Free Nightwind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page A

bed when I called her; no doubt she glanced at the clock.” He smiled.
    “And there would be a record of the call, as well.”
    Reed Yelverton walked through the store, his face puckered with annoyance. “She doesn’t want to go
    see Wes,” he grumbled. “Says she’s all right.”
    “She had a pretty bad shock there, Reed,” Wiley commented. “I think she ought to go home.”
    Yelverton’s face filled with anger. “That makes two of us, but she says the store won’t run itself and
    she’s gonna stay.” He stomped to the door and put his hand on the handle then turned and looked
    directly at Syntian. “I appreciate you carrying her back to the break room Mr. Cree.’’
    Syntian nodded.
    Louvenia’s husband swung his angry glower to the Sheriff. “How did Beth die, Wiley?”
    The Sheriff glanced at Syntian Cree, then looked at Yelverton. “From our preliminary findings, she
    choked to death.”
    “How?” Reed Yelverton demanded. “Did the bastard strangle her?” At the Sheriff’s look of surprise, the
    real estate agent waved a dismissing hand. “Hell, Wiley! It’s all over town by now that she was
    murdered. I didn’t even make it out of the office before one of the secretaries told me what had
    happened!”
    “I can’t discuss it with you, Reed. We’re still investigating.”
    “You find him, Wiley!” Yelverton spat. “You find that pervert that’s going after our women.” He pushed
    through the door into the rain, his angry footsteps kicking up water as he ran across the street.
    Syntian felt the Sheriff’s gaze come back to him and he looked away from Yelverton to look politely at
    his inquisitor .
    “What time did you leave the party, Mr. Cree?”
    “I tried to leave about eleven o’clock.”
    “You tried to leave?”
    “I didn’t quite make it.”
    Jackson’s brows drew together over his thick nose. “Then how did you get home?”
    “I didn’t.” Syntian watched the Sheriff’s mouth tightened. “Allen insisted I spend the night there; he was
    afraid I’d wrap myself and the Porsche around a pine tree on Chumuckla Highway on the way home. I
    crashed in his guest room that evening and the next morning, Olivia drove me home on her way to church
    at Pine Terrace Baptist.”
    “Did you leave the Turnbridge house at any time that evening?”
    “I’m afraid I wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere, Sheriff Jackson.” He looked down at the floor.
    “Allen told me the next morning that I had passed out on the sofa in his den. He and some other
    gentleman got me up and took me to the guestroom. I kept insisting I could make it home, but Allen
    wouldn’t hear of it.”
    Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Do you make it a habit to drink until you pass out, Mr. Cree?”
    “No, but it’s been a long, tiring week. I’ve been trying to get things settled at the house, get my business
    affairs in order up in New Haven. I’ve been out hunting for office space in Pensacola.”
    “What kind of work do you do, Mr. Cree?”
    “I’m a commodities broker. I got tired of the harsh winters up north and decided to sell my share of the
    business to my partner and relocate down here.”
    “So you were just unwinding at the Turnbridge party is that it?” Jackson probed. “Letting your hair
    down, so to speak?” He flicked a disapproving glance over Syn’s long hair and the silver hoop in his left
    ear.
    “I think I overdid it, Sheriff. I believe I came unwound that night.” Syntian laughed. He shook his head.
    “I haven’t been drunk since my college days and I don’t think I’ll try it again any time soon.”
    “Hung over, were you?”
    “Bent over,” Syntian answered. “I became up close and personally acquainted with the toilet Sunday
    morning.”
    “You live out at the old Herndon place.” It was more an accusation that a statement.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “You live out there by yourself?”
    Syntian nodded. “I haven’t had time to hire a staff yet. Why?”
    “I was just