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Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad move. If Nathan grew curious about her actions in town, he’d figure she was still looking.
But now she’d never know what Earl had wanted to tell her. Not unless his son had some answers—and that wasn’t likely. Still, after she visited the retired sheriff, she would pay Leon a call.
She thumbed through the local telephone directory, found Clay Benson’s address, then loaded Harold into the SUV and headed across town on the chance that he might be home.
Sure enough, he was raking leaves in his front yard when she pulled to a stop at the curb.
“Hi, Sheriff Benson,” she called out as she sauntered up his sidewalk. “Beautiful fall day, isn’t it?”
His breathing labored and his face ruddy with exertion, he leaned on his rake and watched her approach. “Guess it is.”
She offered her hand. “I’m Sara Hanrahan. You probably don’t recognize me from years ago, but I grew up here.”
“I know who you are.”
“Can I ask you a few questions?”
“I’m retired.”
“I understand that, sir. But I’d like to ask you about the past.” She nodded toward the wicker furniture on his porch. “Would you take a break for a few minutes?”
“You can ask me right here.” His expression softened. “My wife, Dora, won’t be happy if I don’t have these leaves done by the time she gets home.”
“You were the sheriff back when my father died.”
“That’s right.” Clay gave her a long, assessing look. “And you want to know what happened, and if there could have been some mistake. You don’t believe he could have murdered Frank or committed suicide, because your daddy wouldn’t have done something like that.”
“Yes...something like that.”
“Honey, I’d like to tell you that every bit of evidence was wrong. I’d like to tell you that I missed things in that investigation, that I didn’t find your dad with the body and with Frank’s blood on his hands.” Clay’s voice took on a harder edge. “But that would be a lie.”
“I’m not questioning your conclusions, sir. It’s just that I know so little about what happened. My mother would never say a word, and the newspapers...well—” she gave a little shrug “—sometimes reporters don’t get the details quite right.”
“Your dad didn’t argue when I cuffed him and took him to town. He rambled on about Frank and his job at the factory and said something about getting even. Of course, a man who’s liquored up will say things he don’t mean. When we got back to my office, he blurted out a confession. I locked him up and left on a domestic call. When I got back, Daniel had hung himself with his own belt.”
A sick feeling roiled through Sara’s midsection. “Th-there wasn’t evidence of anyone else at the murder scene?”
Clay’s ruddy face took on a darker hue. “I did a thorough investigation.” He looked up at the sound of an approaching car. “Dora will be home any minute, and I need to get back to work here. If you have more questions, ask the deputy to look up the old reports. It’s been too long for me to remember all the details.”
“I understand.” Sara started for the curb, then turned back. “By the way, did you hear that Earl Stark died?”
Clay’s gaze didn’t flicker. “He was an old man.”
“I guess so. He died out in the woods the other night. Sad, isn’t it?”
“It happens.” Clay turned away and started raking again, clearly dismissing her.
“I saw him around town just a few days ago, though. He looked healthy as a horse.”
“Old boozers like him don’t live long,” Clay retorted without turning around.
“Did you know him well?”
Clay gave an exasperated snort. “No one knew him well. The man was a recluse.”
“Would you say he could be a reliable source of information?”
The old sheriff did turn around then, and his eyes were filled with contempt. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but the man was a drunk. You could believe him just about as far as you could throw him—but given the fact he’d rarely took a bath, you sure wouldn’t want to try. I had to haul him off to a mental hospital twice, and my cruiser reeked for days.”
