The Matchmaker Murders: Season One by Catherine Gibson

Author:Catherine Gibson [Gibson, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mira Gibson
Published: 2024-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

PASTOR PETER HAD POINTED his figurative finger at Vince Salisbury, and I honestly didn’t know what to think. Both men had motives to kill Bobby, though neither of their reasons could ever justify taking a human life.

I pulled into the snowy parking lot of Salisbury Landscaping & Fencing, jumped out of my car with my checkbook in hand, and spilled into the warm anteroom where all four of Vince’s sons were squirming around with school books, notepads, and pencils in their midst.

The boys seemed to be more focused on horsing around, as their father, Vince, was finishing up with some paperwork behind the counter.

“I’m so glad to catch you!” I exclaimed, out of breath as I came to the counter. “Good evening!”

Vince peeled his reading glasses off his nose in disbelief that I had returned as promised.

Cautiously optimistic, he asked, “You’re here to pay the Harders’ invoice?”

“I am,” I said.

I opened my checkbook, plucked a black pen out of the mug on the counter, and began making out the check. Behind me, all four of the boys fell into humbled silence, perhaps having perceived from their father’s shift in demeanor that something important and meaningful was taking place.

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Vince.

“No need to thank me. Consider it a blessing from God for Christmas,” I told him. “And please feel welcome to come to Hopeful Heart Ministries over in Walnut Mountain. We have a number of children’s programs, and I’m sure your boys would enjoy our upcoming Christmas pageant.”

I gave him more information and once I had filled out the check, I handed it to him with a smile, wished him Merry Christmas, and told him that I hoped to see him at the church.

Relieved that I had accomplished my mission, I turned on my heel and started for the door.

That’s when I saw the rope.

Vince’s youngest boy, who I guessed was about five-years old, was playing with a thin, white cord that couldn’t have been longer than 3-feet.

I did a bit of a double-take and slowed my step when I realized that the middle of the cord looked slightly discolored...

A flashing image filled my mind of the pink horizontal marks I had seen across Bobby’s throat after he had been murdered.

Was the diameter of the white rope cord that the boy was playing with the right size? Or did it appear too thick or too thin to have caused the marks on Bobby’s neck as a result of him being strangled from behind?

Vince must have taken notice of what had stolen my attention and prevented me from stepping out into the snowy night, because he rounded out from behind the counter and nearly knocked me over on his way to snatch the rope from his son.

He didn’t say a word or scold the boy. Instead, he began coiling the rope cord around his fist to ball it up, looked me dead in the eye, and said:

“Kids don’t realize how dangerous rope cord like this can be. I didn’t mean to plow through you like that.

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