If She Should Die (37 page)

Jeremy’s half-witted, I’m half-baked, Michael thought in amusement as he strained his peripheral vision to study the crowd without appearing to be looking at anyone. Teague’s got us all analyzed as “halves.” He probably considers himself the only person around who’s whole. If that’s true, Winston citizens are one messed-up bunch of people.

Christine caught sight of him just as Jeremy leaned down to whisper something to her. She tried to hide a smile, and Michael saw people around them doing the same. Jeremy had apparently whispered loudly but entertainingly. Then Christine had looked like she’d drifted off into space for a moment before coming back to earth with a bang. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes opened wide, and her lips parted. Michael watched as her intense gaze shot to the people standing directly across from her. He did his “looking without looking” routine and decided she was staring at either Bethany or Travis Burke with what could only be shock.

Something just came to her, he thought. She’d remembered something. Then he told himself he was an idiot. What was he now? A mind reader? A half-baked psychic?

When the service mercifully ended, Michael saw Sloane Caldwell approach Christine and Jeremy. The deputy lingered, studying other funeral attendees, particularly Streak Archer, who looked like he was ready to pass out. His mother divided her attention between Streak and Ames. Bethany and Travis Burke were making their way toward Ames Prince. Other people headed for their cars. Michael intended to continue uninterrupted surveillance until everyone attending Patricia Prince’s funeral left. His concentration dissolved, though, when Christine tapped him on the arm and said urgently, “I have to tell you something.”

He glanced at Sloane Caldwell, who was talking to Jeremy but looking at Christine. “Has anything happened today?” Michael asked, gazing into her troubled eyes. “Did you get another phone call? Something in the mail?”

“No. Nothing has happened to me except that I’ve remembered something.” Christine told him quickly
about a memory of Dara walking out of Travis Burke’s office and that Dara and her friends called him Snake Charmer. “S.C. in the diary,” she explained unnecessarily, “it might not be Sloane Caldwell. It might be Travis Burke. If you’d seen the way Dara looked . . .” She shook her head. “I feel awful for telling you this, because Bethany is my friend, but I think Dara might have been involved with Travis, not Sloane.”

She seemed extremely agitated about having perhaps misdirected his attention to Sloane Caldwell, Michael thought unhappily. Maybe she still had romantic feelings for the guy and wanted to protect him. Then he told himself he was being foolish and unprofessional, overlooking the importance of what she was telling him about Burke because he was worried about her feelings for Caldwell, which he shouldn’t care about at all.

Except that he did.

“Have you ever heard anyone else call Travis Burke Snake Charmer?” he asked, dragging himself back to the subject.

“Snake Charmer!” Jeremy burst out behind him. “That’s what Dara called Travis. He doesn’t like me, but he sure liked Dara!”

Christine paled. “Jeremy, hush!” she hissed. “People will hear you.”

“What did I say wrong?” Jeremy asked in confusion. “I only said what’s true. Dara talked about Travis all the time and she called him Snake Charmer. I thought it was creepy that he keeps all those snakes, but she thought it was cool. She said he showed them to her—”

“I thought it was a really nice service,” Michael interrupted loudly, but he was too late. Bethany Burke was already backing away, her skin pale, her eyes blazing at a crimson-faced Travis Burke.

An hour later Michael wondered exactly how angry Christine was with her brother right now. He could tell she hated ever getting irritated with Jeremy, but she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t supremely pissed off at him for blasting out that Travis was Snake Charmer, which had drawn Bethany toward them. But Travis couldn’t blame Christine or Jeremy for the questioning he was about to receive from Michael. That had been planned since last night.

He now called the Burke home and was glad when Travis answered. “I need to ask you some questions,” he told the professor. “They aren’t questions I think you want to answer at home. I’m willing to meet you someplace.”

“Questions about what?” Travis had asked nervously.

“Questions about a CD player.”

“A CD player? I don’t understand.”

“You will when we talk. And we
will
talk, so you might as well get it over with.”

“All right. My wife went to see her father. I’m babysitting. I can’t leave. You’ll have to come here.”

