Page 64 of Dead & Breakfast
“Yes, what did he do around here exactly? Was he a ranch hand?” Sal asked.
“He didn’t work for the ranch, he worked for me. He was my assistant, he managed my social media, my fan mail, that sort of thing.” McMartin waved a hand. “He was great.”
“Then why did you fire him?” Arthur pressed. McMartin was clearly losing his composure, though his concern for Brody seemed sincere.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
Arthur stood, too. If McMartin could leverage his height for a little extra authority, Arthur could as well. “If you don’t want to talk to us, maybe the FPI will. I’m sure when they arrive on Monday they’ll be interested to hear how a small-town sheriff tried to frame vampires for his own crimes.”
McMartin hesitated. “I didn’t kill George Roth or attack Brody. I have alibis for both times. When George Roth died, I was on duty, filling out paperwork at the station. Security cameras there will show it.”
“And for earlier tonight?” Arthur pressed. He hadn’t really thought McMartin had killed the mayor, but he might have hurt Brody for unrelated reasons.
“That’s also not your business.” McMartin’s face was very red now.
Arthur glanced at Salvatore, who was still reclined on the couch, sipping his glass of tea. Sal made a small shrugging motion that wasn’t particularly helpful.
“I think you paid Brody to do something illegal, like graffiti the town, so you could put a stop to it and be the impressive sheriff you so clearly want to be.” Arthur was shooting in the dark, but he had to try. “Or perhaps you just wanted him to spread an anti-paranormal message that couldn’t be traced back to you.”
McMartin paused. “What? That has nothing to do with the money—”
“Then what is it? Did he find out you’re a murderer, so you had to keep him quiet?”
“I paid him off way before the mayor died!” McMartin shouted. “What kind of fake detective are you? The check was dated weeks ago.”
“Paid him off, eh?” Arthur asked, suppressing a grin.
McMartin shrank a little. “That’s just an expression.”
“Did he ask for more money?” Arthur said. “Is that why you tried to kill him tonight?”
“I didn’t hurt him. He didn’t ask for more, said he didn’t even care about—I mean—I fired him for incompetence.”
“You said he was a model employee.” Arthur took a step forward, forcing McMartin to fall back into the chair. “What did he discover? Was it a secret worth killing over?”
“Maybe you’re not a McMartin at all,” Salvatore guessed. “But the product of an extramarital affair, and if your granny finds out, she’ll disinherit you.”
“If I find out what?” Granny McMartin reappeared in the doorway, holding a tea tray with an assortment of straws.
“Oh, yay!” Sal wiggled his fingers and bounded forward to select one for his drink.
“Nothing, Granny. He’s just making a joke, that’s all.” McMartin stared at Arthur with pleading eyes, his jaw clenched, expression tight.
“This isn’t about your movie being canceled, is it, dear?” Granny McMartin placed a hand on her grandson’s shoulder and squeezed. “He’s bursting with talent, you know. It’s not his fault one of the producers pulled out.”
McMartin slumped, all the fight seeming to leave him.
Sal took another straw from the tray and pocketed it.
“Is that…a big deal?” Arthur asked hesitantly.
“Are you kidding?” Sal guffawed. “Hollywood is fickle. PoorRicky. I can’t imagine anyone is banging down your door for any other roles, are they? Your little movie was the most exciting thing to happen to anyone in this town since we moved here—well, except the mayor’s murder.”
“The mayor was murdered?” Granny McMartin’s smile fell. “Why didn’t you tell me, Ricky?”
“I did, Granny. This morning at breakfast, remember?”
“Well, I must not have been listening.”
