Page 3 of Murder at Rescue Ridge

“I’ll make bail,” he said.

“I’d rather figure out a plan so you aren’t arrested in the first place.”

Now, Travis was beginning to make sense. Not going to jail for a crime Conrad didn’t commit sounded like the way to go. “I’m all ears.”

“Let’s focus on finding reasons to keep you out of jail.”

“Like?” Conrad asked since the fact he hadn’t committed murder didn’t seem to be a good enough reason.

“You’re not a flight risk.”

“Nope,” Conrad said. “I don’t have plans to go anywhere.”

“You don’t have a history of violence,” Travis continued.

Conrad cleared his throat. “That might be a problem.”

Travis’s brow shot up. “Why? Do you have a history of getting into fights?”

“I was arrested in Colorado for a bar fight six months ago. Is that going to be a problem?”

Those words caused worry lines to appear on Travis’s forehead. “Depends on the reason.”

“A man ended up in the hospital,” Conrad added. “He turned out to be the son of the town’s mayor.”

Travis mumbled a few choice words. “That’s not good, Conrad.”

He was afraid of that.

“Tell me what happened in as much detail as you remember.”

“Does it matter?” Conrad asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” Conrad had done his best to forget the whole incident. “The guy followed a woman to her car. The parking lot was dark. She’d had one too many. This guy decided to take advantage of the state she was in. I caught him trying to drag her behind a dumpster.”

“What were you doing outside?”

Conrad’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s your question?”Seriously?

“The answer will matter in a courtroom,” Travis said.

“I followed the woman outside because I didn’t think it was a good idea for her to drive,” he explained. “And I was the one who bought her a drink because I didn’t realize she’d had too much until after she walked over to thank me. When I tried to convince her not to drink it, she got mad and told me to go to hell. Next thing I knew, she downed the damn thing in front of me and then said she was going home because the bar suddenly got boring.”

“Was anyone around to corroborate your story?”

“The bartender overheard the conversation but refused to give a statement later when he realized who I’d punched,” Conrad said. “I didn’t coldcock the guy. He swung first, but Brittany, that was her name, didn’t want to go against the mayor’s son in court. Not when she’d been too drunk to drive and tried to get behind the wheel anyway. Plus, she was embarrassed once she sobered up.”

“Would she offer a statement on your behalf now?” Travis asked.

“I have no idea.” Conrad didn’t have her number to ask. “She said the other guy was helping her to the trash can because she was about to throw up. That was her official statement.”

“Damn.”

“She was afraid of him,” Conrad said. “Do you blame her? After growing up around here? No one went to bat for us against Beaumont when we were kids. Teachers had to have known what happened behind closed doors, considering the welts on the backs of our legs and the other marks on our bodies and faces. I showed up to class more than once in my middle school years with a black eye.” Anger boiled up inside him. “No one ever asked where the shiners came from.”

“Folks don’t ask questions they don’t really want answers to.”

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