Read Online Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) by Joel B Reed - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joel B Reed
Ads: Link
flat voice. “Robert McNutt. Senior,” he added.
I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. McNutt. Do you own the store here?” He nodded, but said nothing. “Look, I’m not out to bother you, sir. We’re here about the shooting two weeks ago and we need information. Have you owned the store awhile?”
“Twelve years,” he answered, relaxing a bit. Then he shook his head. “No, it’s been fourteen now.”
I nodded. “That happens to me all the time. My kids call it galloping senility. Tell me, are you related to any of the people around here?”
He shook his head. For some reason he was unwilling to volunteer where he was from and again I wondered why. Some people are just like that, but I thought there was more to it. “That means you’re still an outsider, doesn’t it. I don’t guess you’d hear much.”
He shrugged, thawing just a little. “Well, sometimes. People talk in the store. I hadn’t heard any talk about the shooting.”
“That’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, something like that. You’d think they’d be rattling off a mile a minute. They must know something. Or think they do.” I was careful to say that so he wouldn’t take it as an accusation.
He almost smiled. “Well, I did hear a couple of them start talking about it the other day, but they shut up when I came out of the back room.” Like his son, Robert senior lost his accent when he spoke in full sentences. “They were talking about Luther… something he said.”
“I think we met him yesterday,” I told him. “He was over at the church with the pastor. I got the impression he’s not quite right somehow.”
“I think you’re right, but I don’t know why.” That was odd. From the easy way the pastor spoke the day before, the reason for Luther’s condition was common knowledge here. Our grocer must be really out of the loop. Or, for some reason, he was reluctant to speak. Then it occurred to me he didn’t want anyone knowing any information came from him. He had to live here, and it could be bad for business. I decided to let it go. Others would talk, gladly.
“Well, like I say, we’re not here to trouble you, Mr. McNutt. That’s all I really wanted. We may want to talk to you and Robert’s mother later.” I looked at Robert. “You’ve got a fine son. He seems to be interested in what we’re doing and he’s been helpful. He’s welcome to watch, so long as he doesn’t get underfoot.”
Robert senior thought about that a moment before answering and I could see where the youngster got the habit. He looked at his son and I had the sense some understanding passed between them, though there were no nonverbals I could see. Then senior nodded, his head moving no more than an eighth inch. Allowing Robert to follow us around would let him keep tabs on us. To me it also told me he didn’t have anything to hide, at least, not in regard to the shooting. There was something there, to be sure, something he was holding back. While it might be germane to the case, or might not, there was no use pressing him. We all have ghosts roaming the desolate regions of our souls. Nor do most of us really like police, not even cops themselves. Maybe it was that. I made a mental note to run his name through the computer.
Robert’s dad walked back to the store. When he did, I noticed something about the way he walked, the way he placed his feet. While it seemed effortless, it was far from casual. It reminded me of a tiger I once watched in the wild: sure, powerful, and relentless. It wouldn’t do to mess with Robert the elder. So why was he so afraid?
“Crime Scene is on the way,” Dee told me once McNutt was gone. “So is a deputy from the sheriff’s department. We might as well seal off this place now.” He held up a roll of yellow plastic tape and a stapler. He handed Robert the roll of tape, keeping the tail end in his hand. “Walk this over to the corner, would you?”
Robert took the roll of yellow tape while Dee stapled one end
I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. McNutt. Do you own the store here?” He nodded, but said nothing. “Look, I’m not out to bother you, sir. We’re here about the shooting two weeks ago and we need information. Have you owned the store awhile?”
“Twelve years,” he answered, relaxing a bit. Then he shook his head. “No, it’s been fourteen now.”
I nodded. “That happens to me all the time. My kids call it galloping senility. Tell me, are you related to any of the people around here?”
He shook his head. For some reason he was unwilling to volunteer where he was from and again I wondered why. Some people are just like that, but I thought there was more to it. “That means you’re still an outsider, doesn’t it. I don’t guess you’d hear much.”
He shrugged, thawing just a little. “Well, sometimes. People talk in the store. I hadn’t heard any talk about the shooting.”
“That’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, something like that. You’d think they’d be rattling off a mile a minute. They must know something. Or think they do.” I was careful to say that so he wouldn’t take it as an accusation.
He almost smiled. “Well, I did hear a couple of them start talking about it the other day, but they shut up when I came out of the back room.” Like his son, Robert senior lost his accent when he spoke in full sentences. “They were talking about Luther… something he said.”
“I think we met him yesterday,” I told him. “He was over at the church with the pastor. I got the impression he’s not quite right somehow.”
“I think you’re right, but I don’t know why.” That was odd. From the easy way the pastor spoke the day before, the reason for Luther’s condition was common knowledge here. Our grocer must be really out of the loop. Or, for some reason, he was reluctant to speak. Then it occurred to me he didn’t want anyone knowing any information came from him. He had to live here, and it could be bad for business. I decided to let it go. Others would talk, gladly.
“Well, like I say, we’re not here to trouble you, Mr. McNutt. That’s all I really wanted. We may want to talk to you and Robert’s mother later.” I looked at Robert. “You’ve got a fine son. He seems to be interested in what we’re doing and he’s been helpful. He’s welcome to watch, so long as he doesn’t get underfoot.”
Robert senior thought about that a moment before answering and I could see where the youngster got the habit. He looked at his son and I had the sense some understanding passed between them, though there were no nonverbals I could see. Then senior nodded, his head moving no more than an eighth inch. Allowing Robert to follow us around would let him keep tabs on us. To me it also told me he didn’t have anything to hide, at least, not in regard to the shooting. There was something there, to be sure, something he was holding back. While it might be germane to the case, or might not, there was no use pressing him. We all have ghosts roaming the desolate regions of our souls. Nor do most of us really like police, not even cops themselves. Maybe it was that. I made a mental note to run his name through the computer.
Robert’s dad walked back to the store. When he did, I noticed something about the way he walked, the way he placed his feet. While it seemed effortless, it was far from casual. It reminded me of a tiger I once watched in the wild: sure, powerful, and relentless. It wouldn’t do to mess with Robert the elder. So why was he so afraid?
“Crime Scene is on the way,” Dee told me once McNutt was gone. “So is a deputy from the sheriff’s department. We might as well seal off this place now.” He held up a roll of yellow plastic tape and a stapler. He handed Robert the roll of tape, keeping the tail end in his hand. “Walk this over to the corner, would you?”
Robert took the roll of yellow tape while Dee stapled one end
Similar Books
