It wasn’t unusual for someone to come by the district attorney’s office and insist they had vital information about a crime. Usually, their facts weren’t facts and the opinions they offered were less helpful than throwing darts at a sheet of possibilities. But every so often a nugget of gold turned up. Holt hoped he’d be able to tell quickly which category Mr. Burkdale fell into.

  Unlike a private law firm, the reception area for the DA’s office wasn’t filled with antique furniture and plush rugs. Sally sat behind a scratched wooden desk. The room contained eight orange plastic chairs and a banged-up coffee table covered with out-of-date magazines. Adjacent to the reception area was a small room for private conferences. A small, balding man wearing an ill-fitting suit was sitting on the edge of one of the chairs.

  “Mr. Burkdale?” Holt said when he entered. “I’m Holt Douglas. You wanted to see me?”

  “Can we talk privately?”

  “In here.” Holt motioned to the conference room and then led the way. Burkdale followed.

  Holt closed the door but remained standing. If this needed to be a thirty-second meeting, he didn’t want Burkdale to get too comfortable.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Holt asked.

  “I know you spoke with Tony McDermott yesterday,” he said.

  Holt’s eyes opened wider. “I’m listening.”

  He sat down. They faced each other across the table. Burkdale’s nose twitched as he spoke.

  “Detective McDermott, uh, I know he’s retired, but that’s still what I call him, told me you were reopening the investigation into Rex Meredith’s death and suggested I come see you. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but the more I thought about it, I knew it was the right thing to do.”

  Holt was curious to hear what Burkdale had to say but also miffed at McDermott. He’d made Holt promise to keep everything they discussed quiet until an indictment was issued. Apparently the same rule didn’t apply to the former detective’s lips.

  “Reopening the investigation may be an overstatement, but go ahead,” Holt said.

  “I worked for Mr. Meredith for ten years. My job was to keep up with rent payments and maintenance costs on his residential and commercial property. I don’t know how long you’ve been in Paxton, but he owned a lot of buildings in the downtown area and leased thousands of acres of farmland.” Burkdale paused and glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “I was at Mr. Meredith’s house the night he died.”

  “McDermott told me Greg and Valerie Stevens and Sonny the caretaker were the only people there.”

  “I stopped by earlier in the evening. Mr. Meredith called and told me to come over so I could deliver my monthly report. When I got there, Claudine Davis, his housekeeper, was pulling out of the driveway. Mr. Meredith took me through the kitchen on the way to his study. There were dirty dishes on the table, and the kitchen hadn’t been straightened up. It struck me as odd that Claudine left before doing her job, and I asked Mr. Meredith about it. He said Valerie had an emergency at her house and needed Claudine to come immediately.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go on.”

  “Mr. Meredith was in a good mood and offered me a drink and a cigar, which caught me off guard since we rarely socialized. I turned down the cigar, but we each drank a whiskey while he looked over my report. He told me what a good job I was doing and how loyal I’d been to him. Then he said he wanted to tell me something he hadn’t told anyone else. Mr. Boatwright was leaving the company for a new job in Atlanta, and even though Greg Stevens was Mr. Meredith’s son-in-law, Stevens was going to be fired.”

  “Someone else told me Stevens’s job duties had already been scaled back. Is that true?”

  “Yes, but Boatwright delegated a lot of work to him anyway. I think Boatwright didn’t want to be here in the first place and considered it a temporary position until he could find something else.”

  “Who was going to get Boatwright’s job?”

  Burkdale blinked his eyes. “I was. Mr. Meredith promised we would meet in a few days and go over the details of my new position. He was going to double my salary. After we finished our drinks, we shook hands on it.”

  Holt wasn’t convinced of the truthfulness of Burkdale’s story. It was plausible on its face but needed verification.

  “Did Mr. Meredith give you anything in writing confirming his plans—a memo or anything like that?”

  “No, that was going to be worked out at a later meeting. But there was nothing about the way Mr. Meredith acted that gave any indication he was suicidal or about to end his life. He was planning for the future. And that’s what I told Detective McDermott.”

  “Do you think Greg Stevens knew Mr. Meredith was about to fire him?”

  “He had to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Holt realized the conclusion Burkdale wanted him to make. “You believe Stevens had something to do with Meredith’s death?”

  Burkdale glanced over his shoulder at the door again. “If I knew for certain, I’d say so. But there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence against Mr. Stevens.”

  “Such as?”

  “Claudine getting called away so she wouldn’t be in the house, and the way Stevens has run Meredith Enterprises since Mr. Meredith died.”

  “Have you talked to Claudine about the emergency at the Stevens house?”

  “Yes. I pulled her aside at the funeral home. She told me it looked like Mr. and Mrs. Stevens had gotten into a huge fight because a lot of stuff was broken and scattered all over the main floor of the house.”

  “Where’s Claudine now?”

  “She died about a year ago.”

  “Did McDermott interview her?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I told him about her. It was something I thought about later.”

  “Does she have family in the area?”

  “A daughter, but I can’t remember her name.”

