Free Murder Under the Covered Bridge by Elizabeth Perona Page A

unconscious.”
    â€œOh, I know. I understand. Jonathan saved his life.”
    Francine wished that last sentence was on tape, just in case. “None of the shots that were fired at him touched him, did they?”
    Dolly tenderly traced the red scratches on the top of his head. “No. He had some bleeding, but that was likely caused by hitting tree branches when he fell down the bank.”
    Francine wasn’t sure how to ask the next question because she didn’t want to look like she was prying, when in fact she was. “What was William doing out at the Roseville Bridge anyway? Who was shooting at him?”
    Dolly turned away. “I don’t know why he was out there.”
    â€œI found out the property he was running across belonged to a man named Zedediah Matthew,” Jonathan asked. “Did William know him?”
    â€œEveryone around here knows who Zedediah Matthew is. He’s a mean man, cranky and threatening.”
    Francine rubbed Dolly’s upper arm supportively, though she worried the gesture came across as a means to coax more information. “Did you know he was carrying two items? One of them was a diary that belonged to my grandmother. The second was a vial of some kind of liquid. Do either of those make sense to you?”
    Dolly stiffened at the question. Francine wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t know, or if she knew and was alarmed to discover that Francine also knew.
    â€œI didn’t know,” she said. “Do you know who has them now?”
    â€œThe sheriff’s department.” It was only a half lie. The police did have the vial. She didn’t qualify her answer further. She made eye contact with Jonathan to make sure he didn’t give her away, but he sat there with a smug look on his face.
    â€œHe fancied himself a historian,” Dolly said. “I knew he’d found a copy of your grandmother’s diary at some flea market. Why he had it there, I don’t know. As for the vial, I have no idea what might have been in it.”
    â€œSo William just left your house this morning and went out there carrying those two items? He didn’t say why or what he was looking for?”
    Dolly answered testily. “He said he was going into Rockville. You know one of our nursing homes is there. It operates twenty-four hours a day, so the fact that he was heading there very early wasn’t out of line.”
    Francine pictured William leaving their home, a Victorian manor out near the tiny town of Montezuma. He should have taken Coxville Road toward US 41 and then turned north toward Rockville. For whatever reason, he went straight across US 41, continued down Coxville past the Roseville Bridge, and went traipsing across a dangerous man’s property, a man who hadn’t been happy to see him. She wondered where he had parked. “Have you looked into where his car is, Dolly? Has anyone seen it?”
    Francine saw something cross Dolly’s face. For a moment she thought it was a look of panic, but on second thought it settled into one of surprise. “No. It hadn’t crossed my mind. Sheriff Roy was in and he asked what kind of car William drove, but I didn’t put two and two together, not until now.”
    Sheriff Roy? Then Francine remembered that Roy Stockton had been the sheriff before he’d settled into retirement as a detective. “Finding the car could be the key to discovering who was responsible for shooting at William.”
    â€œWell, I assume it was Zed Matthew.”
    How odd that she called him Zed. It felt almost familiar. But if he’s that notorious, everyone probably had nicknames for him, and Zed would be kinder than most.
    Jonathan had crossed the room to a visitor’s chair and let the women talk. But now he spoke up. “While that’s likely, everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”
    Francine agreed, but she didn’t need him prickling Dolly’s