Page 5 of Diamonds in the Mud

Henry shook his head. “There are several possibilities. She didn’t tell me who she was with each time. I didn’t want to know.” He ran his hands through his hair again.

“I’ll need names,” I said, pulling out my notepad and pen, and handing them to him. “Phone numbers if you have them.”

He took the pad and pen and, as he wrote, I noticed how badly his hands shook. This was a man who was either seriously emotionally affected by his wife’s death or scared. I hadn’t made up my mind yet which.

“We’ll need you down at the station,” I started just as several cars pulled into the long drive. “You can ride with Owen.” I stood up, tucking the pad and pen back into my pocket.

Henry stood and watched the cars park beside his. “When can I…” He motioned back towards the front door.

“I’d suggest you get a room down at the Cypress Inn for a few days.” I turned away from him and nodded at the chief of police as he strolled up the stairs on the porch. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, Chief,” I pointed out as he stopped in front of me.

Randy Cordova stood for a moment and smiled at me. The man’s silver hair had always been cut short. His silver-blue eyes shone with kindness and most of the time with humor. His smile was addictive to everyone who knew him. The man had a way of making everyone, especially me, relax.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said finally and wrapped his arm around my shoulders as he nudged me aside so Owen and Mr. Taylor could pass by. “Henry,” he said to the man with a nod. Henry, for his part, nodded his respect and kept following Owen. We both stood in silence for a moment. Then he turned back towards me. “I figured I’d better make an appearance with a case this big.” He shook his head while he watched Owen helping Henry into the back of his patrol car. The man was pale and shaken. “He doesn’t look to be holding up well. Was he here?”

“Nope, arrived less than five minutes after we did.” I motioned as we stepped up on the porch. “That’s Officer Morrison’s mess there.” I pointed to the pile of vomit outside the door. “And that’s Mr. Taylor’s,” I said, stepping over the other man’s mess just inside the door. “This mess”—I waved towards the water, broken vase, and crushed flowers—“is thanks to the son of the man you made your deputy.”

Randy sighed. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head.

“He sure did make a mess,” Randy said, stepping over the flowers. “Shit,” he said when he saw Sharon.

“Yeah,” I said again, moving beside him.

“Well, detective, where do you want me to start?” he asked me.

“Dad,” I groaned as I rolled my eyes. “Get the hell out of my crime scene,” I begged.

Randy smiled. “There’s my girl.” He patted me on the shoulder and walked towards the door. “I expect you to keep me updated,” he called as he stepped out the door.

Chapter Two

“Let us not be too particular; it is better to have old secondhand diamonds than none at all.”

–Mark Twain

Rayne

For the next few hours after returning to my office, I interviewed everyone in the Taylor family. Henry Taylor was the perfect picture of a grieving husband. Even though he had been with another woman the last night of his wife’s life, he played the part perfectly.

I knew there were people out there that had open marriages and, even though it was extremely difficult for me, I had to let that slide. What I saw was a man who was in complete shock that his wife was gone.

The way he’d been when he’d seen her lying on their entryway floor… there was no faking the horror in his eyes.

The two Taylor boys, Beau and Wyatt, came into the station for their interviews at different times. Beau had been in Lafayette for a week for a job and had rushed home hours after finding out about his mother. His alibi checked out, and I was fairly sure the guy was more pissed at whoever had dared to do this than he was grief-stricken at the loss of his mother. But I knew anger was a step in the recovery from losing someone so violently.

Wyatt had spent the night with his on again, off again girlfriend Clara Mangrum. Clara worked at the station in the Standards and Accountability office. I didn’t know where exactly, either Internal Affairs or records.

Before I even had a chance to contact Wyatt to have him come in for an interview, Clara knocked on my office door. The woman’s short brown hair was cut in that new style all the newly graduated girls wore.

I didn’t know much about her other than she was roughly nineteen or twenty. The Taylor boys were my age, which meant there was easily a ten-year difference.

“Got a sec?” Clara asked.

I motioned to the chair across from my desk. “Shut the door,” I said and waited until she settled in the seat.

“Wyatt was with me last night. The whole night,” she blurted out.