Dead Wrong Page 4

  She was finishing her list and was about to pop the morning’s pecan cinnamon rolls into the oven when Jasmine and Xavier walked into the room. The couple lived in the Houston area and had only been married a few months.

  “I’m surprised to see you two up so early. This is your vacation. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping in?”

  “That was the idea.” Xavier blinked his eyes several times, as if he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up in the kitchen.

  Jasmine, on the other hand, looked wide awake. “We wanted to come down and talk to you, while you were still alone.”

  Agatha felt her eyebrows shoot up. “Let me just fix you some coffee first.”

  She took her time filling the mugs and gathering up sugar and cream. Jasmine looked as if she needed a few minutes to center her thoughts, and Xavier looked as if he wished he were still upstairs in bed.

  When everyone was clutching hot mugs, Jasmine said, “It’s about Mr. Dixon. I remembered something, and well...I didn’t know if we should go back to that Lieutenant Bannister and tell him. I don’t mind saying he seemed a little full of himself. I’ve met plenty of officers like him in my life, and I’m not saying that because I’m black.”

  “Jasmine...”

  She held up a hand to stop her husband’s protests. “I won’t sugarcoat it, and you shouldn’t either. There are plenty of good officers—both black and white, but I’ve met my share of officers who take their position a little too seriously. Bannister seemed like just that sort of man.”

  She stared down into her mug for a moment, finally took a long sip and closed her eyes as if the caffeine was ministering to her heart and mind as well as her body. When she glanced at Agatha again, she admitted, “I was hoping we could just speak with you.”

  “Hmmm.” Agatha turned her mug left and then right as she glanced toward the window. Tony’s truck drove past. Where was he going at six in the morning? Not that it was any of her business.

  She turned her attention back to her guests. “Why don’t you tell me what you remembered, and then we can decide together whether we should inform Lieutenant Bannister.”

  Jasmine jerked her head up and down, reminding Agatha of one of those bobble-head dolls, took another gulp of the coffee, and pushed the mug away. “We saw him yesterday morning. It was early. Remember we went on that hike to Lost Maples yesterday so we were up before sunrise.”

  “Two days in a row,” Xavier muttered.

  “I happened to glance out the window, and I saw Mr. Dixon. There was enough light to make out who it was, though the sun wasn’t fully up yet. Anyway...he was leaving Cabin 2.”

  The muscles along the back of Agatha’s neck tightened immediately. She rolled her shoulders before saying, “You must be mistaken. Mr. Dixon was staying in Cabin 3.”

  “I know, and I can’t see Cabin 3 from my window. It’s around the bend. But the yard slopes down, and I have a perfect view of Cabin 2—I have an unobstructed view of the front porch to Cabin 2.”

  “And this was early yesterday morning?”

  “A few minutes after six.” Jasmine glanced out the window and visibly shivered. “About this time.”

  Xavier sat back, putting his arm across the back of Jasmine’s chair. “My wife has an overactive imagination. She’s intent on turning this into a murder mystery.”

  “Do not patronize me, Xavier.”

  “Were you or were you not reading a murder mystery the night before?”

  “That has nothing to do with this.”

  “Remember the time you thought someone had been pushed off our cruise ship? After he was found, he admitted to having too much to drink; but you’d been reading—”

  “This is different.”

  “You’d been reading, what was it... blue cover...” He snapped his fingers. “The Woman in Cabin 10.”

  “Xavier.” Jasmine sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. When she’d mastered her frustration, she leaned forward, toward Agatha. “He was coming out of Cabin 2, and that’s not all.”

  Now the muscles in Agatha’s neck froze so hard she feared she wouldn’t be able to move her head the rest of the day. She should start doing some of the yoga Gina went on and on about. She didn’t want to be an old lady who couldn’t turn her head.

  “They were arguing.” Jasmine’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Dixon was walking away, and one of the Cox brothers hollered something. Our windows were fully open, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Dixon stomped back up onto the porch, shook his finger, and then traipsed off.”

  Agatha didn’t answer immediately. There could have been a perfectly good reason for the argument. People did argue, even when they were on vacation at a B&B. Agatha had a couple once that had a fight over golfing, right in the parking lot. The woman took a putter and smashed it against their car window as she hollered, “I can, too, putt!” Perhaps any argument between Dixon and the Cox brothers was no more than that—a squabble between friends. Only she didn’t think they knew each other, so what would they have to argue about?

  “Xavier, you didn’t see or hear any of this?”

  “Nah. I was in the bathroom, filling our hydration packs with water.”

  Agatha stood, checked on the cinnamon rolls, and then walked back to the table. “Thank you, Jasmine, for telling me what you saw. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, but we can just ask Mason and Paxton what the argument was about.”

  “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest. “I mean...if they were involved somehow.”

  Xavier scrubbed a hand over his face. “I did hear both Mason and Paxton tell Bannister they hadn’t ever spoken directly to Mr. Dixon.”

  “Why would they lie?” Jasmine asked. “Unless they were covering up something.”

