Page 73 of Fatal Witness

“Don’t know it’s me he likes as much as it’s Gem.” They both laughed. “Did you know Dani’s parents?”

“About as well as any nine-year-old knows the parents of their friends,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing her dad that often. I do remember her mom. She was really sweet. I was just so shocked, not just by the murders but that Dani disappeared.”

Mark didn’t remember Dani’s parents or her uncle at all, but like Alex, he too would’ve only been nine. He probably wouldn’tremember Dani except for her parents’ murders and her disappearance. “Was any of the jewelry from the break-ins recovered?”

“Some of it was, but not the DeBeers diamonds.” She checked her watch. “I guess I better get dressed.”

Peterson’s Grocery opened at eight—but it was closer to eight thirty when Mark looked for a parking space in front of the store and found one on the next block. The grocery store was practically an institution in Pearl Springs, started by Mr. Peterson’s father back in the 1920s. From its inception, the store had offered biscuits with ham, sausage, or bacon to its early morning customers. Originally everything had been freshly made, but after Mr. Peterson’s wife passed, he’d switched over to frozen fare. Not that it seemed to matter judging by the lack of parking space.

The bell over the door jingled as he and Gem entered the store, and the tantalizing aroma of bacon and biscuits had Mark’s stomach growling.

Mr. Peterson stood behind the counter, and at least six people waited in line. The older man glanced up. “Sorry, Mark, but if you’re here to get one of these”—he held up a white paper bag—“they’re all spoken for. But when I’m done, I have a treat for Gem if it’s all right.”

“Thanks,” Mark replied. If the biscuits were sold out, then the customers should clear out soon. Gem followed as he wandered around the store looking for Kyle. When the last customer left, Mark approached the counter. Gem looked at him expectantly. “Free,” he said, and the dog bounded around the corner to the older man. Once Mr. Peterson gave her the treat, Mark said, “Where’s your grandson?”

“He’ll be in around ten.”

“And you run the store all by yourself when he’s not here?”

Before he could answer, the door jingled opened, and Mark turned. Toby Mitchell. Good, a twofer. He took stock of the man. Judging by the way the dingy white Henley hung on him, he’d lost weight.

Toby eyed Gem, but she ignored him as he gave Mark a curt nod. He walked past them and around the counter, stopping a few feet from the older man. “Kyle said you needed me to help out here at the store this morning.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Mr. Peterson pointed to a stack of boxes. “You can start by stocking the shelves with what’s in those boxes.”

“Pay?”

“Same as always.” He named a figure.

“Cash?”

The older man nodded. “When you finish.”

The two men shook hands, and Toby’s hand engulfed the older man’s. Mark had never noticed how large-boned Toby was. If truth be told, he’d never paid much attention to Toby, period. But he did now and noticed a cross crudely tattooed on a knuckle of his left hand. A prison tat.

Toby pushed the sleeves of his shirt up as he walked to the stack of boxes. Mark waited until he carried a box to a back aisle. “Be right back,” he said to Mr. Peterson. “I need to talk to Toby.”

“Would you mind waiting until he finishes? If you start questioning him, he’ll run, and I need those shelves stocked.”

The older man seemed to know Toby pretty well. Maybe he could get a little background information first. “I’m surprised you hire him.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s been in prison for burglary—aren’t you afraid he might steal from you?”

“Toby paid his debt to society. And it’s hard to get help to do what he’s doing—it’s not like it’s regular work.” Mr. Peterson crossed his arms. “And to answer your other question, no, I don’t believe he’d do that. He was as much a victim in what happened twenty-five years ago as Kyle.”

“How’s that?”

Mark kept eye contact as the older man studied him. Mr. Peterson looked away first and took out a briar pipe from his coat and filled the bowl. Mark waited while he tapped it down and then refilled it. Mr. Peterson looked up, a twinkle in his eye.

“The doctor told me this is bad for my health, and I told him that at ninety-two, it didn’t matter. So we compromised. I can have my pipe as long as I don’t light it.”

Mr. Peterson was playing him. “I’d still like to know why you said Kyle was a victim.”

“Kyle was the manager of the store that they broke into, and because he’s from Pearl Springs, the same hometown as Toby, Kyle’s bosses thought he was involved and fired him the next morning after the burglary.”

“Chattanooga PD didn’t charge him.”

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