The Fall Guy Read Free

until our investigation is complete, don’t leave the county either.”
    Then she was off in a swirl of dust.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I didn’t even take time to wipe the dust from my eyes. I just grabbed my tool kit, camera and keys and headed for my truck. Chevie was one step ahead of me, but I sent her back to sit on the porch. For some reason she finds riding around with me much more fun than trying to keep the chickens in the coop or the crows off the vegetable patch. Which is what I’d really like her to do.
    I was so upset I forgot to baby my old truck as we hammered down the lane and along the dirt road to the highway. I hung on to the steering wheel for my life as potholes sent us both flying. I covered the ten miles to Jeff Wilkins’ cottage in less than ten minutes. All the way, I worried about what I would say. Wilkins was a powerful man. Everybody bought their trucks from him. He could see that I never got another job in the county as long as he lived. If he was lying to cover his own butt, I didn’t know how I was going to prove it. I didn’t have too many friends in the county who would take my side over his. Worse, no other contractors were going to back up my design after I’d been undercutting them for years. I was small fry, and I liked it that way, but business was tight for everybody.
    I reached the Wilkins’ place before I’d thought up a plan. My nerves started to act up at the sight of the place. It was all alone on the clifftop, looking down on the lake below. More like a fort than a cottage. Huge square timber logs the color of wild honey, a red steel roof that gleamed in the sun. A triple garage where he kept his precious cars. Wilkins was tight but only when it came to others. Mrs. Wilkins had no car and had to beg every time she wanted to borrow one, but Jeff always got the latest-model toys for himself. A sports coupe, a heavy-duty truck and a high-end suv. Traded in every year.
    Lucky for me, there was no sign of any of those vehicles when I arrived. I crunched over the empty gravel parking lot and parked my truck up against the side of the house. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Now I had a plan. There would be no accusations, no arguments and denials. No tongue tied in knots by a man six inches taller than me and a million dollars richer.
    Just me, my camera and tape, and the deck where the poor woman fell to her death. I felt sick as that thought finally hit my reluctant brain. My fault or not, that poor, lonely woman was dead.
    I walked around to the front of the house overlooking the lake. The deck was beautiful. The smell of fresh cedar still hung in the air, but the space was filled with flower boxes, patio furniture, and a big red umbrella.
    Plus a gaping hole in the railing over the steepest drop.
    Yellow police tape was tied across the hole. It was too flimsy to save anyone, but I wasn’t worried as I walked across the deck. I’m not afraid of heights. I remembered the spot where the hole now was. It had been a terrible place to work. The house sat on a big slab of granite, and at this point the granite fell away in a sharp drop. I had to cantilever the edge of the deck out over the cliff and I’d reinforced it six ways to Sunday to be sure it was safe.
    Truth was, I’d wanted to put the deck farther over, on safer ground. But Wilkins held firm. The view of the lake was breathtaking from here, he said. You feel like you’re floating on air, up in the canopy of the trees growing down below.
    I stood at the edge of the deck and peered over. The drop was at least twenty feet. Below, nothing but bare rock and more police tape waving in the wind. I walked back across the deck and circled around and down the rocks till I was right below the broken spot. A couple of splinters of wood were all that was left of the railing. It looked like someone had tried to clean up all trace of the accident. But looking closely, I could see