Page 629 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Sydney lowered the window a couple of inches. “Is this Cecil Prichard’s place?”

“Yeah, but who wants to know?’’ The man appeared from behind the door. He looked to be approximately forty-five years old. His thinning hair was a dingy gray and stringy, like it had not been combed in months. The stained T-shirt revealed a frail, hairy chest. His bottom lip bulged with a dip of snuff or chewing tobacco. Dried stains outlined the corners of his mouth.

Sydney tried to slow her pulsating heartbeat. “My name is Sydney Lassiter. I work at the sawmill, and I just wanted to ask Mr. Prichard a couple of questions.”

“Well, he ain’t in no shape to be answering questions, but you might as well get out so long as you’re here.”

Sydney’s first impulse was to step on the gas and get as far away as possible from this place, but she couldn’t. She needed to talk to Cecil Prichard. He might be just the key to unlock the mystery of her father’s death. She opened the door a fraction and the barking dogs jumped at her.

“Git out o’ here.” The man came down the steps and began kicking the dogs with his bare feet.

“Come on in here and meet the ol’ man and my misses.” He beckoned Sydney to follow him up the creaky steps. If Sydney thought the outside of the cabin had prepared her for what she would see inside, she was sadly mistaken. The scent of dogs and body odor hit her full force. Stacks of dirty dishes still caked with dried food littered the kitchen counter. Fruit flies were swarming around a heap of garbage in the corner. Empty beer cans were scattered around the room. A dirty throw rug covered in dog hair lay in the middle of the floor.

Sydney took a step backwards. “Where are your wife and father?”

“Well, to tell the truth, they don’t live here no more. You just have a seat Miss … uh, what’d you say your name was?” The man motioned toward a ragged recliner that had a big grease spot at the top, no doubt caused by his hair.

Sydney’s chest began to pound. Here she was in the middle of nowhere with this creep, and like an idiot, she’d followed him into his lair. What was she thinking? “No thank you. I came to talk to Cecil Prichard. Where is he?”

The man spit a stream of tobacco into a can close to where Sydney was standing. She looked down, expecting to see splatters of tobacco spit on her linen pants.

“Now don’t you get sassy with me, Missy!” The man took a step closer to her, and she shrank back against the door. The mixture of body odor, tobacco, and beer were more than she could take. Panic convulsed through her.

“I’ve obviously come to the wrong place.” She moved to open the door.

Before she could get it open, the man reached and closed it. “I’m Bernice Prichard. I’ll talk to you. I expect you and me can find lots of interesting things to talk about.” He laughed and leaned over Sydney with his hand against the door, blocking her way out.

“Get out of my way!”“You shore are pretty when you’re mad. It makes them big blue eyes shoot bullets.”

She kicked the vile man between his legs as hard as she could. He cursed and doubled over in pain. She flung open the door and raced to her jeep, knowing that she only had a few precious seconds to get away. She barely noticed the barking dogs, chasing her to the jeep. She locked the door and started the engine. Through the rear-view mirror, she could see Bernice standing in the yard, shaking his fist as her tires sprayed gravel across the yard. She hadn’t meant to kick him. Instinct had taken over. Maybe all of those self-defense classes Judith made her attend were worthwhile after all. What an utterly stupid thing to do. When would she learn to use good judgment?This was one incident that she would definitely keep to herself.She raced down the gravel road and offered up a silent prayer for her escape.

The incidentwith Bernice Prichard had shaken her up, but Sydney was determined to find Cecil. For several days her mind raced for a way to locate him. It finally came to her—the one person that would know: Barb.

She found Barb in the break room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Barb placed her coffee cup by the pot and turned to Sydney. “I’m busy. Is it important?”

Sydney tried to keep her voice casual. She focused on the stack of papers in Barb’s hand. “Do you remember a man named Cecil Prichard who worked at the mill several years ago?

Barb’s face grew curious. “Yeah, I remember Cecil. Why?”

“I’d like to ask him about some of the accidents that were happening back then.”

“You’d better let old dogs lie—if you know what I mean.” Barb turned her back on Sydney and filled her cup with coffee.

“Barb, I need to know where he is.”

“Is that right? Well, I guess you’re just out of luck.” Barb flashed a smile and walked away, sipping her coffee.

Louellen’s cultured voice came from behind. “Cecil Prichard is in Shady Side Rest Home. It’s located in Beline, about forty miles from here.”

Sydney turned and faced her. “Thanks,” she said with more gratitude in her voice than she wished to convey.

“You’re welcome.”

Sydney thought of something else. “Louellen? Have you ever heard of anyone named Lewis?”

Louellen’s eyebrow raised. “Why?”

---