Michael hadn’t realized how far out of town Travis Burke lived. When he pulled up at the house, he saw a concrete block building about half an acre away from the back of a nice but simple ranch-style home. That building must be where Burke keeps his snakes, Michael thought. He knew herpetology was a hobby growing in popularity, but it wasn’t one he could fathom.

Travis opened the front door before Michael reached it. “I really don’t know what this is all about,” he began abruptly. “I don’t understand why you want to question me.”

“Let’s go inside. You are going to let me in, aren’t you, Mr. Burke?”

“Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to seem like I was barricading the door.” Travis seemed slightly breathless. “You want some coffee? I just made some.”

“No thanks. I had a late lunch before I came. Let’s just get down to business.”

“Yes. Certainly. We’ll sit in the living room. My wife will be back in an hour or so, though, and I think it would really disturb her to drive up and see a cop car parked out front. She’s always so nervous about Jan. That’s our little girl. She’s four. Taking a nap, now. Bethany would have taken her to see Hugh—that’s Bethany’s father—but he has a bad cold. Beth worries constantly about Jan catching something. She’s the most protected little girl in this city.”

“Little kids need protection and constant attention,” Michael said tersely. “I admire your wife’s dedication.”

“Well, so do I. Of course. I didn’t mean to sound critical.”

They had reached a medium-sized living room that was comfortably decorated. It didn’t look like the formal living room many people reserved for company. The magazines and newspapers scattered around a big leather armchair indicated this room was actually used.

“Do you have kids, Deputy Winter?” Travis asked.

Michael tried to keep his face expressionless. “I did. A little girl. She . . . died.”

“Oh. Damn. What a rotten break. I’m sorry.”

“So was I.” So much for stating the obvious, Michael thought but he could see Travis was too worried about what was coming at him to really notice anything Michael said about himself.

Travis made for the armchair as if it were a raft in the middle of the ocean. Michael sat down on a couch covered in a gay yellow-and-red country print. Beside him lay a coloring book and a lone green crayon. He picked
them up and set them on a mahogany coffee table.

Travis glanced at the crayon and smiled. “Jan is in her green period. Everything she colors is green.”

“Little girls are sweet,” Michael said, bleakness in his voice. “I certainly miss mine.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’d like for me to get out of here before your wife returns, Mr. Burke, so I’ll get right to the point.” Michael took out his notebook and looked at it a moment, although he really didn’t need to. He wanted to see how nervous Travis Burke was going to get before the questions hit him. “You knew Patricia Prince, didn’t you?”

“Patricia?” Travis seemed completely taken aback, as if Patricia were an unexpected topic. “Well, slightly. My wife and she are friends. Well, not really friends, but Bethany’s been helping her with a garden. Beth’s good friends with Christine Ireland and she introduced Beth to Patricia. I’ve really only been around her a few times. Patricia, that is.”

Michael nodded. “You know that the circumstances of her death are under investigation.”

“No. No, I didn’t know that. She fell. That’s what I heard. She just fell out of the barn loft.”

“Fell or was pushed.”

“
Pushed?
Nobody told me that. How do you know she was pushed?”

“I can’t go into all the details. The police have to keep a few things secret.” He smiled. Travis Burke tried to smile and failed. “You have a CD player, don’t you, Mr. Burke? A boom box?” He glanced at his notebook again. “A portable RCA CD and radio with digital tuner, Model RCD-one-three-three?”

Burke’s face went blank. Then wariness grew in his gaze. “Well, I
did
until a couple of weeks ago. It was stolen from my car.”

“You didn’t report it to the police?”

“I’d left the car unlocked, so I figured it was my fault. The car wasn’t damaged and nothing else was taken, and frankly, I just didn’t want to make a big deal over a CD player and have to fill out a lot of forms with the police. But how did you know about it?”

“Several years ago, the Winston police department offered to put identification strips on home furnishings, electronics, that kind of thing, so that items taken in burglaries could be tracked.”

“Oh.” Michael saw memory dawn in Burke’s eyes. “I’d completely forgotten about the ID system. Bethany had it done.”

“I see. Well, your boom box has turned up.”