  Holt tapped the table with his pen. He’d not taken any notes.

  “What is the problem with the way Stevens operates Meredith Enterprises?” he asked.

  “I have my sources,” Burkdale responded cryptically.

  Holt decided not to press the point at an initial meeting. “What happened to your job after Meredith’s death?” he asked.

  “I worked for a couple of months and then Mr. Stevens fired me.”

  “Did he give you a reason?”

  “That it was a consolidation move.”

  “Did you tell him about your conversation with his father-in-law?”

  “No.” Burkdale paused. “I was afraid to.”

  “Is there anybody else who worked for Mr. Meredith who can verify his plan to fire Stevens and promote you?”

  “Other than Mr. Stevens?”

  “Yes.”

  Burkdale shook his head. “Not that I know of. Mr. Meredith hired and fired a lot of people over the years. He did what he wanted to do without asking anybody’s opinion.”

  Holt studied Burkdale again. It was hard to put his finger on the reason why the bookkeeper seemed off.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Please don’t let Mr. Stevens know I’ve talked to you. After he fired me, I couldn’t get a regular job and had to open my own business. I do the books for a dry-cleaning shop, a couple of insurance agencies, and a few restaurants. If Mr. Stevens wanted to hurt what little business I have, he could put me under.”

  “We’ll both keep this conversation between us, agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is the best way for me to get in touch with you if I have a question later?”

  Burkdale reached inside his coat and took out a business card. When he did, Holt caught a glimpse of dark metal in a leather holster. Burkdale was carrying a gun.

  “That’s it for today,” Holt said as he quickly took the card and stood up. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Sally was sorting papers at her desk. Holt stayed beside her and watched Burkdale until the front door of the office closed behind him.

  21

  Holt went directly to see Belinda. The administrator was on the phone and raised a finger to her lips as he approached.

  “I understand,” she said to the caller on the phone. “But even though Mr. Granger is the district attorney, he can’t handle every case in the office. Mr. Douglas is a very competent attorney with plenty of trial experience.”

  Belinda listened for a few more seconds. She looked at Holt and rolled her eyes.

  “Mr. Douglas may look younger than your grandson, but I can assure you that he’ll do everything he can to make sure the defendant receives the punishment he deserves. I’ll let him know you called. Make sure you’re in the courtroom thirty minutes early on Monday morning.”

  Belinda hung up the phone.

  “What was that about?” Holt asked.

  “A misdemeanor shoplifting case that’s on the arraignment calendar next week. That was the owner of the store. When she found out the case had been assigned to you, she got upset because Ralph isn’t personally taking care of it. She reminded me that she gave his campaign twenty-five dollars the last time he ran for reelection.”

  “I agree with her,” Holt responded. “Ralph should definitely be lead prosecutor on that one. Who’s representing the defendant?”

  “Clare Dixon was appointed to the case last week.”

  “Another reason Ralph should handle it. After what happened in the Callaway case, Clare is going to be gunning for me with both barrels blazing.”

  Belinda chuckled. “Overruled. But I don’t want you to be blindsided. The store owner wants the defendant sent to a prison where he’ll have to bust rocks for ten or fifteen years.”

  “How old is the defendant?”

  Belinda flipped open a folder on her desk. “Do you want to guess?”

  “Eighteen and a half,” Holt replied. “Barely old enough for the case to get kicked up to superior court.”

  “You’re off,” Belinda said, doing some quick mental calculations, “by forty-six years.”

  “The defendant is sixty-four?”

  “And a half,” Belinda added.

  “What did he steal? Pain medication for his arthritis?”

  Belinda glanced down again. “No, a six-pack of beer, a bag of corn chips, and some bean dip. He couldn’t post bond and has been in jail ever since his arrest last month.”

  “Sounds like a house party that didn’t happen. Give me the file so I can call Clare. It’s costing the taxpayers a lot to keep him locked up.”

  “Judge Lomax will know this guy. He’s had a bunch of petty stuff in his past.”

  “Okay, but I came by to see you about somebody else.” Holt lowered his voice. “I just had a conversation in the conference room with a man named Burkdale. Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, Cecil Burkdale. He’s a bookkeeper, but he used to be a hit man for Rex Meredith.”

  “A hit man?” Holt raised his eyebrows.

  “Not literally, of course. But Burkdale was the guy who’d kick people out of their houses and put them on the street if they missed a payment. I know because he wouldn’t give one of my nephews who lost his job a little extra time to catch up the rent. It really ticked me off, so I agreed to loan my nephew the money. Burkdale wouldn’t accept my payment until I also paid a bunch of late fees and a crazy attorney’s fee for a form letter sent by a lawyer at the Spratt firm.”

  “He didn’t seem so hard-nosed to me.”

  “He was. Burkdale is a little man who got some power and went crazy with it. When Greg Stevens took over Meredith Enterprises, one of the first things he did was fire him. Nobody felt sorry for Burkdale.”

  “I didn’t expect you to know so much.”

