Read Hanging by a Thread for Free Online Page B

that.
    “What?!?” came the reply, equally loud, equally needlessly.
    “C’mere!” He sat back in his ancient, battered chair behind a dirty, cluttered desk and smiled at her. “He’ll be right in.”
    A minute later a man in his mid-thirties came in. He was slimmer than Vern, but not by much, and not much taller. Though he resembled his father, there was an Asian cast to his features, and Betsy suddenly recalled that Vern had brought a bride home from the Korean War. “What’s up?” he asked, glancing at Betsy suspiciously.
    “I dunno. This lady wants to ask me and you some questions.” He asked Betsy, “Are you doing another investigation?”
    Jory said, “Oh, she’s that lady!” He looked at her curiously, apparently having been told the story of the time Betsy had suspected Vern of murdering a vanished high-school sweetheart.
    Vern said, “Yeah. I bet she’s out to prove once and for all it was suicide, Paul killed his wife then hisself.”
    Jory retorted, “Or maybe she can prove it was Foster Johns murdered both of ’em.” He smiled and leaned against the doorframe of the tiny office. “Sure, I’ll answer any questions you have.”
    “Thank you. I understand you and your brother Alex were good friends with Paul.”
    “Sure. And with Foster Johns, too, back then. We all kind of hung out together.”
    “I never liked Paul Schmitt,” growled Vern.
    “Ah, you did too! You used to take us hunting and fishing.”
    “Maybe I did. But Paul was a strange kid, mean as a snake even with all his jokes.”
    Jory chuckled. “Remember that time he got hold of a little propane torch and would heat up a quarter and drop it on the sidewalk? Ow, ow, ow!” Jory laughed and shook his fingers as if they were burned.
    Despite himself, Vern grinned, then drew up his sloping shoulders. “Yeah, but that time he scalded our cat, that wasn’t funny.”
    Jory frowned. “That was an accident, he told you that, I told you that.”
    “I didn’t think so. Neither did Alex.”
    “Aw, Alex! Who cares what he thinks?”
    Vern shrugged. “Not me.”
    Betsy asked Jory, “How long have you known Paul Schmitt?”
    “Since high school. He was a great guy, the funniest person I ever knew. He liked every kind of joke, and liked to play jokes on people.”
    “What can you tell me about his wife Angela?”
    “I can tell you he murdered her,” Vern cut in.
    “You don’t know that!” Jory said sharply. To Betsy he added, “He was nuts about her, totally nuts. He bought two cell phones and he was callin’ her up all the time, asking her what she was doin’. An’ he was always buying her things, a new dress, jewelry, flowers, fancy nightgowns. Then he’d call her three or four times to ask how she liked ’em, just so he could hear her thank him one more time. He’d say, ‘Gotta keep ’em happy.’ ” Jory’s smile faded. “He was real upset when she got shot. He looked so bad that when he was killed, the first thing I thought was that he killed himself. I said, ‘I bet he killed himself,’ didn’t I?” He looked at his father.
    Vern nodded, rugged face pulled into a heavy frown. “He took it hard, all right, but I don’t agree that somebody else killing his wife would make him kill his own self. He wasn’t the type. He was the type to kill her, and then kill hisself.”
    Jory shook his head, “It was proved he was beat up and shot by someone else.”
    Vern waved a thick, dirty hand dismissivly. “Yeah, but who proved it? Mike Malloy, who couldn’t prove corn flakes taste better with milk. Nah, I say he killed hisself and Malloy bungled it somehow. Maybe the gun fell behind the couch and Malloy couldn’t find it, or it’s even possible he had it and mislaid it, so he just said it was murder.”
    Betsy said, “Malloy isn’t as stupid as all that—”
    “Sure he is,” said Vern. “Dumber than a box of rocks.”
    Jory said, “So what? It couldn’t’ve been Paul, it had to be someone else; the