“No,” he said.
“Did Camilla have any enemies?” Bree asked.
“No.” Crighton didn’t hesitate. “She’d become more and more introverted over the years. The only places she ever mentioned going were the tractor supply store and church.”
“She had no friends that you know of?” Matt pressed.
“She never mentioned anyone.” Crighton gave them a slow shake of his head. “There was a neighbor who helped her a few times. But she never talked about him in a way that led me to believe their relationship was anything more than neighborly.”
Bree lifted her pen. “Do you remember his name?”
Crighton looked at the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “It’s an old-fashioned name. He lives down the road from my sister’s place. Henry?” He snapped his fingers. “No, Homer. That’s it.”
“What about other family members?” Bree asked.
Crighton sighed. “Camilla and I are the last of our generation. My girls and I visited the farm often when my children were young, but now that they’re adults . . .” He paused, his brow furrowing as if he was thinking about his response. “My wife died of cancer when they were teenagers. I thought my sister could be a mother figure for them, but they never bonded. You can’t make people form attachments, can you? They make the annual trip to the farm at my request, but they’re not close to my sister.”
“How many children do you have?” Bree lifted her pen and shifted to a casual question. Hammering away on a single topic could put him on the defensive. Developing a rapport took time but yielded more evidence.
“I have two daughters,” he said.
Matt leaned back. “They live close by?”
“Yes.” Pride softened Crighton’s features. “Shannon is an elementary school teacher. She’s married with three children. Stephanie is a lawyer. They all still come to Sunday dinner whenever they can.”
“You cook for all those people?” Matt asked.
“Sometimes.” Bernard winced. “Admittedly, if I have too many term papers to grade, we order pizza, but it’s the getting together that matters.”
Bree noted the names and professions of his daughters. She could research them later. “You said your kids weren’t close to Camilla. Do you know why?”
“No.” Crighton sighed. “Camilla withdrew from us over the years. When I’d call her, she never seemed happy to hear from me. She took no interest in the girls’ lives.” He lifted a shoulder.
“Was there anyone else in your sister’s life?” Matt asked. “A man?”
Crighton turned up a palm. “I don’t think so, but then again, I only know what she shared with me.”
“When was the last time you saw Eugene?” Bree asked.
Crighton’s hand dropped to his lap. “He was there when we visited last month. It was the first time I’d seen him in years. Camilla talked about him moving in with her, but I could tell she was glossing over her disappointment.”
“Disappointment?” Bree asked.
“She desperately wanted grandchildren.” Crighton’s gaze shifted to the ceiling. “I remember when Eugene married. That was about fifteen years ago. Camilla was so excited. Then the years passed with no grandkids, and she gradually stopped talking about it. When he divorced without any kids, she was . . .” His forehead wrinkled as he searched for the right word. “Almost bitter, like her son’s failure to reproduce was just one more letdown in a long life full of them. Nothing had worked out the way Camilla had planned. At times, she seemed almost jealous of me and my family life.”
A few heartbeats of silence passed.
Then Matt shifted forward an inch. “How well did you know Eugene’s ex-wife?”
“Heather? Not well at all.” Crighton shrugged. “We only met her at weddings, funerals, and other large events. She didn’t talk much.”
Matt asked, “Did your sister like her?”
Crighton shook his head. “While they were married, Camilla pitied her inability to have a child. After the divorce, my sister’s opinion changed. Apparently, Heather took Eugene for everything. He complained the alimony was killing him.”
“We’ll get his ex’s number,” Bree said. “You visited Camilla last month. When was the last time you spoke with her or Eugene?”
“I called Camilla a few weeks ago. She was getting ready for Eugene to move in.” Crighton’s face pinched like he was sniffing sulfur.