The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free

something for Mr. Abel’s family.” I chewed the inside of my cheek, remembering the old man who had given his dog a final hug before leaving her in the kennel. Neither had known the goodbye would be final.
    “No family,” said Rookie Holt.
    “No friends either,” said Mike. “Most gave him a wide berth, unfortunately.”
    I sucked in a breath. “Abel wasn’t a criminal, was he?”
    “No ma’am,” said Rookie Holt. “Unless you count the trespassing. Abel was just a mangy ol’ coot. Always getting into people’s business. Kind of sneaky.”
    “He irritated a lot of people.” Mike shook his head. “Plus he was drunk more than half the time. And look what happened. Such a shame.”
    Rookie Holt glanced toward her senior officers, now hoisting Abel Spencer’s body from the ravine. Remembering her place, she cut off the hearsay and got back to her job. “You’ll need to do an official witness statement at the station, then you’ll be finished with this to enjoy your vacation. Thank you, Miss Tucker.”
    Dismissed, I followed her through the glen toward the waiting police vehicle. First impressions didn’t mean much. The Abel I had met was not the man they described, but this wasn’t my town. Maybe Abel Spencer acted differently with strangers. Sometimes familiarity did breed contempt.
    Maybe he had just been unlucky enough to be born on the wrong side of the tracks, like me. I felt sorry for him. Whatever he did to tick people off in town, no one deserved to die falling into a ditch. Which made me a little curious to know more about the night of his passing. Did he tie one on after leaving his dog? And in that case, why was he found in the lodge’s woods?
    Because there was one significant problem with Abel Spencer drunkenly falling into that ditch without his blue Braves cap.
    When I had met Abel, he wasn’t drunk.

Three

      
    The Swinton police station needed better coffee. Rookie Holt also needed a refresher on “establishing rapport with witnesses.” A certain gray-eyed Forks County deputy (more of a light Payne’s gray bordering on Blue Deep, although I still had not captured that color to my liking) had explained the importance of that interview strategy to me on more than one occasion. Like the time I suspected little Clayton Jeffries of pilfering from his sister’s Girl Scout cookie cash box while she was busy talking up the Thin Mints to Mrs. Meyers. According to my personal deputy, my interview techniques with Clayton’s best friend (and eyewitness), Jeremiah, could have used some work.
    But that’s neither here nor there. I’m not a professional. I can’t say the same for Swinton’s Rookie Holt. But she was young and eager to get her commander to sign off on our interview.
    “Look, I appreciate your concern,” she said in a voice that didn’t mark any appreciation for my concern. “But expressing your condolences to Abel Spencer’s people is not necessary.”
    “There’s got to be someone. My visit with Mr. Abel might be a very comforting story for them to hear. Knowing in his final hours, he was caring for his dog and friendly to strangers.”
    She shook her head.
    I pressed my point, hoping for at least one name who would be sorry that Abel Spencer had died.
    There had to be someone who knew him differently. “I’m sure they’d like to know he hadn’t been on some kind of tear before he fell. The Abel Spencer I met is not the Abel Spencer y’all described.”
    “Because Abel Spencer—” Rookie Holt zipped her lips in a firm line, probably remembering recent training in spilling too much info to overeager witnesses. “Look, I’m glad he was friendly to you. And he was good with his dogs. That’s all you need to know. You’re finished here. Unless we need you later.”
    “Look, I can’t bring anyone a casserole, but I can shake a hand and say I’m sorry. It’s not like I often meet people just before their accidental death. That’s a remarkable event. My