Chapitre 14: turn off the Light ch.14
"Peter," she smirks with high familiarity, "it's good to see you. See, I handle all legal matters for the Claymore Club." She shifts her attention back to Leight. "You were saying he definitely wasn't murdered here, then?"
"That would be correct." Leight spares her one suspicious glance before returning his own attention to Peter, whom he studies carefully.
"We should go talk to Mrs. McPherson, then," Peter states nervously. He nods his goodbyes. "Sheriff, Rachel, Mom, Dad."
"Not so fast," Evelyn catches him by the arm.
He groans.
"Supper's at seven. Sharp."
"Mom, we might be a little busy solving Mr. McPherson's murder."
"Peter Eric Grayson," Evelyn frowns as her voice pitches upward, "solving a murder is no reason to skip supper."
"Of course not, Mother."
"Who was she?"
"Who?" Peter asks, purposely oblivious. They're in the town car again, being driven to the McPhersons' residence. He only wishes estates were closer together here.
"You know perfectly well who I mean. 'Rachel,'" Leight mimics Peter's own breathless tone. "Brown hair. Blue eyes. Purple sweater. That 'who.'"
"Rachel Chatterley," Peter says softly.
"How did you know her?"
"We went to school together."
"And?"
"And what?"
"And there's obviously more to it than that."
Peter sighs but presses the button to raise the divider between the backseat and the driver.
"We may have, um," he stutters furiously, trying to buy himself time, before realizing there is absolutely no tactful way to say this, "dated."
"And?"
He screws his eyes tightly shut. "We may have briefly been engaged."
"Peter."
"We started dating senior year of high school. My parents had tried to set me up with their friends' daughters before, but those girls were all the same—pretty, but vapid, vacant, barely there. Rachel was different; she was beautiful and intelligent and had twice as much personality as I did."
"I was infatuated, fascinated; I followed her around like a puppy, and for some reason, she humored me. The summer after high school, we knew we were going to colleges on opposite ends of the country. I didn't want to lose her, so I proposed," Peter breaks off, remembering the moment at the top of the Ferris wheel during the county fair.
"She laughed when I asked her, but she said yes, so I didn't let it bother me. Everything was great, brilliant. I was in love with her, my parents were happy for once. Everything was brilliant, great, until I walked in on her with another man."
And it's that memory (white skin, soft music, violet sheets, low moans) that he can't bear to relive. He opens his eyes to see Leight staring at him, lips slightly parted.
"Peter," Leight murmurs, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.
And it's so clear what he's thinking, that he's put the pieces together, what memories flash lightning-like through his stormy eyes, that he understands now why Peter has reacted the way he has to everything.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. It's all right." Of course it isn't, but he has been through these emotions too many times for them to still feel this raw. "Just promise me something."
Leight opens his mouth, as if he's about to say "anything," but he stops himself short. He just nods.
"Just promise me you'll never say you love me if you don't mean it."
And Leight opens his mouth again, as if he's about to make that declaration, but he stops himself short. He just nods.
And Peter just smiles weakly. For now, it's enough.
Mrs. Janet McPherson is hysterically inconsolable, which is rather unfortunate because she has locked herself in the master bedroom and is refusing to speak with anyone. And it's for this reason that they're forced to speak with the older daughter, Sissy.
After an inappropriate squeal, an over-enthusiastic hug, and two minutes of small talk, Peter is caught up on everything that's happened to Sissy since he left Claymore. She's now pregnant and married to the bank's current manager Ron Nielson, who, if Peter recalls, used to be on the football team.
"But what about you, Peter?" Sissy asks, twirling one of her blonde curls around her finger. If only she were chewing bubble gum, the image would be complete.
"There isn't anything to tell," Peter shrugs. He hates this damn parlor. He hates all damn parlors. He especially hates this damn town and these damn infernal people.
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
He looks over his shoulder at Leight, who seems resigned. He does a quick calculation and decides that it's unlikely that Sissy is going to be talking to his mother anytime soon. So he takes the risk. "I'm in a relationship."
Sissy squeals. "Details, Peter, details!"
"I'm afraid we have more important matters to discuss than Peter's love life," Leight comes to the rescue, playing indifferent so damn well (but not well enough that Peter can't see through the façade). "Such as your father's murder."
That shuts Sissy right up. Her smile vanishes. She stops playing with her hair. She looks suitably solemn.
"When did you last see him?"
"Last night. Ron and I had dinner here. We left before ten. Mom says he was here all night. He went out for his daily jog around five this morning. And he didn't come back."
"Where does he jog?"
"Along one of the trails the state park."
Leight nods. "Can you think of any reason anyone would have wanted to your father dead?"
"No," she shakes her head violently.
"Any reason at all. Money trouble? An affair? A political scandal? A cult? Anything?"
"No," she replies firmly, her lip quivering, tears threatening, "there was nothing like that. Everyone loved him."
"Right," Leight says without inflection. "I'll need to see his office."
For some reason, Sissy looks to Peter for confirmation.
"Please," he requests.
She nods, gets up, leads them to Jacob McPherson's home office. Once she lets them in, she hovers by the door. "Do you need me?" she asks. "I need to check on Mom." She leaves and shuts the door as soon as Leight indicates that she isn't needed.
Peter watches as Leight begins to go through the (thoroughly unremarkable) office. He goes through files and books and pictures. Then he tries the computer. He doesn't speak until he powers down the computer, pushes the wheelie chair back from the desk, and spins around a few times. As he comes to a stop, he states, "There was no motive."
Peter stares at him. "What does that mean?" This doesn't compute. "We just have to look harder, right? Talk to more people?"
"No," Leight says flatly. "There was absolutely no motive. No reason whatsoever for anyone to kill Jacob McPherson."
Peter wants to protest, to say that if Leight just looks a little harder, he'll find something. But he doesn't because he knows that Leight doesn't miss things. If there'd been a guilty secret or hidden crime, Leight would have found traces.
"So," Peter tries to process the other possibilities, "is it possible someone just tried to cover up an accident?"
"Peter. Decapitation is very rarely an accident. When it is, the cut isn't that clean."
"Then what the hell happened?"
"Jacob McPherson was murdered by a man without a motive."
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone