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“So no grudges with anyone? How about any strangers that might have come into town?”
“Why in the world are you asking these questions? Earl killed himself. Nobody murdered him, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Just the investigator in me, trying to cover all the angles.”
She frowned. “Well, you can stop, at least with Earl. Poor man. Let him rest in peace.”
“Getting back to the accident with your husband’s boat, seems the theory is he got disoriented out there, or his nav system failed, or both. What do you think happened?”
She leaned on the front desk and shook her head. “If you want the God’s honest truth, I think Wilbur had a heart attack or a stroke while he was at the wheel. Maybe he fell on the throttle and slammedThe Kingmanat speed right into those damn rocks. His hull paint was found on them, clear as day. That boat was sturdy as a brick wall. The hull would not have failed with just a light impact.”
“Did he have health problems?”
“He was overweight, smoked and drank too much. Had high blood pressure and suffered from angina. I told him a million times to go get checked out, but he never would. Said doctors just wanted to find something wrong with you so they could make money. I think that attitude cost him his life.”
“Was an autopsy performed?”
“No. Everybody knew he drowned. And if he had a heart attack beforehand, what did it matter? He was still dead.”
“You’d think they’d want to know the cause of the accident.”
“Well, as far as I know, they spoke with Earl and he told them what happened. I guess if Earl hadn’t survived they would have done autopsies on both of them if they recovered the bodies. But hedidsurvive,” she added emphatically.
“Did Earl see him having a health episode or slump over?”
“No. He was in the stern cleaning the deck. Had his back to the pilothouse. Next thing he knew he was in the water—the impact knocked him overboard. Earl hurt his neck when that happened. Had to have surgery afterward. I think it also messed up his back and knees, too—he hit the side of the boat as he went over.”
Devine left her and drove to the police station. Thankfully, Harper and Fuss were out.
Mildred James greeted him with a smile, and he asked her if he could look at the file for Steve and Valerie Palmer.
“Can I ask what for?” she said warily.
He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “What with Earl’s death and Bertie’s recently before that, it’s gotten my suspicions up.”
“But Earl killed himself.”
“Did you know Earl?”
“Sure did. All my life.”
Devine knew he was taking a risk with his next question, but he had few options. He needed to see that file. “Do you think Earl, with all his physical ailments, could have climbed up on a chair, stood there stable while he put up a noose, wrapped it around his neck, and then kicked the chair away?”
“Is that how it happened?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know the exact details, no.”
“So what do you think?”
“Earl had one of those lift chairs put in his house.”
“Right, I was there once when he used it.”
“And he couldn’t do the stairs anymore, so he slept in what used to be the dining room on the first floor. And he had those special gadgets put in his car. So, no, Agent Devine, I don’t see him doing that at all.” Her eyes widened appreciably. “You don’t think...you think someone might have killed him?”
“I just need to rule it out, or not. And four unnatural deaths in the same family? That’s a little much, don’t you think?”
