A frown furrowed Chance’s forehead. “What sort of bad things?”
“Lies, of course. She paid some guy I had never met to claim we’d had an affair and that he would release compromising photos of me if I didn’t pay him. I had never met the guy much less been in a compromising position with him.”
“How did the two of you handle it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how it went down, but Pete handled it. He told me not to worry. It wouldn’t happen again.”
“Do you recall the man’s name?”
“Taylor Banks. Everyone called him Tay. He was only a couple of years older than me. Back then he was a known sleazebag. I don’t know about these days. But at the time, he lived with his mother over on Houston Street.” Rory shrugged. “He was one of those guys who would do most anything for money. And if asked, he claimed to be experienced in all things.” She laughed. “If someone was in need of a mechanic, he would swear he’d worked on cars his whole life when he had no clue how to check the oil, much less determine the cause of a malfunction.”
Chance picked up his phone. “Let’s see if we can figure out what he’s up to now.”
Rory could just imagine. The man was a swindler of the highest order.
“Looks like,” Chance said, studying the screen, “Mr. Banks still lives on Houston Street.” His attention shifted to her. “I’ll send his name and address to the agency. See if they can pull up a criminal record or anything of interest.”
“It might not be a bad idea to see if he’s willing to talk about the deal he and Eudora made.” She turned her hands up. “I suppose he might have an in with the local scumbag grapevine. He may have even heard things about what really happened to Pete.” Hurt swelled in her chest. The idea that someone knew the truth and hadn’t come forward made her feel ill.
“As soon as I hear back from my contact at the agency, we’ll do that. For now, let’s consider a different avenue. Were you ever aware of anyone who might have been envious of Pete? Had a grudge of some sort against him? Or maybe just wanted to see him fall from his high position in the community?”
She frowned. “I don’t think Pete had any enemies. Everyone liked him.” She smiled. “I know sometimes people say that and it’s an exaggeration, but really, I never met or heard of anyone who didn’t like him.”
Chance held her gaze but said nothing.
It took a moment, but she suddenly understood the mistake she had made. Yes, she had met someone who didn’t like him. Two someones, in fact. The night he was murdered, those two intruders had tortured him, then murdered him. Was it possible that it wasn’t a random act where the two thought they were in for a big score and found nothing?
She moistened her lips, wished her throat didn’t suddenly feel so dry and that her eyes weren’t burning as if a match had been lit there. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. What I should have said was that beyond those two intruders, I never met anyone who didn’t like Pete or who wanted to hurt him.”
Chance reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You see, that’s the problem we have. There are people who are envious of others. People who feel slighted by some deal that perhaps was a really good deal for all involved except that one person. Scarier than either of those options are the people who’ve known you your whole life and have wished you harm—for whatever reason—from afar. When that person crosses the line, it’s always the worst-case scenario.”
She reminded herself to breathe. “You’re saying that the person responsible for what happened could be someone he knew well. Maybe someone he worked with. Or was related to.” A tear escaped her harsh hold. She swiped viciously at it with her free hand.
He nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. Bottom line, we can’t rule anyone out. We can’t assume anything. We have to operate under the theory that his own mother could have hired those intruders.”
A dry laugh burst out of her then. “Well, if she did, Pete was not the target. The target was me.”
“I think—” he leaned closer, took her other hand “—maybe you might be more right than you realize.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Banks Residence
North Houston Street
Scottsboro, 3:00 p.m.
Chance parked on the street in front of the small bungalow. The property needed considerable maintenance. Two cars in various stages of disassembly sat in the yard. A blue tarp on the roof suggested a leak waiting for repair. The considerable litter on the porch and banked around the foundation of the house declared the owner either wasn’t capable of cleanup or lacked the desire to get the job done.
If Taylor Banks was as muscled up and physically capable these days as he had appeared in his last arrest photos, then the man should take care of the place. Sadly, his rap sheet alone implied he wasn’t one to care about anything other than his next hit of whatever illegal drug he preferred on a given day.
“Why don’t I go to the door first?” Chance offered. “If the guy is open to an interview, we can both go inside.”
Rory looked from the run-down property to him. “Don’t worry about me. The house my parents owned was just a couple of streets over. I’m familiar with the neighborhood, if that has you concerned.”
Chance nodded. “We go together then.”
Before he could say more, she opened her door and got out. Chance did the same. He rounded the hood and joined her on the sidewalk that led from the street to the front porch.He took his time, surveyed the block. There were several houses undergoing renovation along the block. He’d noticed considerable changes happening on the south end. He supposed the changes were slowly making their way in this direction.