  Belinda tapped her head. “The Bible says to forgive, but that doesn’t mean I have to forget. What did he want with you?”

  “To talk to me about a closed file. When he gave me his business card, I saw he was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster.”

  “I’m sure he has a concealed weapon permit from his days of working for Mr. Meredith. But if he ever pulled a gun on someone, I’d put my money on the other guy jerking it out of his hand and pistol-whipping the little weasel with it.”

  Holt had rarely heard Belinda speak so negatively about someone. He went to his office and pulled open the bottom drawer. The brief glimpse of Burkdale’s weapon had raised a question in his mind. Holt checked, and there was nothing in Butch Clovis’s report about ownership of the gun in Rex Meredith’s hand at the time of his death.

  Wednesday afternoon, Keith came over to Trish’s house about an hour before it was time to leave for church. He had his laptop computer in his hand.

  “I’ve done a lot more with the house plans since we visited the property on Sunday,” he said as she led the way to the kitchen table. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Resting,” Trish said.

  In reality, Marge had vacated the front part of the house so Trish and Keith could be alone.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she’s going to church later. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water would be great.”

  Trish poured him a glass of ice water. Keith took a big drink.

  “This water is delicious,” he said. “You’re on a well here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well water can be so much better than city water.”

  “Yeah, I like the taste,” Trish said. “But it’s not fun when the line to the house freezes in the winter. And the calcium levels are so high the towels come out of the wash terribly scratchy. Mama and I have talked about installing a whole-house water-softening unit, but they’re expensive and require a lot of upkeep.”

  Trish couldn’t believe she was talking to Keith about water treatment issues, but he seemed vitally interested.

  “What about washing your hair?” Keith asked.

  Trish raised her eyebrows. “That’s kind of personal, but I use more shampoo than recommended on the bottle and extra conditioner,” Trish said and then burst out laughing.

  “What is it?” Keith asked.

  “I don’t know,” Trish said, trying to rein in her giggles. “It’s just so scientific sitting here and talking to you about how to cope with well water.”

  “It is a big deal,” Keith replied. “We’re on city water at my parents’ house, but the property on Cockburn Road will require a well. I need to learn all I can from people who know about them.”

  “What did Mr. Eakins say about his well?” Trish asked with a straight face, then started laughing again.

  “The water table is high in that area, which isn’t surprising given the creek nearby. They didn’t have to drill very deep before they hit a good vein.”

  “I guess not,” Trish said. “And your ability to try to have a conversation with me while I’m laughing like a child being tickled is amazing. I’ll try to get a grip so I can listen.”

  Keith grinned. “I like hearing you laugh. If talking about drilling a well makes it happen, I’m not going to change the subject.”

  “That’s sweet. But I think I’m under control now. Did Mr. Eakins say how many gallons an hour his well produces?”

  No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than Trish exploded again with laughter. Giving way to her impulse, she sat back in her chair and laughed and laughed until there was nothing left. Keith waited patiently. Trish picked up a napkin and wiped her eyes.

  “You know how something that isn’t funny can seem funny?” she asked when she’d regained a measure of control.

  “Yeah, and I think this is one of those times.”

  Trish nodded. “Let’s move on to the house plans. Maybe I can look at those and give you some legitimate feedback.”

  Keith turned on his computer. While they waited for it to boot up, he took another drink of water. Trish watched. She knew if Keith said something about how good the water tasted she would lose it again. Thankfully, he remained silent. She scooted her chair closer to his. The wallpaper photo on Keith’s laptop appeared. It was a candid picture someone had taken of the two of them talking at the Sunday school Christmas party. Trish was wearing one of her favorite outfits.

  “Who took that picture?” Trish asked in surprise at the photo and Keith’s use of it on his computer. “I haven’t seen it before.”

  “Jerry Dunn. Remember, he was running around with the new camera he bought as a present for himself.”

  “Can you send it to me?”

  “Yes, and there are a few others, too.”

  While they waited for the house plan program to load, Trish wondered if Keith had been greeted by her face every time he turned on his computer for the past six months.

  “This is how the program works,” Keith said. “You put in parameters for square footage, number of bedrooms, bathrooms, et cetera. Then it gives options that can be manipulated until you come up with something you like. I’ve developed plans for several different-size houses that exclude a basement since I know that won’t be possible on this land. The program doesn’t just spit out a floor plan with dimensions. There’s a 3-D feature that lets you walk through the house as it would actually look. Would you like to see what I built last week when I was in Alabama?”

  “Sure.”

  While Trish watched, Keith opened a folder. In a few seconds the floor plan for a house popped up. Keith moved his cursor to the combination living room and den.

  “This is a big open room that would face the creek, not the road. I don’t know if you noticed the other day, but there’s a line of trees along the creek that would pop with color in the fall. Beyond that is a pasture with a nice herd of Angus cattle. The large windows in this room face north, so there wouldn’t be a lot of direct sun to cause it to overheat.”

  Trish’s eyes wandered to the kitchen, which was laid out galley-style and looked a little too narrow.

  “Now look at it in 3-D,” Keith said.