“Take a look-see over by the lawn and garden aisle. I think the new manager moved ’em over there.”

“Thanks, Anne.”

She grinned when I said her name.

I started walking away when she hollered after me, “That guy was back this weekend.”

My breath caught in my chest, and I slowly spun around to face her. “The looky-loo guy?”

Pinching her lips together in a grimace, she nodded. “Yep.”

I took several steps closer. What was I doing? I was no longer interested in the Bruce Wayne Decker case. I reminded myself that Mason Deveraux was right. Bruce needed to stand up for himself. Turn around and walk away. Instead, I moved next to the counter, leaning close to Anne. “What was he doin’?”

“He was snoopin’ around the back.”

“Why?”

“Good question. The plumbing manger caught him back there and asked him what he was doin’, but the guy ran off before he answered.”

“Was he in his thirties? Big muscles and with tattoos on his arms?”

She shook her head, confused. “No, he’s a short bald guy.”

“What?” That didn’t match the description of any of the men I saw last night.

“Yeah, dress pants and shirt. Tie. Professional guy. Kind of mousy.”

I sagged into the counter. That wasn’t Skeeter or his pals at all.

“And it’s the same guy who kept showing up after the murder?”

“Yep, one and the same.”

That didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t Skeeter, who was he? It had to be the guy who wanted to buy Frank Mitchell’s house. And if Skeeter wasn’t the murderer, then I wasn’t in the danger that Mason Deveraux thought I was.

Stop thinking about it, Rose. You’ve let this go. You’re not working on this anymore.

But I couldn’t let it go. It was information that could possibly prove Bruce Wayne Decker’s innocence. The only problem was I didn’t know what to do with it. Mason Deveraux wouldn’t listen. Loading boxes and packing tape into my cart, I realized there was one other person I could talk to. I just wasn’t sure how receptive he’d be. But I’d already made a fool of myself all over town. What was one more place?

It was time to talk to the accused himself. I needed to talk to Bruce Wayne Decker.

Chapter Twenty-One

Getting in to see Bruce Wayne Decker turned out to be harder than I thought. I found the number for William Yates’s office and told the secretary I had information that might help Bruce Decker’s case. When I told her my name, a long pause resulted before she told me she’d pass my message along.

I took that as legalese for “He’ll call when the next ice age covers Henryetta with a glacier.”

I was gonna have to take matters into my own hands.

Judge McClary usually broke for lunch right around noon and it was already eleven-forty-five when I found a parking space two blocks from the courthouse. I camped on a bench outside the courtroom and waited for Mr. Yates. Five minutes later, the doors opened and the occupants of the courtroom spilled out. As the crowd thinned, Mason Deveraux emerged, talking to his assistant. He had nearly turned the corner when he caught a glimpse of me.

He stopped and leaned over to the man next to him, who nodded and continued down the hall. Mr. Deveraux approached, a grim look on his face.

William Yates still hadn’t come out, and I didn’t want to miss him.

“Rose, is everything all right?”

I stood, clasping my hands in my nervousness. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

“You look upset. What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” I bit my lip.

“I see.” He shifted his weight and glanced down the hall then back at me. “The police drove by your house multiple times last night. They didn’t report anything suspicious. Did you have any trouble?”

“No, everything was fine.” He blocked my view of the courtroom doors and I shifted to the side. “Oh, yeah. I forgot something.” I dug into my purse and pulled out the note. “I found this on my car when I picked it up this morning.”

When he read it, his body stiffened and he looked into my face. “This is a threat, Rose.”

I didn’t have time to be distracted by Mason right now. “What? No. It just says he doesn’t like people messin’ in his business.”

He crossed his arms across his chest. “You can’t be serious. You honestly didn’t think this meant anything?”

William Yates pushed through the double court doors, a frown puckering his cheeks.

“Well, of course it did. It meant he doesn’t like people messin’ in his business, and I don’t intend to. Especially since I know he didn’t kill Mr. Mitchell.”

“Finally. That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say since I met you.”

“A bald guy killed Mr. Mitchell and Skeeter Malcolm definitely isn’t bald.” I pushed past him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to Mr. Yates.”

“Rose!” Mr. Deveraux shouted as I hurried after the defense attorney. “Rose!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a halt.

“He’s gettin’ away!”

I squirmed and he gripped both of my arms. “If you will stop and listen to me, I’ll make sure you get a personal meeting with him. That’s what you want, right?”

I huffed in frustration. “Well, yeah…and Bruce Wayne Decker too.”