  The sound of the Willis family walking toward the kitchen, followed by a laughing baby Hudson, broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “I’ll run this by Tony. He seemed to be familiar with the process...”

  “Yeah, it’s handy that you have a retired detective living next door.” Xavier frowned as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Trust me, that is not something I plan on needing in the future. But yes, in this instance it is handy. Now let me fetch breakfast. You two look like you could use some comfort food.”

  Chapter Six

  Tony hadn’t stepped through the doors of the Hunt Police Department since his retirement four years earlier. He knew some people missed their work and had trouble adjusting to life without a purpose. He’d had plenty of purpose in his life until Camilla had died.

  He’d been stuck in neutral since then, and he didn’t mind admitting it. Nothing appealed to him—not fishing in the river or visiting his abuela or taking out the $40,000 Airstream he and Camilla had bought to see the country. He sold the RV six months after she died and didn’t miss it one bit. What did he care about seeing the Cascade Mountains if Camilla wasn’t by his side? Or the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls or any of the places on their list?

  Nothing had interested him—until now.

  The situation at Agatha’s had woken him before it was properly light. Habits die hard. He supposed thirty years of working in law enforcement didn’t stop just because a person retired. There were things about Russell Dixon’s death that didn’t sit right. So instead of stewing over the questions building in his mind, he decided to have a chat with Lieutenant Bannister.

  The man was already sitting behind his desk, as Tony had known he would be. There had never been a question that Jimmy Bannister was committed to the job.

  “Tony. I’m surprised to see you this early.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk, across from what had been Tony’s desk.

  Tony looked around. Four years and little had changed. Boxes of files still stacked on the floor—probably the same boxes of files. The blinds over the windows still needed dusting. For all he knew, it was the same coffee cup sitting on the desk. The only real difference was the f
ramed photos on the wall. Bannister shaking hands with the mayor, with billionaire and part-time Hill Country resident George Strait, even with the governor.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  “You know how it is—my work is in the field, not in here.”

  Which was an acceptable way of saying Bannister liked to be seen. Someone else could take care of the paperwork.

  Tony nodded as if he agreed and jumped right in. “How are you going to rule Dixon’s death?”

  “I don’t make that ruling. The ME does. You know that. Or maybe retirement has softened your brain a little.”

  “What’s Millican found?”

  “Wish I could share that with you, but an ME’s finding is confidential until—”

  “Stop.” Tony held up his hand like a traffic cop. He’d never been a particularly tactful person, but he’d been a good cop and folks said he was a great detective. He didn’t have the time or patience for whatever game Bannister felt like playing, and he certainly didn’t have time to stroke the man’s ego.

  “Agatha is my neighbor, and—”

  “I noticed you two seemed pretty cozy.”

  Bannister was about to say more. He was about to say something they’d both regret because Tony had no problem putting the man in his place even if it meant a physical altercation. He hadn’t done much in his retirement but he had stayed in shape, and if there was one thing he never backed away from it was a fight. He didn’t see the point. If someone wanted to start something, they were going to do it. Best to meet it head-on.

  Somehow, he conveyed all of that to Bannister in a look, because the man backed down, popped a large piece of a bran muffin in his mouth, and swigged it down with coffee.

  “Is the case open or closed?”

  “It’s open, and that’s all I can say at the moment.”

  Which was all he needed to hear. Tony stood up to go, but Bannister wasn’t finished.

  “What can you tell me about Agatha Lapp?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Her history. I know she’s Amish. Those people are all over the area now, and I have to say I don’t get it. Seems suspicious to me.”

  “Which part? The going to church or the helping their neighbor?”

  “You thinking of converting?”

  Tony balled his hand into a fist. Maybe he was looking for a fight. Maybe it would help to punch something or someone. But instead of giving Bannister the satisfaction, he said, “If you’re going to rule Dixon’s death a homicide, and if you’re looking Agatha’s direction...then you’re wasting your time.”

  As Tony left the building, nodding and saying hello to a few of the people he actually liked, he realized he hadn’t stopped by because he thought Bannister would share information. He’d come to confirm a hunch, and Jimmy Bannister had done just that.

  Russell Dixon’s death was not from natural causes.

  Driving out of the parking lot, he discovered he wasn’t surprised. Something hadn’t sat right with him about Agatha’s memories. Well, several things actually. And what he’d heard of the witness’s testimonies didn’t jibe either.

  He pulled through the donut shop drive-thru, placed his order, and headed out of town. His place was only two miles west of Hunt, but those two miles made all the difference. The traffic—if you could call four trucks at the red light traffic—vanished.

  He stopped twice. Though it was early, he knew both the people he needed to speak with would be up, and they were.

  By the time he resumed the trek toward home, the clock was edging toward eight. With any luck, Agatha would have fed her guests and have a few moments to talk.

  The Guadalupe River sparkled on his left as the sun made a proper show of itself. This truly was a beautiful place to live. His parents would have loved it. And his nephews, well, he’d been saying for over a year now he’d have them out to fish. Why had he put it off?

