CnC 5 One Hex of a Wedding by Yasmine Galenorn Page A

know,” he whispered. “I know. I was thinking the same thing myself.”
    Murray and Jimbo hung back, but Deacon slowly made his way over to the bed. “Hey, Joe, I don’t mean to break up the reunion, but are you up to answering a few questions for me?”
    Joe cleared his throat. “I can try, man, but I don’t remember much. Jimbo had a much clearer view of what went down, considering I was preoccupied with keeping myself alive, rather than looking for whoever shot at me.”
    Deacon asked him if he’d noticed anything out of the ordinary, if there had been any strange sounds or events before the shot. Joe told him no, he’d just been shucking corn when he heard a loud crack and the next thing he knew, his shoulder was on fire in a blaze of pain.
    “Can you think of anybody who might be out to get you? You have any enemies, made anyone mad lately? Any threats?” Deacon poised his pen over his notepad.
    Joe looked at him sharply. “What do you mean? You think this was deliberate and not an accident? I thought it must be some neighbor kid out shooting birds or something, who didn’t look before he pulled the trigger.”
    As I mulled over Deacon’s questions in my mind, an ugly thought crept into the back of my mind. One I didn’t want to entertain. I hoped I was wrong. I’d better be wrong. But what if I wasn’t?
    Joe shook his head. “I can’t think of anybody who might be that mad at me. I’m in the business of saving lives, not making them miserable.”
    I had to speak up. “I know somebody who’s mad at you, Joe. I hate to even mention it—but maybe …”
    “Who?” Deacon looked at me, as Murray and Jimbo moved closer.
    I glanced up at Murray. “Roy. He was drunk last night, but he wasn’t incoherent. He threatened to ruin our wedding. You all heard him.” Once the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. What if I was right? But surely Roy wasn’t capable of murder. Or was he? I didn’t want to believe he could possibly pick up a gun and deliberately shoot someone but then again, I’d been on the receiving end of his fist several times and I knew he wasn’t above taking his anger out on anybody who happened to be within punching range. Was the leap so far from a fist to a gun?
    Murray’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, you’re right. Deacon, I want you to talk to Greg. I had him find out where Roy is staying. I sent him over to take Roy’s car keys back and tell him to watch himself. Ask Greg for the address and if Roy’s still there, tell him to stay put. We can’t rule him out until we investigate this further.” She turned to me. “Would Roy have known about the barbecue?”
    I shrugged. “Kip might have told him. He told him about the party. And it’s not that hard in this little town to find out what’s going on.”
    Just then, the door opened and a nurse walked in. She was carrying a bag with a bloodstained shirt in it. “The doctor wanted me to ask you if you’ll be needing Mr. Files’ shirt for evidence?”
    Murray glanced at it, then did a double take. “Jimmy,” she said to Jimbo, “that’s your shirt. I gave that to you for Christmas.”
    I peered at the Hawaiian print and frowned. “She’s right. I don’t think you own a shirt like that, do you, Joe?”
    Joe shook his head. “No, but when I was mixing up the barbecue sauce, I spilled it all over myself and had to borrow a shirt from Jimbo. My own shirt’s sitting on his kitchen counter.”
    Deacon took the bag. “We’ll just keep this as evidence.” He jotted down a few more notes, tucked his notepad away, and slipped on his hat. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Okay, I’m heading out. I’ll talk to Greg and Sandy, see if they found the bullet. Then we’ll go round up Roy and see what he’s been up to.”
    “Let me know what you find out. I’ll be home this evening,” Murray told him. He waved and disappeared down the hall. She watched until he was gone, then returned to the