Page 64 of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

“True,” I said with a sigh. “And having her number will save us some time.”

Less than an hour later, Dixie and I were showered and back in our original clothes, heading back to town. Dixie had called Linda, who said Tim’s last name was McCree. He worked at the feed store in the center of town, a couple of blocks east of Main Street. We decided we could stop in and talk to Tim and then head over to Maybelline’s for lunch. I texted Luke to let him know we expected to be at Maybelline’s around one o’clock. If he had time and hadn’t eaten lunch yet, he was welcome to drop by.

I pulled my car into a parking spot in front of the feed store, but I didn’t get out right away as I noticed Dixie making no move to open her door. Instead she was studying the entrance with a thoughtful look. After a moment, she said, “I think I know the guy we need to talk to. I’ve been here with Teddy a few times and he talked to a guy name Tim. He’s definitely around the right age.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Still, I was worried about the execution of said plan. Was Tim going to talk to us while he was at work? And if he did, would he be likely to tell the truth? I wasn’t certain he hadn’t lied to cover for Chuck, but I wasn’t sure approaching him with a bad-cop routine, as a means to convince him to tell the real version of events, was the best way to get him to come clean. Especially since, if he’d lied, he might worry about being charged for impeding an investigation—although, he was likely past the statute of limitations. Bethany had been murdered a long time ago. All things considered, we might be able to convince him to talk, especially if we promised to protect his identity.

Dixie reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed a plate of cookies. “A little bribery might help, right?”

“Luke is fond of saying the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” I said with a shrug, “so it definitely can’t hurt.”

We headed inside the store and scanned the space. There were a couple of employees in the front—one was a middle-aged woman and the other was a man in his twenties—so I quickly ruled them out. Dixie started walking past endcaps, looking down each aisle as she passed.

She stopped, then looked back at me. “Found him.”

Then she took off down the aisle without waiting for me.

I’d nearly caught up with her just as she was heading toward a friendly-looking man with gray hair. He stood at the end of the aisle, wearing a red apron. His name tag was in the shape of a pig and had the name Tim in large letters. He and a customer were discussing what to feed her chickens. After a short discussion about her chickens’ poop, he loaded a bag of feed onto her cart. As she headed to the register, he spotted us standing to the side and said, “Can I help you ladies?”

Dixie offered him a bright smile. “I sure hope so. And we have a plate of chocolate chip cookies for your trouble.”

He eyed the plate and licked his upper lip as he took it. “While the cookies are appreciated, they aren’t necessary. It’s my job to help you. I know just about everything when it comes to feeding animals or fertilizing your garden. Which one do you ladies need help with?”

“Neither, actually,” Dixie said. “We need help with a little history about Sweet Briar.”

He set the plate on top of a bag of dog food and scratched his neck. “Well, I ain’t never been one for history, so I’m not sure how much I can help.”

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Actually, I think you’re the exact person we need to talk to. We’ve heard you were friends with someone we’d like to learn more about.”

“And who might that be?” he asked, looking wary.

“Chuck Petty.”

His eyes shuttered, and he paused before he asked, “Why do you wanna know about that asshole?”

“We heard that you went fishin’ with him the night Bethany Brewer was murdered.”

His face paled as he swallowed. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“So what were you fishin’ for?” she asked in an eager tone.

He stared at her in disbelief. “Say what?”

“I wanna know what you were fishing for. It was in April, right? Were you fishing in a creek?”

“Uh…” he stuttered. “I was fishing for catfish in a friend’s pond.”

“From what I heard, Chuck Petty was never really into fishing much, so it seems kinda weird that he would be fishing with you.” We’d heard no such thing, so obviously she was trying to bluff him in to fessing up.

“Well, everybody’s gotta start fishing some time,” he said. “Then they learn to love it.”

“Well, did he?” she asked.

He stared at her with a blank expression. “Did he what?”

“Did he learn to love it?”

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