  As he pulled into his driveway, he felt like a man waking from a dream. He didn’t know what had happened at Agatha’s, but he meant to find out.

  He walked next door, but before he could knock Agatha was there, encouraging him to come inside.

  Tony followed her into the kitchen. The place smelled wonderful, causing his stomach to growl. Dishes were stacked in the drainer. The table and counters had already been wiped down. Agatha looked as fresh as the summer day outside the window.

  “Everyone gone?”

  “Oh, ya. They go out to play early, but then they’re back here napping or reading by the time two o’clock rolls around.”

  “It’s a good spot for a vacation.”

  “It is indeed.”

  Tony rattled the bag. “Brought you something.”

  “That looks like a donut bag.”

  “It is.”

  “I bake.”

  “I know you do.” Tony pushed the bag into her hands. “Camilla was one of the best cooks in the county, but she still liked to eat out or have me bring her something from Donut Palace.”

  “Your wife?”

  Tony nodded.

  “Sounds like my kind of gal. I baked cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Served them with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a giant bowl of fruit...but there’s not much time to eat when you’re waiting on guests.”

  Five minutes later they both had cups of coffee and were sitting outside on the patio situated halfway down the slope of Agatha’s back yard. She peeked into the bag. “Hmmm. Can’t decide. I love cake with chocolate icing, but the sugar cinnamon looks gut, too.”

  “Take them both, and I’ll have the twist and pink candied.”

  As she divided up the goodies, he glanced around the patio. The area had been leveled and covered with small pea gravel. There were three two-person wrought iron tables and bright, clean cushions. Flowers overflowed the pots situated along the edge of the area, and a knee-high water fountain gurgled from the middle of a bed of ferns. Even as he watched, a male and female cardinal hopped onto the edge of the fountain to drink. Solar powered lights lined the path, and when he looked more closely he saw that the pump on the fountain had a solar panel as well.

  “You’ve done a really nice job here.”

  “Danki.”

  “That means...”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ahh...I should have been able to deduce that.”

  “Since you were apparently a detective.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  It surprised him that it was so easy to banter with her—maybe because he knew she wouldn’t misconstrue anything he said. He doubted Agatha had any intention of looking for a man; and if she did, she wouldn’t pick a person like himself, a person outside her faith. Raised in the Catholic tradition, Tony understood how much faith and tradition meant in a marriage.

  “But seriously. You’ve made a lot of improvements to the place. How long have you been here?”

  “Moved in last August. Texas was having a heat wave and the temps were...”

  “Near 100. I remember. Not uncommon for much of the state, but here we usually hover in the 90s.”

  “I’ll admit it crossed my mind that I’d made a huge mistake.” She broke the cake donut into four pieces and popped one into her mouth.

  “But you like it here?”

  “I do. I don’t miss the snow one bit.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  “Indiana—Shipshewana. Lots of Amish folks there.”

  “There were Amish folks who lived here before you.”

  “My youngest bruder—Samuel—and his wife Deborah. They were killed in a buggy accident.”

  He didn’t answer immediately. He was remembering an article in the paper. Camilla had been in the most difficult part of her cancer then, and he barely knew what was going on outside their window. But he did remember the photo of the buggy and the horse and the young driver who’d caused the accident.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  She stared down at her
hands a second, then met his gaze. “Their life was complete.”

  Tony started to ask what she meant by that, but it wasn’t relevant to the current case. So instead he finished his donuts, then sat back cradling his cup of coffee. “We need to talk about Russell Dixon.”

  Chapter Seven

  Agatha had known from the moment she saw Tony walking up her front path that he wasn’t there simply to bring her donuts.

  She sat up straighter, her hands in her lap and her stomach churning, and told him what she’d learned from Jasmine. She ended with, “Do you think that’s important?”

  “I think there’s something nefarious going on here.”

  “Because the testimonies don’t line up?”

  “That’s disturbing, but it’s not uncommon. No, this is more a feeling in my gut.” He shrugged when she raised her eyebrows in confusion. “Instinct.”

  “I see.”

  “What can you tell me about Russell Dixon? I don’t mean what did you see in his cabin. We’ve already been over that. But how did he strike you...as a person?”

  “Englisch,” she answered immediately.

  Tony raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so he wasn’t Amish. I think I’d figured that out.”

  “That’s not exactly what I mean. Some Englischers are more Englisch than others.” She laughed at her own description. “He was very preoccupied with his phone, even when he was checking in.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He looked exhausted, distracted, even a little wary. That’s not unusual for guests coming to an Amish Bed-and-Breakfast. They usually book a room because they’re dog tired. Distraction has become a state of mind for them, and often they’re not sure if they can use their electronic devices in an Amish establishment.”

  “Can they?”

  “Of course. I ask them to do so outside the main house. It’s one of the reasons I brought in the cabins. I wanted Englisch guests to feel as comfortable here as the Amish do.”