same things he asked yesterday and checking our recollections for any inconsistencies.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. I told him that Mr. Forester is usually soft-spoken and remarkably even-tempered, but that he seemed a bit out of sorts yesterday—impatient and irritable.”
That was how Bryan had seemed to Ali as well. They fell silent as Brooks laid out the spoons, lining them up with military precision.
“From the way Detective Holman asked his questions, I’m quite sure he believes Mr. Forester is responsible for what happened to his wife,” Leland continued thoughtfully.
Ali nodded. “He’s not the only
“So at least he wasn’t alone,” Ali said.
Billy nodded. “His dad said Bryan was in pretty bad shape—still in shock, couldn’t believe what had happened, and all that. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it myself.”
“It was great that you and your guys came to work this morning. I really appreciate it.”
“We’re not the only ones,” Billy said, waving aside her praise. “Bryan’s other crews are doing the same thing. We’re moving forward as well as we can without him. He can’t afford for us to shut the jobs down. If he does, he’ll go broke, and so will we. Ifany of us could afford to work for free, we wouldn’t be here every day busting our butts, Bryan included.”
That answered one of Dave Holman’s questions: The employees being on the job had very little to do with loyalty to their boss or with sympathy for him, either. Their showing up had far more to do with enlightened self-interest. They were working because they needed the money. Bryan’s regular paychecks fed their families and covered their bills.
“If you have a chance to talk to him directly,” Ali said, “let him know I’m thinking of him, and if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“Knock, knock,” someone called behind her.
Ali turned to find that Dave Holman had followed her down the hallway. One hand held his notebook. In the other, he clutched a half-eaten doughnut. Dave glanced at Ali and then back at the doughnut. “At least I’m eating breakfast,” he said, then he turned to Billy. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Obviously, no introductions were required. From the guarded way the two men looked at each other, Ali was reasonably sure they were already acquainted—and that there was no particular love lost between them.
Billy had been cordial enough with Ali. Now he glanced pointedly at his watch, as if to say that he did mind—a lot. “I suppose,” he allowed gruffly. “As long as it doesn’t take too much time.”
Dave polished off the last of his doughnut. “So tell me about yesterday,” he said. “We’re trying to get a time line on Mr. Forester’s activities. He claims he was here on the job all day long. Do you happen to recall what time he showed up?”
Ali knew better than to hang around listening to the interview. Leaving the two men alone, she went back outside and madeher way over to the canopy-covered patio. Leland had started the propane heater, and the outdoor space was warmer than it was inside the house. The butler had covered the redwood table with a clean white cloth and had stocked it with several thermal carafes of freshly brewed coffee and stacks of Styrofoam cups. The spread included a selection of baked goods—a platter of blueberry muffins and a box of mixed doughnuts with one (Dave’s, presumably)—conspicuous in its absence.
Ali was pouring herself a cup of coffee as Leland emerged from the fifth wheel with sugar, cream, and a fistful of spoons. “A good morning to you, madam,” he observed. “A bit nippy, but lovely.”
Ali looked out at the bright, cloudless sky arching overhead. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is lovely.”
“I see that Detective Holman is hot on the trail, as it were,” Leland continued. “He’s asking some of the same things he asked yesterday and checking our recollections for any inconsistencies.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. I told him that Mr. Forester is usually soft-spoken and remarkably even-tempered, but that he seemed a bit out of sorts yesterday—impatient and irritable.”
That was how Bryan had seemed to Ali as well. They fell silent as Brooks laid out the spoons, lining them up with military precision.
“From the way Detective Holman asked his questions, I’m quite sure he believes Mr. Forester is responsible for what happened to his wife,” Leland continued thoughtfully.
Ali nodded. “He’s not the only
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