His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you getting at? If you've got something to say, then say it.”

“Were you arguing with Harvey recently about money?” Jake asked before I could.

The color returned to his face and his hands started fidgeting. “Where'd you hear that?”

We both shrugged.

“I didn't do anything to Harvey,” he growled.

“We didn't say you did,” I said.

He made a face. “That's exactly what you're asking me. If I killed him. You're trying to pin his death on me so the sheriff can look at me instead of Delilah. Well, I'm telling you I didn't do it! I didn't do anything!”

“But you still didn't answer the question,” Jake pointed out.

Hackerman stiffened. “Because I don't need to. What was between me and Harvey was between me and him and none of your business.” His scowl deepened. “And last time I checked, neither of you was wearing a badge. So maybe you need to keep your nose out of business that doesn't concern you.”

I stood from the sofa. Hackerman was pissed and he was right. We weren't police. He didn't have to answer our questions. And I'd sort of tricked him into answering them. I felt a twinge of guilt.

Jake, however, did not. “Good point,” he said, nodding. “We'll let the sheriff know that you and Harvey were having a fight. Because he does have a badge.”

Hackerman's jaw locked and for a moment, I thought he might charge Jake and we'd be right back to square one. But then he seemed to think better of it, whether it was because he didn't think he could take Jake or because he didn't want to fight.

“You do that,” he said, stomping past us toward the bathroom. “You just go right ahead and do that.”

TWENTY TWO

“I will not sell!” Delilah yelled.

After our run-in with Hackerman, Jake went back to the cabin to shower and I went to check on Delilah. I knew she'd been rattled by the sheriff's visit but I also wanted to ask her about Copper's comments regarding Harvey and Hackerman. If there had been bad blood between the two of them, she would have known about it.

So I walked down the hill toward the main office and right before I reached the screen door, I heard her yelling.

I stopped in my tracks, unsure what to do. There was an old red pick-up truck that I didn't recognize parked in the small lot next to the office.

“So you can just forget it,” she said, her voice still raised. “I'm not selling.”

“Delilah, be sensible,” a familiar voice said.

“I am not in the mood to be sensible right now,” she said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Feet shuffled against the floor and the screen door swung open. Davis Ellington came out, his hands in his pockets, a sad expression on his face. He stopped when he saw me, then nodded in my direction.

“Ms. Savage,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

“Hello,” I said, unsure of what else to say.

His shoulders were slumped forward, almost rounded, like someone had kicked his dog.

“Should I not go in there?” I said, pointing at the office.

He looked over his shoulder at the office, like he'd forgotten it was there. “I'm probably the wrong person to ask. But if you do go in, try and talk some sense into her.” He shook his head. “Have a good day.”

He trudged toward the pick-up, lumbered into it and drove away.

I waited a moment, then knocked on the screen door. “Delilah?”

“I'm here,” she huffed.

I pulled the door open and stepped inside of the cramped office. She was behind her desk, leaning back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, staring straight ahead. Her gray hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, wisps of hair framing her face like a tarnished, old crown.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked.

She looked toward me as if she'd just realized I was there. “Oh. No. I'm sorry. Just...a little out of it today.”

“That's okay,” I said. “Everything alright?”

She sighed and set her elbows on the desk, placing her forehead into her palms. “Dandy. Just dandy.”

I sat down in the chair across from her. The ancient window AC unit was plugged in now and a faint blast of cool air trickled out of it. “I saw Mr. Ellington leaving. And I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation.”

She pulled her head up. “I'm sorry. I was a little loud.”

“That's okay. You've got a lot to deal with.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I do.” She glanced to the door. “Davis means well, but it was just not what I wanted this afternoon.”

I thought back to our earlier conversation with the sheriff. She was right; she had enough on her plate with his visit without throwing a real estate agent panting after her land into the mix.

“Is he trying to help?” I asked.

She shrugged. “In his own way, yes. He thinks I should sell Windy Vista now before it gets worse.”

“But you don't want to.”

“But I don't want to,” she repeated. “I really don't. And I know what he's saying. If I sold it now before I really go under, there would probably be some profit in it for me and I wouldn't walk away with nothing. But...” She shook her head. “I just keep thinking something will happen to turn it around. And I'm not ready to give it up. Yet.”

“Could he find someone to buy it?” Her eyes clouded and I quickly added, “I don't mean that you should. Just curious if he could find a buyer right away.”

“Probably,” she said. “Davis seems to know everyone. But it wouldn't be Windy Vista anymore. They'd tear it down, raze everything and probably build McMansions on the land.” She pursed her lips. “And me going into bankruptcy seems better than that.”

I wasn't sure that was true, but I could see what she meant. She didn't want to see her life's work bulldozed and turned into something soulless and generic. It would be gone and there'd be no way to hang onto it and that had to be an incredibly difficult future to contemplate.

“Anyway,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Enough about that. Davis has always been after something of mine. At least that's the way it seems.”

I glanced at her, curious, and she offered a tired smile.

“I know it's hard to imagine, but I was quite a looker back in the day,” she said.

My cheeks reddened. “I'm sure you were.”

“He's been trying to woo me for years.” She rolled her eyes and offered a rueful smile. “We tried being a couple but it just didn't work.”

I had a hard time picturing her with the man who ate meat and sauerkraut sandwiches for lunch and who tried to talk me into putting a down payment on a lot for a development he was still finalizing. He seemed completely disingenuous and Delilah was the most down-to-earth person on the planet.

“I'm glad you aren't a couple,” I told her.

“Me, too,” she said, nodding. “Davis is harmless as a fly but he's about as persistent as one, too. Still asks me out every once in a while.” She chuckled, then pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Anyway, I'm tired of thinking about all of it. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm not sure you can,” I said, now feeling a little guilty about why I was there. “But I wanted to ask you a question.”

She opened her eyes and waited.

“Were Harvey and Wayne Hackerman friends?”

Delilah thought for a moment. “I'm not sure Wayne has what you and I might consider friends, but he and Harvey seemed to get along well enough, I guess. Why?”

“Would there have been any reason they would've been arguing about money?” I asked.

“None that I can think of,” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Why are you asking?”

“I heard that they were,” I said. “Arguing about money. A few days before he died.”

Delilah frowned. “Like Harvey owed him money or something?”

“I don't know,” I answered truthfully. “Just that someone saw them arguing, that it wasn't particularly pleasant and that it was about money.”

She gazed out the window, lost in thought. “I honestly have no idea. Wayne is like a volunteer assistant manager around here sometimes. He can be a genuine pain in the rear, but he's also been coming here for years and knows the ins and outs of the place. And he's pretty good with a toolbox, so he'll help out his fellow campers if they need a hand.” She paused. “As far as I know, he and Harvey never had a problem. Wayne's a blowhard and Harvey knew that, but Harvey was also incredibly patient and willing to look for the good in most folks. So I think he preferred to see Wayne as helpful rather than a problem.” She shrugged. “So you got me.”