Read Online Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) by Jeanne Glidewell - Free Book Online

as Lexie Starr,
     author, and he introduced himself as Sheriff Wilbur T. Crabb. " 'T' like in Ted,"
     he said, and nearly pumped my arm off in greeting. It felt nice to be so warmly welcomed.
     I noticed I was getting more comfortable with lying. I hadn't stuttered or examined
     my nails so far in my conversation with the sheriff.
    "So you're Sheriff Wilbur Ted Crabb," I said in a flirtatious manner, trying to win
     him over into my corner. I'd failed miserably with Detective Glick.
    "Oh, no, Ms. Starr. It's Wilbur Tom Crabb."
    "Do you go by Wilbur, Will, William, Tom...?"
    "I go by Ted," he interrupted.
    "I see," I said. "Well, Ted, sir, it's a pleasure to meet you. A good friend of mine,
     Detective Ron Glick from the Schenectady Homicide Division, told me you were the man
     to talk to here in DeKalb."
    "He did, did he?" Sheriff Crabb puffed up like a torn turkey and hitched up his slacks
     with his thumbs while he rocked back and forth on the heels and toes of his shoes.
    "Yes, he advised me not to talk to anyone else if I wanted to get the straight scoop
     on the Eliza Pitt case."
    "I guess your detective would be right. After all, I am the official authority on
     the double homicide case now. Eliza Pitt was pregnant, you know. Makes it two murders,
     you understand." It was clear that Sheriff Crabb was trying to impress me with his
     knowledge. I pretended to be impressed by his astuteness just to keep him talking.
    "Oh, yes, that's good to know, Sheriff Crabb. I can see that Detective Glick was right.
     You truly are the man to talk to. You see, I'm writing a novel on the Pitt murder,
     kind of an Ann Rule -type thing, and I need some information to fill in some gaps
     in the story," I told him. Freelance article hadn't worked well the last time. I hoped
     novel might garner a little more respect.
    "Well, I'll be hanged. We got us a gen-u-wine, honest-to-goodness author, right here
     in DeKalb. Wait until my wife hears about this." I had Sheriff Crabb hooked, and it
     was time to reel him in.
    "Now before you get started telling me all you know about the case, Sheriff Crabb,
     I need to know one more thing. If my publisher were to turn this novel into a movie,
     to whom should we offer the part of Sheriff Wilbur T. Crabb? Any ideas?"
    "Let me think," he said seriously, cupping his chin with his thumb and index finger.
     "Bruce Willis kind of looks like me, I think. That Rocky feller wouldn't be too bad
     in the part either, I guess. That Sly guy, you know."
    I wrote down in my notebook "Willis, Stallone, Knotts" and wondered to myself, when
     did Barney Fife get promoted to sheriff?
    I spent another hour with Sheriff Crabb. I don't think anyone had trusted the "official
     authority" with classified information either, and it was easy to understand why.
     He was anxious to tell me everything he knew about everything—which in the end turned
     out to be absolutely nothing. When I mentioned Clay's name, Sheriff Crabb asked, "Oh,
     was he the poor girl's husband? Well, I'll be danged. Say, Ms. Starr, do you reckon
     they could get heel lifts if they have that Rocky guy play me in the movie? I don't
     want anyone to think I'm that short. He's a good three or four inches shorter than
     me, you know." The sheriff squared his bony shoulders and stood up straight to achieve
     maximum height.
    "I'll see to it. I promise." I wondered if the citizens of DeKalb slept well at night,
     knowing this particular lawman was minding the store.
    It was evident I was getting nowhere fast with Sheriff Crabb, so I decided to begin
     my long drive back to the inn. Hopefully my Jeep would make it all the way to Schenectady.
     I'd run across to the Union Street Diner for a quick bite, and then call it a day.
     The only useful piece of information I'd extracted from the sheriff was that Rod Crowfoot,
     the hiker who'd discovered the body, had soon after moved across the country to Seattle.
     I doubted he had much to offer in the way of information