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Cutter lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Truth is, I don’t know anything about these people, other than they paid me to look for a wife who flew the coop. John Underwood told me it was simply to get back something she’d stolen from them, but I got a real bad feeling about the whole thing today. They’ve been really pushy, threateningly so. It occurred to me they might want to hurt her and the kid. Frankly, I’m scared of them. This afternoon, I started thinking about the woman and that cute little girl, and I thought to myself, there’s a reason she left the SOB. He hurt her. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. I don’t make it a habit to work for abusive husbands. The last thing I want on my conscience is to be the one who tells them where she is and be responsible for her or the kid getting hurt.”
I softened somewhat toward our pumpkin-headed, tattooed private dick. “What’re you going to do, then?”
“I’m going to tell them I can’t find her. Unfortunately, that means I won’t get paid. The Underwoods gave me enough for expenses, but my payment was promised upon delivering the location of the woman. I can live with that, but it’s not going to stop him. The minute I tell them I’m out, they’ll hire someone else. The Underwoods want to know where she is.”
“Do you know why?” Soren asked.
“Like I said, from the way they described it, I figured she’d stolen some jewelry or art they wanted back. But that theory doesn’t pan out. If she had something of such great value, would she really be working as a waitress in the middle of nowhere? Do the math. She’s not living high on the hog. Nor is she a harlot who cheated on her husband and took off with something that didn’t belong to her. This is no cheater or liar, only a mother trying to keep her kid safe. If it was just divorce papers, that would be one thing, but there’s no way I’m telling them where she is because I don’t trust he won’t try to finish her off.”
“Wait a minute,” Soren said, interrupting. “Why would Sammie’s husband want a divorce when he’s dead?”
“Dead?” Cutter asked. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” Soren’s forehead creased. “You’re telling us that all these months you’ve been under the assumption that John Underwood’s alive? I mean no disrespect, but you kind of suck at your job. Isn’t curiosity one of the tenets of detective work? His family wants revenge, not a divorce for a guy who’s dead. What kind of detective are you?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Cutter appeared completely baffled. As we’d witnessed earlier, the guy wasn’t that great an actor, so I doubted he was putting us on. In fact, I was amazed he’d managed to find Sammie at all. He’d obviously been working without all the facts.
“I don’t know what they told you, but John Underwood’s dead,” I said.
“Um, nope. Not dead. I talked to him yesterday.” Cutter stared at me as if I were the one with the pumpkin head.
“Oh my God,” Soren muttered. “He’s alive.”
Cutter scratched behind one ear with his free hand. The other still held the beer bottle. “Seems that way to me, unless he has someone impersonating him, which I suppose is possible.”
“You’re telling us John Underwood’s alive?” I asked, thinking out loud. The idea of it was so hard to get my head around.
“Yeah, that’s what I just said.” Cutter shook his head, clearly still bewildered.
“We saw an obituary in the newspaper,” Soren said. “You thought you were finding a woman in order to give her divorce papers and/or take back whatever she’d stolen from them. We thought he was dead.”
“I’ve seen him with my own eyes,” Cutter said. “I’ve talked to him countless times over the last few months. More than I wished to, I can tell you that.”
I rocked back on my heels, understanding finally. “John Underwood’s alive. He didn’t die from the gunshot wound.”
“What wound? You sure we’re talking about the same case?” Cutter asked.
I had to be careful. If we admitted to Cutter that Sammie had killed John Underwood, he could testify if it ever went to trial. I reached out to the railing to steady myself. “Do you have any voicemails from John Underwood?”
“Sure. I keep most of them in case I end up dead,” Cutter said. “The guy’s always threatening me, and I have a daughter, you know. If I’m murdered, I want her to know what happened to me.”
“Why are you working for a guy like this?” Soren asked.
“My daughter’s in college,” Cutter replied. “Those tuition bills keep on coming, and I can’t let my baby girl down again. But even I have my limits.”
“I’m going to need to hear those voicemails,” I said. “No, Sammie’s going to have to hear them and tell us if it’s her husband. You willing to do that?”
Cutter sighed and took a quick swig of his beer before answering. “I’m already way too involved in this. If I had a lick of sense, I’d walk away.”
“But you won’t?” Soren asked. “Because Sammie ran away to keep her little girl safe. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt either one of them, would you?”
“That’s right. I can’t do it. I may be a lot of things, but I don’t hurt women and children. At least not on purpose. I hurt my own family enough as it is. Don’t need to add anything else to the list of mistakes I’ve made.”
“Will you come with us to the house?” I asked. “I want Sammie to hear those voicemails.”
“We can offer you a glass of good whiskey,” Soren said. “To thank you for your cooperation.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll do what I can to help, even though I don’t know how I’m going to get away from these people,” Cutter said. “If they find out I’m helping her, I’m toast.”
