A laugh broke from the gallery.
Judge Harlan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr. O’Rourke.”
“Aye, Your Honor. Private investigator.”
Eleanor kept her face straight.
Barely.
“How long have you worked for Harper & Associates?”
“Since before she came to her senses and left Charleston.”
“That was not my question.”
“Three years.”
“Did I ask you to investigate the timeline in this case?”
“You did.”
“And what did you do?”
“I reviewed the hardware store surveillance from Dillsboro, the fuel receipt from the Shell station off 74, and the timestamp from the lumber order Mr. Pike picked up that afternoon.”
“And what did you determine?”
“That Mr. Pike was on camera in Dillsboro at four twelve.” Deck lifted a hand slightly. “Mrs. McIntyre reported discovering the cash missing at four fifteen.”
A faint shift moved through the room.
Eleanor nodded. “How far is Dillsboro from Mrs. McIntyre’s house?”
“Far enough that unless the lad has mastered teleportation, he wasn’t stealin’ her envelope and buyin’ deck screws at the same time.”
The gallery laughed again.
Judge Harlan gave the bench a single tap. “Let’s remain in one county, Mr. O’Rourke.”
Deck inclined his head. “Doing my best, Your Honor.”
Eleanor continued.
“In the course of your investigation, did you also identify other people with access to Mrs. McIntyre’s home that day?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Her niece. Her cleaning lady. Her friend Mavis, who apparently steals only gossip.” He glanced toward the witness stand. “A convenient specialty.”
Even Mrs. McIntyre looked faintly offended.
Eleanor folded her hands. “No further questions.”
Judge Harlan looked across the room. “Mr. Calloway.”
Reid rose slowly, buttoning his jacket as he approached the stand. Not hurried. Not casual. Just controlled enough to make half the women in the room sit up straighter.
