“Unless he went somewhere in between,” Gertie said. “But then we’d need corroboration.”
“Exactly,” I said. “As for Silas, it’s possible he wasn’t playing hermit in his shack at the time Molly made that call.”
“But unless someone saw him near Molly’s house, we can’t prove or disprove where he was, either,” Ida Belle said.
I blew out a breath. “I hate to say it, but unless we can string all these incriminating pieces into a solid case, this might be the one that got away. Still, I’m not ready to throw in the towel. Not until we try to put those pieces together a bit better, and there are still plenty of angles to investigate, starting with finding out who benefits the most from Molly’s death.”
“Who actually benefits or who thought he would benefit?” Gertie asked.
“That’s a good point,” Ida Belle said. “If Dexter believed he’d get the business, that’s as good as him actually being the legal heir. At least from his point of view.”
“He looked pretty convinced when he was at Ally’s house threatening her,” Gertie said.
“He did,” I agreed. “Which is strange in itself. Angel outright said Molly would never have given Dexter an interest in her business and based on what she described, it seems like Molly might have been reconsidering her relationship with him altogether.”
“Then why would Dexter think he was due?” Gertie asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “And it wouldn’t do any good to ask. Even if he told us, we couldn’t believe him, but I might know a place where his lips would have been loose.”
“The Bar?” Gertie asked, getting excited.
“He does strike me as a big mouth,” Ida Belle said. “If he thought he was coming into something big, he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it. Especially if he’d been drinking.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “Then let’s head that way.”
The Bar looked as unimaginative as its name. The old brick building it occupied was on the corner of the street and didn’t share walls with another business. Instead, it was located next to a cemetery. I wondered how many of its patrons were buried next door. There was a bit of concern about parking, and we ended up circling the block three times as we debated the merits of parking down the street so that Ida Belle’s SUV was protected against the potential for having to flee for our lives.
Fleeing finally won out and Ida Belle pulled into a recently vacated space directly across the street. The number of cars parked nearby didn’t at all equate to the amount of noise coming out of the building and we all hesitated, staring at the place.
“We manage the Swamp Bar all the time,” Gertie said. “How bad can it be?”
“Don’t ask that,” Ida Belle said. “It’s like inviting God’s sense of humor while he’s angry. The outcome is never favorable for us.”
“Well, there’s probably not an angry bear inside,” I said. “So that’s a plus.”
The words had barely left my mouth when a man came hurtling through a window at the front of the bar and crashed onto the sidewalk. An even bigger man stepped up to the broken window and yelled something indiscernible at the one on the pavement.
Fortyish. Six foot six. Three hundred pounds solid. Shaved head. Too many tattoos to count. No visible shortcomings. Lethal as heck if he wanted to be.
“There’s your bear,” Gertie said.
“Do you think that guy’s dead?” Ida Belle asked.
“I hope not,” Gertie said. “It would mess up our questioning people if the cops show up.”
“If the cops show up, there probably won’t be anyone left to question,” Ida Belle said. “It will look like a swarm of locusts leaving Egypt.”
“Let’s go check,” I said. “I suppose we’re duty bound to call an ambulance if needed.”
“If he’s dead can we hold off on the ambulance?” Gertie asked. “Just until the questioning part is over. And until I’ve had a chance to pee.”
“You’re not going to use the restroom in there and then get into my SUV,” Ida Belle said. “We should probably be entering the place wearing hazmat suits.”
“I’m wearing pants,” Gertie said. “It’s not like I’m going to roll naked on the bathroom floor, then strip down again and rub over every inch of your seats like a cat.”
“There is so much wrong with that visual that I’m hoping he’s dead so we can go ahead and leave and find a fast-food restaurant,” Ida Belle said. “Why didn’t you do this back at Angel’s?”
“I didn’t have to then,” Gertie said.
“You should have gone anyway,” Ida Belle said.
“Now you just sound like my dad on every vacation,” Gertie said. “It didn’t work for him either, by the way.”
“You need to have a checkup,” Ida Belle said. “This is getting to be a habit. Your parts are old. Get them checked out.”
“My parts are fine,” Gertie said.
“Sure they are,” Ida Belle said. “Your kidneys are clearly as good as your eyesight.”
Refusing to step into the middle of that one, I headed across the street. As I approached Sidewalk Dude, he moved and groaned. Alive, at least.
I peered down at him. “You want me to call for an ambulance?”
His eyes jerked open and he forced himself into a sitting position. “Hell, no! Like I need more trouble than I already got.”
“You’re bleeding from your side,” I said, pointing at the dark stain on his shirt.
“I had my appendix removed a couple days ago,” he said. “Probably tore a stitch or something.”
“Or something,” I said. “Maybe you should have that checked.”
“My sister makes curtains for a living,” he said as he struggled to get up. “She can sew me up good as any doctor.”
“And probably offers a variety of thread color,” I said. “It sounds like an excellent plan.”
I shook my head at Ida Belle and Gertie, who’d come up after me and overheard the entire exchange. Sidewalk Dude headed down the street, leaning and clutching one side as he went. We turned back toward the bar and saw three guys staring at us from the broken window.
“Told you he wasn’t dead!” one of the guys yelled back into the bar.
“He’s going to be if he doesn’t pay his tab,” a voice answered.
“You should have told him to go outside,” one of the guys said. “Now you’re gonna have to pay for the window.”
“He was insulting my wife,” the guy who’d thrown the other man out the window said. “Things like that don’t wait.”
The other man waved a hand in dismissal and popped back inside.
“You still want to do this?” Ida Belle asked, glancing back at her SUV. She was probably mentally calculating what else could get thrown out the window and whether or not it would reach across the street.
“I think we need to,” I said. “Seems like everyone is good and drunk. Maybe they’ll be happy to talk.”