Tangled Webs by Irene Hannon

Author:Irene Hannon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery fiction;Christian fiction;FIC042060;FIC042040;FIC027110
ISBN: 9781493405183
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-08-20T04:00:00+00:00

13

Wayne Phelps’s place was in dire need of a hefty dose of TLC.

Setting the brake on the squad car, Roger surveyed the overgrown yard, the drooping gutter, the peeling paint. Jackson would turn over in his grave if he could see how his son had let the place fall apart. The Beaumont native might not have had a lot of money, but he’d taken great pride in the house he’d built for his bride forty years ago, God rest their souls.

Maybe the market garden business wasn’t as successful as Wayne had always let on.

With a glance at the brooding clouds massing overhead, Roger swung his legs out of the car and pulled himself to his feet. Listened.

The buzzing drone of cicadas and the distant woof of an angry dog were the only sounds of life on this quiet Sunday evening.

He circled around to the back of the house, wove through some rusty lawn furniture, and walked to the edge of the garden at the end of the backyard, where Wayne grew his organic produce and herbs.

The two-acre plot was in slightly better condition than the house and front yard . . . but not by much. While the rows of produce were distinguishable, weeds were making serious inroads.

It, too, was deserted.

Either Wayne wasn’t home, or he was inside. Hard to tell, since the door was closed on the detached garage.

Didn’t matter, though. The man would be back at some point. And Roger wasn’t leaving until they had a long talk about the fire this morning at Leo’s place—and the subsequent conversation he’d had with Dana and her neighbor. Neither of them had been happy . . . and he couldn’t blame them.

He shoved his fingers through his hair. What in the world had Wayne been thinking? If a gust of wind had blown some of that burning debris onto the roof of the cabin, the place could have caught fire. Dana might have succumbed to smoke inhalation before she could get out.

If that had happened, Leo’s granddaughter would be dead.

Roger rubbed at the gnawing pain in his belly. It was bad enough to ignore a meth lab in his backyard, but to stand by and let Wayne take chances that could have fatal . . .

“Evening, Chief. Need some produce?”

Roger swiveled toward the house. Wayne stood on the back porch, wearing worn jeans, a Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt—and a less-than-welcoming expression.

“Not today.” He walked toward the man, hooking a thumb toward the garden. “But how’s business?”

“Could be better, thanks to the punk economy.” He folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against a weathered upright beam on the porch. “If you aren’t in search of the world’s best organic arugula, what can I do for you?”

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“I think you know.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Let’s go inside. I don’t like discussing private matters in public.”

“You know . . . you caught me at a bad time. I was just getting ready to go out.

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