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“No. I made a phone call to the guy; I have no fucking idea how he ended up dead and hanging from the shop sign.”
Unless someone is trying to set me up to take the fall for the murders. The same someone who is here for Maddie.
With a nod like he believes me, Remy lifts the yellow police tape for us to go under, and then we’re on the other side. All eyes are on us, making me feel like a criminal.
“Jordan Robertson?” the bulky cop with a close-cut shaved head asks when we approach.
“That’s me.”
“I would like to ask you a few questions about your business dealings with Peter Shults. You’re not a suspect at this time, so it will be a casual sit-down discussion. If more evidence comes up tying you to how he got strung up on your employer’s sign, though…we’ll have to go to the station.”
“Understood,” I agree.
“His stepfather and mother are on the way. They’ll want to be in the room too,” Remy informs him.
“Fine,” the officer replies. “But just those two.”
Remy nods, accepting that he’s not allowed to join us.
A moment later, Colt is leading my mother to us by the hand, his other palm covering her eyes. She shoves it away, finding me, and then throws her arms around me.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine, Mom. I just spoke to the dead guy once. It’s no big deal.”
“No big…I can’t even with you,” she huffs with a shake of her head. Glancing behind me, she says, “Hi, I’m Josie Fulton, Jordan’s mother.” She holds out her hand for a shake. The man takes it while looking from her to me, our more than a foot height difference, and her young appearance, as if wondering if I’m her biological kid and if so, how damn young she must have been when she had me. Very young, thanks to my asshole father.
“How about we go inside where it’s quieter? RJ told us there’s a meeting room in the back that we can use while the forensics team…cleans things up out here.”
As we turn toward the front door, the tongue nailed to it feels like a taunt, daring us to go near it.
“Oh, my lord!” my mom exclaims. Again, Colt slaps his palm over her eyes and steers her forward. The officer opens the door as far as it will go for us to slip past it. The coppery scent hits me like a ton of bricks, forcing me to swallow my pancakes and sausage breakfast down again.
Through the garage and into the meeting room added to the back of the shop when it was rebuilt after an arson, the four of us select our seats. The cop puts his hand on the back of Remy’s chair at the head of the table, then reconsiders before going around to the chair on the left of it. Me, Colt, and my mom sit on the side across from him.
“So, let’s start at the beginning. How do you know Peter Shults?” he asks as he removes a small notebook and pen from his front uniform pocket.
“I don’t,” I answer. “I looked up local PIs several weeks ago, maybe a month ago. He had decent reviews and was nearby in Clayton, so I gave him a call. I left a message on his voicemail. He called me back the next day. We talked for a few minutes. He called me again a few days later, and that was the last time we spoke.”
“What did you call him about?”
Fuck. I can’t drag Maddie into this, but I can’t full out lie to a cop either. After all, the sheriff’s office might have the PI’s computer and shit by now. “I wanted him to look into finding my wife’s family.”
“Your wife’s family?” he repeats as if he doesn’t believe I’m married or that I’m telling the truth about the reason I called a private investigator.
“She left a bad family situation, and I was curious about them.”
He jots down a few notes in his little notepad, then asks, “What did Peter find out?”
“Nothing. He did a search but couldn’t give me any specifics. He wanted more money than the two hundred dollars I had paid him by credit card over the phone to keep looking, and I told him no thanks. I thought maybe he was lying or just wanted more money, and I gave up.”
“So, you were angry at him when he raised his prices?” Deputy Little asks.
“That’s not what he said!” my mom jumps in to defend me.
“I wasn’t angry, I just didn’t have the money to keep throwing at him for possibly a lost cause.”
“What’s your wife’s name?” the officer asks, his pen poised to write it down.
