“You didn’t approve?” Matt asked.
Crighton shrugged. “She needed help on the farm. Her health was deteriorating, and my nephew was going through a rough patch. The arrangement was practical.”
Bree didn’t say a word. Neither did Matt. They’d interviewed enough suspects together to work in sync. They both waited for Crighton to fill the silence.
Which he did, in less than a minute. “I’m old-fashioned. I expect an adult man to be able to support himself.”
“And you’re a professor, Mr. Crighton?” Bree asked.
Crighton lifted his chin and made eye contact. “Yes. I teach medieval history.” He set down his empty glass and spread his upturned hands. “Camilla told me Eugene retired, but I saw the scandal on the news when he left the sheriff’s department. I’m pretty sure he did something to get himself fired. Maybe whatever he did also got him killed.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling. I hate to say this about my own nephew, but something about Eugene always seemed a little sketchy.” Crighton’s head tilted as if he’d just come to a conclusion he should have seen before. “Wait a minute. You’re the sheriff. He worked for you. You should know more about him—and what he did—than I do.”
Something shifted in his attitude. He didn’t elaborate, but Bree sensed the dynamics of their interview had changed in a way that left her inexplicably uneasy.
Crighton’s gaze became less grief-stricken and more wary. His eyes sharpened as if he were sizing up Bree with fresh eyes, as if he were finally waking up and making connections he should have made earlier.
Bree hated to appear as if she were running away from his scrutiny. She asked one final question: “Do you know who inherits the farm?”
Crighton’s head drew back, and his eyes became shuttered. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He didn’t like the question, and he answered it through clenched molars. “Yes. I do.”
He appeared financially comfortable, but appearances could be intentionally deceiving.
Matt went for the direct question. “Do you know what the farm is worth?”
“No, and I don’t care.” Crighton crossed his arms. “I can’t imagine it would be much. It’s in rough shape, and there’s plenty of land for sale upstate. There’s nothing special about the property that makes it valuable.”
She stood. “Thank you for answering our questions. Again, we’re sorry for your loss. I’ll need your phone number. We might be in touch with additional questions.” She handed him a business card. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help solve your sister’s and nephew’s murders.”
He slid the card into the pocket of his robe, then walked them to the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.” His tone sounded . . . ominous?
Bree and Matt left the house and returned to their vehicle. She slid behind the wheel.
Matt closed his vehicle door. “That got weird.”
“He seemed to grow . . .” Bree tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Almost hostile at the end of the interview?”
Matt gazed at the house. “He suggested the reason Oscar lost his job might be related to his death.”
“That was almost two months ago.” Bree slid out her notepad and jotted down a few bullet points from the interview while the details were fresh in her mind.
“Why was Oscar so broke?”
“Good question. He didn’t make a ton of money, but after more than two decades in the department, he was at the top of the pay grade. Initially, he was on paid administrative leave.” Bree had wanted to fire him, but there had been an official process that had needed to play out. “Then he retired. He shouldn’t have gone without pay at all.”
“We need to find out how much alimony he was paying.”
“His financial statements should be interesting.” Bree put the SUV into gear.
Matt checked his watch. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes. But send Todd an email. I want him to add warrants to obtain phone and financial records for Bernard Crighton and Oscar’s ex to the list.” She glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled away from the curb. Bernard Crighton still stood in his open doorway, watching them leave. He raised his hand to his ear, as if making a call. As she drove back toward Grey’s Hollow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding.
CHAPTER SIX
Bree drove to Matt’s house and parked outside. Exhaustion dragged at her like ankle weights. “Would you mind if I slept here for a few hours? I’ll just wake the family if I go home now.”