Urgent Pursuit. Beverly Long
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“Bray Hollister?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m police chief Poole. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
He heard a rustle in the kitchen and knew that if he gave any indication that he was uncomfortable with the request, his brothers were going to figure out a way to get Poole off their porch.
“Sure,” he said. “Come on in.”
He led the chief into the living room and motioned for him to have a seat. The man sat in the armchair, making the cushions sink. Bray sat on the couch and relaxed back against a pillow.
“I understand you arrived in town yesterday.”
“That’s correct.”
“From New York.” The man practically wrinkled his nose.
Bray nodded. He was tempted to make a joke that living in the city wasn’t a crime the last time he’d checked. But he kept his mouth shut. Poole was uncomfortable, and that was making Bray doubly so.
“And you drove straight to Ravesville from the St. Louis airport?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do once you got to town?”
“I went to the church on the corner of Main and Portland. My brother is getting married there this weekend.”
“And you had some conversation with Gary Blake?”
“Conversation? Is that what he called it?” Bray asked. He was disgusted. The guy tried to rough up his ex-wife and then whined to his boss because Bray had got the better of him.
“I didn’t speak with Gary. Julie Wentworth is my sister-in-law. She plays the piano every Sunday and for almost every wedding in town.”
Piano player Julie and Reverend Brown had not witnessed his physical interaction with Blake. They would only be able to report on what they’d overheard.
Not true. They would be able to support that Summer had been upset—to the point that her voice had been shaking.
“I understand you and Summer Wright were an item in high school. That was before my time in Ravesville. Is that correct?”
An item? “We dated,” he said. If Poole wanted to know more than that, he was going to have to ask somebody else.
“Uh-huh. So, after you left the church, where did you go?” Poole asked.
Bray made sure his face showed no reaction. But his brain, which might have been idle in the kitchen, was now working itself back to fighting weight. “I went to Summer’s house.”
“Why?”
“She had some vases in the back of her van. They were heavy. I thought she might need some help carrying them.”
“How long were you there?”
Bray sat up, feeling as if his pancakes were going to be on the chief’s shoes. “Did something happen to Summer? To one of the kids?”
He was going to kill Gary Blake.
The chief shook his head. “I drove by the Wright Here, Wright Now Café on my way here. I verified that Summer was working her shift, as usual. Therefore, I assume her children are fine.”
Verified. The man had made sure Summer was working. So whatever was wrong, Summer and her family were involved in some way.
“If there’s nothing else,” Bray said, standing up. He had things to do.
Poole didn’t take the hint. “What time did you leave Summer’s house and where did you go?”
Bray had a fairly good idea the man already knew what time he’d left. Perhaps he’d talked to Mrs. Hudder. He decided to cut to the chase. “I left around seven. Drove around town for a while.” No need to tell him that he’d driven to Blake’s house, that he’d pounded on the door, wanting the son of a bitch to have the guts to show his face. “I was hungry, so I went to the One Toe In Bar and Grill for a cheeseburger and some beers.”
“What time did you leave the bar?”
“Close to midnight. Why?”
“Anybody there going to be able to verify that?”
He’d sat alone in a back booth, but he’d had the same waitress for most of the evening. He assumed she’d be able to. “I think so.”
“You better hope so, Mr. Hollister.”
Bray shrugged. “Look, I’ve been a good sport and answered all your questions. Now why don’t you tell me why the hell you’re asking them?” Maybe Gary Blake’s pride had been more damaged than he’d thought and the man had gone to his boss to complain about his interaction with Bray. If he had, that was pretty damn stupid. Nothing like hanging out your own dirty laundry.
Chief Poole hefted himself out of the chair. He pulled up his pants and they immediately sagged below his belly again. “Gary Blake was scheduled to start work at seven this morning. When he didn’t show, Officer Stone drove to his house.”
“And?” Bray prompted when the police chief stopped.
“And Gary wasn’t there.”
“Big deal,” Bray said. “Maybe he got his days mixed up and he thought he had a vacation day. He’s out shopping for a turkey right now.”
“There were signs of a very fast exit from the house. A small amount of blood at the scene.”
He could see Summer’s eyes, hear the sincerity in her voice. He knew I’d kill him if he did that. “So, he cut himself shaving and went to the emergency room.”
“Maybe,” Chief Poole said. “But, you know, police officers make a lot of enemies.”
Bray wanted to see Blake’s house. Cops in small towns weren’t well trained in investigating crime scenes—they simply didn’t see enough of them.
But as much as he wanted to view the scene, he wanted to see Summer more. He had to know what she’d done. Had his questions about Blake spurred on memories that she’d been unable to deal with?
“How long are you expecting to be in town, Mr. Hollister?”
“Through Sunday.”
“And you’re staying here at this house?”
Bray nodded.
“Good,” the chief said. “I want to know where I can find you if I have more questions.”
Bray didn’t answer. He simply watched the man walk to the front door and let himself out. He counted to three before his brothers got to the living room.
They each had the same worried look in their eyes. Probably right now were thinking of good defense attorneys.
“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t do anything to Gary Blake.”
“Blood at the scene,” Chase said.
“Small amount. I heard the man,” Bray said, irritated. He’d been back in town for less than a day, and Gary Blake, who had caused him so much heartache years ago when he’d married Bray’s girl, was still causing trouble. “There’s probably a list of people a page long that want to get Blake for one reason or another.”
“Summer,” Cal said.
Bray didn’t say anything.
“You don’t think she did something, do you?” Chase asked.
Bray had no idea what Summer was capable of. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think I better ask her.”
* * *
SUMMER HAD REALLY never thought much about Charlie Poole. He’d been Gary’s