Travis seemed to relax. “So that’s what this is all about? My boom box? Well, I’ll be glad to have it back. I was planning on buying a new one this week.” He stopped, the tension returning to his face. “But what does my CD player have to do with Patricia Prince?”

“It was found in the barn loft she fell from,” Michael said mildly. “Would you know how it got there?”

Travis went so white Michael thought he was going to pass out. He swallowed and said loudly, “No! How should I . . .” He swallowed again. “You mean someone stole it from me and then hid it in the Princes’ barn loft?”

“It wasn’t hidden. When Christine Ireland discovered Patricia’s body, music was playing on it. Later we found it set out in plain view and surrounded by candles. Lit candles.”

Travis stared at him, opened his mouth, then closed it. He lifted his hands.

“Are you still saying you don’t know how it got there, Mr. Burke?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I have absolutely no idea how it got there. How should I?”

“According to one source, Patricia Prince had a lover. She used to meet him in the barn.”

Travis leaned forward aggressively. “Who says it was me? It wasn’t
me
! Who’s this source?”

“I can’t reveal that.” Michael wondered how Travis would react if he told him the source was Jeremy Ireland. Michael could probably guess. Travis would relax, because he didn’t believe anyone would take Jeremy seriously. Christine had told him she sensed Travis didn’t like Jeremy, although he tried to hide it. “I just wondered if you knew anything about Mrs. Prince’s affair, Mr. Burke.”

“Positively not!” Travis stated.

“Because it was
your
boom box that was up in the barn loft. Playing music. Candles set around it.”

“I told you that boom box was stolen.”

“But you didn’t report it. And nothing else was taken from you.”

“That’s right. The CD player was stolen. Nothing else. There wasn’t anything else in the car to take.”

“And you didn’t want to bother making out a police report on just a boom box.”

“That’s right.” Travis lifted his chin a bit. “Is that all you had to ask me, Deputy?”

“No. Would you mind telling me where you were around one o’clock on the afternoon of Patricia Prince’s death?”

“I do mind, but I’ll tell you anyway. I was at the university. In my office, but I’m sure dozens of people saw me. At least, a few.”

“Good.”

“Yes. A lot of people can give me an alibi.”

“That’s fine, sir.”

“Now listen, Deputy, I really can’t help you with this Patricia Prince thing. And now that I know where my
boom box was found, I don’t care about having it back. I don’t
want
it back!”

“I wasn’t offering it. For now it’s evidence. We’ll see what Sheriff Teague says later about giving it back to you.”

“I just told you I don’t want the damned thing back!”

“All right, Mr. Burke,” Michael said calmly.

“Is that all? Are we done?”

“Let me see.” Michael looked back at his notebook. “Oh, there’s one more thing. Did Dara Prince call you Snake Charmer?”

This was it. This was what Travis had been expecting to be asked right off the bat. But now he was unprepared and he sat blinking as he mentally shifted gears. “Dara Prince? I hardly knew her.”

“Or Patricia Prince.”

“That’s right. Two women in town whom I had contact with but hardly knew. Is that a crime?”

“No. I didn’t accuse you of a crime. I just wondered about this nickname. Snake Charmer.”

“I’ve heard that some students called me that for a while. I think the name died down.”

“So it’s not a widely known nickname.”

“I said some
students
called me that. Do you know how many students are at Winston University?”

“Around thirteen thousand.”

“Yes. There you go.”

“But you said use of the nickname had died down.”

“To the best of my knowledge. Probably some students still call me that. A lot of them could be calling me that.” Travis paused. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Dara Prince was involved with someone she called Snake Charmer.”

All Michael really knew was that Dara had been
involved with someone she’d identified as S.C. But Christine thought in hindsight that Dara had at least had a crush on Travis and had gone by his office not acting like the typical student. And Michael was certain enough of Christine’s instincts to not worry about stretching the truth to see Travis’s reaction.

And the reaction was worth it. Travis first looked as if he were going to splutter out an indignantly defensive denial that would make him sound guilty. Then he got hold of himself. A caginess appeared in his gaze. “I’ve never heard that in the three years since she disappeared. Who suddenly came up with this so-called information?”