Page 582 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Avery cleared his throat and looked away from the woman’s accusing eyes. She wasn’t making this easy. “Um, I’m investigating his … death … accident, and I just wanna ask you a couple of questions.”

Mrs. Phillips stepped back and let Avery through the door. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

The cozy kitchen was neatly kept with a built-in stove on one side of the room and a refrigerator on the opposite wall. The door of the refrigerator was covered with tiny magnets holdingup pictures of several children. A round table covered with a checked tablecloth was in the middle of the room with a bowl of plastic fruit in the center. Avery noticed a Reader’s Digest, a cup of milk, and a plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies sitting on the table.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

Mrs. Phillips waved off the apology. “Have a seat. Buford talked about you sometimes. He told me about your wife. I’m sorry.”

Avery nodded and swallowed hard. She of all people could relate to his loss. He’d come here to comfort her, not the other way around.

“Would you like some milk and cookies?”

“No, thank you. I would like to ask you a couple of questions about your husband if you don’t mind.” He cleared his throat. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Mrs. Phillips, do you know if Buford was drinking the day of the accident?”

“Drinking! What are you talking about?” Red patches the color of blood were making their way up Mrs. Phillips’ neck.

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend. I just have to know.”

Now the patches were closing in like thunderclouds, making her neck a solid red. A tear formed in the corner of Mrs. Phillips’ eye and dribbled down her round cheek. “Didn’t you know Buford at all?” She dabbed at her eyes with her apron.

Avery shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Buford ain’t had a drop for over three years, not since he started going to church.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of a lot of things, but I’m sure of that!” Mrs. Phillips closed her eyes as if she were in deep thought.

“Did he say very much about the sawmill and the people he worked with?”

“No, I just know that he thought a lot of some of the men there, and he worried about them. He said they were headed for trouble.”

Avery jumped on her comment like a coon dog sniffing a scent. “What kind of trouble?”

The woman’s thick lips clamped shut, causing her chin to wiggle. Avery was afraid he’d pushed her too hard. He sat back in his chair and tried to give her some space. Her jaw worked back and forth. A moment later she spoke. “He didn’t say what kind of trouble. I reckon he just worried about them, that’s all.”

An alarm went off in the back of Avery’s mind. She knew something. What was she not telling?

The silence stretched on until Avery spoke. “Thank you, Mrs. Phillips. You’ve been a big help. I’d better get going.” He started down the steps.

“Avery?”

He turned.

“I don’t know what happened that day at the mill, but I know it weren’t my Buford’s fault. He was a good man.”

She closed the door, but not before he caught a glimpse of tears streaming down her face.

A nagging feelinggnawed at the pit of Avery’s stomach. It was the same feeling he’d had just before Susan’s death: the feeling of impending doom. He thought about his visit with Buford Phillips’ widow. What was bothering him about that? Her denial that Buford had been drinking? No, that wasn’t it. Of course she would deny that Buford had been drinking. Who wouldn’t want to keep the memories of a departed loved one untainted? He didn’t blame the poor woman for that.

Still, he admitted, Buford’s drinking was mighty convenient for the mill and a lot easier to explain than a dull, cracked blade. He kept going over his conversation with Mrs. Phillips, dissecting every portion of it. She’d mentioned some trouble at the mill. Yes, that’s what had been bothering him. What kind of trouble was Buford mixed up in?

Even if Buford had been drinking and had gotten too close to the saw that still didn’t excuse the poorly maintained equipment. There was only one way to be certain that the third-shift filers were doing their job. He would go and see for himself.

He parkedseveral blocks from the mill and walked in the cover of the trees as much as possible. He had his flashlight but kept it turned off. He didn’t want to give any advanced warning that he was coming. A thick blanket of fast-moving clouds battled with the light of the moon. Shadows rose and became slithery living shapes when a shaft of pale moonlight broke through the clouds. It was an evil moon. That’s how his grandmother would describe it. The old woman was superstitious. He brushed off the thought and reminded himself not to become prey to such rubbish. Nevertheless, he stole a glance over his shoulder. Maybe coming down here at 2:00 AM wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Avery made his way up the creaking stairs. He swore when he discovered the filing room was empty. There were saws scattered over the floor, all untouched by the filers. Where were they? Avery had hoped that his worries would be wrong and he would find the filers sharpening the blades.

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