Page 108 of Hello, Summer
The photo was a blurry side view. A gaunt, older, balding man was seated in a booth, the younger woman across from him. A curtain of blond hair concealed half her face, but yes, the couple’s hands were intertwined on the tabletop.
“What do you think this proves?” Conley asks.
“Speaks for itself,” Jesse said. “I was there. I seen the way he was looking at that girl.” He wiped the phone on the seat of his coveralls and put it back on the workbench. “And now I’m not the only one who’s seen it.”
“You still hate Robinette.” It was a statement, not a question. “You sent that photo to his wife?”
The mechanic shrugged. “If he’d done to your family what he did to mine, you’d hate him too,” Jesse said. “My mom’s been gone close to thirty years, but I’ll never forget how sick she was, the way that cancer ate up her insides. Robinette got rich off the money the railroad paid him to cover it up. But my family? My mama got the grave, and Aunt Winnie got sent to prison. So yeah.Hateain’t a strong enough word.”
“Fair enough, I guess,” Conley said. And then she repeated her earlier question. “I’m still wondering what was in that evidence bag the deputy was carrying.”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. It was the driver’s-side mirror. It was hanging halfway off anyway.”
“Did Poppell say why he wanted it?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“What’s the Escalade doing here anyway?” Conley asked. “The accident happened in Bronson County.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got a towing contract with them. Griffin County too,” Jesse said. “After they peeled what was left of the old bastard off the upholstery, they called, and we towed it over here to the garage.”
Conley shivered, thinking of the visual. “What happens to the car now?”
“Poppell said it’ll probably get towed to the state crime lab for more tests. His wife don’t want it, so if the state doesn’t come get it, we’ll sell it for scrap.”
“Did Poppell ask any other questions about the car?” Conley asked.
“He wanted to check the glove box, but like I told him, if there was anything in there, it got burned up in the fire.”
Her phone buzzed with another text from Grayson.
?????
“I’d better get to work,” she said, stashing her phone in her pocket. “Thanks, Jesse,” she said, extending her hand, but he shook his head. “Naw. You don’t wanna shake hands with a nasty old grease monkey.”
She took his hand anyway, pumping it vigorously. “Always a pleasure, Jesse.”
He followed her through the shop and out into the parking lot. It was just after nine o’clock, and the air was already as thick and hot as tomato soup.
“Hey, Conley,” he said as she was about to get into her car.
She whirled around, hoping he’d thought of some other nugget of information. “Yes?”
“That Subaru. Does it get good mileage?”
“Gets great mileage,” she said. “Don’t forget to call me if you think of anything else about that Escalade.”
39
Grayson called when Conley was half a block from theBeaconoffice.
“Hey,” her sister said. “Charlie Robinette is having a press conference at the courthouse, starting in ten minutes. Get over there right away.”
“What’s it about?” Conley asked.
“Don’t know,” Grayson said. “We just got an email from hiscommunications directorpromising that it was a breaking news event.”
A small but growing crowd was already gathering on the courthouse lawn. Conley counted two television vans parked on the sidewalk, one from Pensacola and one from Tallahassee, and of course, she spotted Buddy Bright’s gleaming white Corvette with a homemade Working Press vanity plate on the front. The normally quiet streets around the square were lined with cars. She pulled into a vacant spot in front of Kelly’s Drugs, hopped out, and hurried across the street.
