Page 10 of Every Deadly Suspicion

“What was the fight about?”

His eyes narrowed and he waved a hand in irritation. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“About what?”

He tossed his head back and huffed. “Personal stuff. Look, he was mad at me. I had no beef with Scott. Your witness can probably testify that Scott was the aggressor.” Shoving one hand in his pocket, Marcus looked Hanna in the eye.

“Everyone thinks Chase was the hothead. But Scott had a temper too.”

CHAPTER 5

SCOTT’S MEMORIAL SERVICEtook place on a stifling day at the end of May. Hanna’s mother would have called it “earthquake weather”: windy, hot, and dry. Dust devils formed here and there, clothes rippled, and hats needed to be held.

A lot of people attended. The Buckley business empire was large. From the number of rental cars in the parking lot, many people flew in from San Francisco and other big cities. Hanna saw that most of the town was here as well.

At one point she spied Jared in uniform with personnel from the fire department. They were county firefighters, and the one station in Dry Oaks had been built and donated by Buckley Enterprises. She had no chance to talk to him. Marcus Marshall was also there, filming. He’d been crowing all over town about how he’d gotten the best video of the crash. That man was so annoying.

“Big crowd,” Hanna’s steady guy, Detective Nathan Sharp, commented as they exited the car. He’d given her a ride. The small local cemetery just outside downtown was packed, a line of black limos stretching a long way along the road. The Buckleys weren’t churchgoers, so the only public service was graveside.

Many large, ornate headstones belonged to pioneers, Civil Warvets, and gold miners. The place attracted a lot of history hunters, and parts of several western movies had been filmed here. The Buckley plot was in the oldest section of the cemetery. Scott would be buried next to his mother, Hattie, and his grandfather, Alphonse Buckley, or Big Al as everyone called him. Hanna’s mother was also buried in the cemetery, not near the Buckleys, but being in this place reminded Hanna of her.

“Hanna!”

She turned and saw that Amanda Carson, her grandmother Betty, and Edda Fairchild were heading toward the service as well. Hanna and Nathan stopped and waited for them to catch up. Betty had recently had hip replacement surgery, and Mandy pushed her in a wheelchair.

They shared hugs all around. Two years older than Hanna, Amanda had been her best friend since grade school. They used to pretend that they were sisters. Mostly Hanna pretended. As a child she sometimes prayed that she could be a part of Mandy’s family for real because there was so much turbulence in her own home.

It really wasn’t a stretch, Hanna thought. They were both athletic with chestnut hair and green eyes. People often mistook them for sisters. Mandy was a couple of inches taller than Hanna’s five-foot-nine, and she wore her hair long while Hanna now kept her hair short. Mandy had chosen a black dress for the memorial, while Hanna had opted for a black business suit.

Edda was a local woman Hanna had known her whole life and someone she considered family. A beloved Sunday school teacher, Edda was a rock at the church Hanna attended.

“I knew both Buckley boys when they were in diapers.” Edda shook her head. “So very sad to see this violent end to Scott.”

“I always expected Chase would go first,” Betty said.

“Why do you say that?” Hanna asked, the murder investigationstill at the forefront of her thoughts. She’d not been able to get Everett or Chase to sit down for an interview yet.

“He was wild when he was younger. As wild as your father. Chase almost died at the cabin at Beecher’s Mine.” Betty was looking off toward the new section of the cemetery, where the markers for her daughter and son-in-law would be, Hanna guessed.

Pain marked her expression, and that did not surprise Hanna. Betty’s daughter, Sophia, and her husband, Blake, were Joe Keyes’s two murder victims. They were Amanda’s parents. While the third victim, Chase, had lived, acid had been thrown on him. He lost his right eye immediately and, later, part of his left leg when those acid burns went septic.

It occurred to Hanna that while Blake and Sophia had markers in this cemetery, there were no bodies. Joe would never say where he buried them. Hanna knew that neither Mandy nor Betty bore her any ill will because of that historical fact, but it still jabbed when it was brought up.

“Have you had any luck figuring out who killed Scott?” Mandy asked.

“Not so far.”

Edda took Hanna’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll find the person. You do a good job, Hanna. Your mother would be proud.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Hanna smiled. Edda was ever the encourager. Any mood brightened just being around her.

“How is your investigation going, Detective Sharp?” Edda asked. “I pray for you and your partner. My heart breaks for the young women who have died.”

Nathan worked as a homicide investigator for the sheriff’s department stationed in Sonora. Over the past two months, bodies of two women had been dumped along the highway. Fear in the community grew that there was a serial killer in the county.

He answered as they walked through the open cemetery gate along a stone path. “We’re working leads, Edda. If this case has shown me anything, it’s that women have to be careful who they open up to on the internet. It’s possible that’s where the killer found them.”

“I have faith in you, Detective. Like Hanna, you are very good at your job.”

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