stop talking? “I love helping people. The best part is getting to know and work with new people all the time.”
“New people. A different town every week, right? No real connections with people. I get it. What a life, right?”
I didn't like where this line of questioning was going. He was twisting my words, making me sound like I had something to hide.
“No, that's not what I meant. I do it because...” I started, but he stopped me by placing his hands in the air.
“No, I'm just trying to make sure that I understand here. Isn't that what you said? You enjoy meeting new people every week?” Sheriff Wagner feigned a smile like we were just two folks having a friendly conversation and none of it mattered.
“No, it's not every week. Each location is different. Sometimes its a week, but sometimes it's much longer than that. I form relationships with people. That's what I like about the job. I love people. All people!” I was having heart palpitations. This interview wasn't going well for me.
Sheriff Wagner leaned forward on the desk, clasping his hands in front of his face, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I'm sorry. I'm nervous and I'm probably not explaining myself right.” I offered.
Grabbing the pen in his hand again, Sheriff Wagner started doodling on the page in front of him. Was I doing that badly?
After a moment of him focusing on the gibberish he was writing, he looked up at me again. This time, smiling, he said, “Look, just relax. This is easy. You haven't done anything wrong, right? We are just having a conversation. No big deal.”
Sure, no big deal for you maybe , I thought. It wasn't his job on the line.
“I'll get you out of here real soon. I just have a few more questions for you. Would that be alright?” Sheriff Wagner asked.
He sat back, locking his hands behind his head. “So, tell me what happened after you opened the office door for Rowdy and his wife.”
My defenses were up. “Whoa! I never said that. I didn't open the door for them. I told you. I was under the desk, looking for some forms.”
He nodded, leaning forward on the desk. “Oh yeah, that's right. Sorry, I forgot. Tell me what happened after that.”
“Can I just start from the beginning again? I get the feeling that you may have misunderstood me.” I said.
He listened quietly while I explained the whole story in its entirety again. This must have been the fourth time I've told the exact same story. Why didn't this man believe me?
“Sheriff Wagner, do you mind if I ask you a question?” I thought it was worth a shot, if I was going to get my name off the very short list of possible suspects.
He nodded, putting his hands down in front of him. “Sure, ask away.”
“If Mr. Knott was poisoned, wouldn't that mean that whatever happened didn't happen at the nursing home? I mean, he was there to pick his wife up for breakfast. He'd only been there a few minutes. No one had any time to have done anything to him.”
He considered for a moment. I thought my argument was sound, but as I watched his expression change, I realized that I wasn't doing myself any favors.
“Ms. Mares, how do you know Rowdy was poisoned?”
Was I not supposed to know yet? The question was, how did everyone else except me know that's how he died? Did you have to be in some special club in order to be privy to pertinent information.
“They were talking about it when you called me. They said that the autopsy report came back and that it said that Mr. Knott died of poisoning.”
Sheriff Wagner didn't seem at all surprised by the fact that others in town already knew the autopsy results. He was more disturbed by the fact that they'd informed me.
“Was I not supposed to know?” I asked, wondering what his angle was.
He took a deep breath while I began to sweat bullets, questioning whether or not I'd missed an important clue as to what
“New people. A different town every week, right? No real connections with people. I get it. What a life, right?”
I didn't like where this line of questioning was going. He was twisting my words, making me sound like I had something to hide.
“No, that's not what I meant. I do it because...” I started, but he stopped me by placing his hands in the air.
“No, I'm just trying to make sure that I understand here. Isn't that what you said? You enjoy meeting new people every week?” Sheriff Wagner feigned a smile like we were just two folks having a friendly conversation and none of it mattered.
“No, it's not every week. Each location is different. Sometimes its a week, but sometimes it's much longer than that. I form relationships with people. That's what I like about the job. I love people. All people!” I was having heart palpitations. This interview wasn't going well for me.
Sheriff Wagner leaned forward on the desk, clasping his hands in front of his face, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I'm sorry. I'm nervous and I'm probably not explaining myself right.” I offered.
Grabbing the pen in his hand again, Sheriff Wagner started doodling on the page in front of him. Was I doing that badly?
After a moment of him focusing on the gibberish he was writing, he looked up at me again. This time, smiling, he said, “Look, just relax. This is easy. You haven't done anything wrong, right? We are just having a conversation. No big deal.”
Sure, no big deal for you maybe , I thought. It wasn't his job on the line.
“I'll get you out of here real soon. I just have a few more questions for you. Would that be alright?” Sheriff Wagner asked.
He sat back, locking his hands behind his head. “So, tell me what happened after you opened the office door for Rowdy and his wife.”
My defenses were up. “Whoa! I never said that. I didn't open the door for them. I told you. I was under the desk, looking for some forms.”
He nodded, leaning forward on the desk. “Oh yeah, that's right. Sorry, I forgot. Tell me what happened after that.”
“Can I just start from the beginning again? I get the feeling that you may have misunderstood me.” I said.
He listened quietly while I explained the whole story in its entirety again. This must have been the fourth time I've told the exact same story. Why didn't this man believe me?
“Sheriff Wagner, do you mind if I ask you a question?” I thought it was worth a shot, if I was going to get my name off the very short list of possible suspects.
He nodded, putting his hands down in front of him. “Sure, ask away.”
“If Mr. Knott was poisoned, wouldn't that mean that whatever happened didn't happen at the nursing home? I mean, he was there to pick his wife up for breakfast. He'd only been there a few minutes. No one had any time to have done anything to him.”
He considered for a moment. I thought my argument was sound, but as I watched his expression change, I realized that I wasn't doing myself any favors.
“Ms. Mares, how do you know Rowdy was poisoned?”
Was I not supposed to know yet? The question was, how did everyone else except me know that's how he died? Did you have to be in some special club in order to be privy to pertinent information.
“They were talking about it when you called me. They said that the autopsy report came back and that it said that Mr. Knott died of poisoning.”
Sheriff Wagner didn't seem at all surprised by the fact that others in town already knew the autopsy results. He was more disturbed by the fact that they'd informed me.
“Was I not supposed to know?” I asked, wondering what his angle was.
He took a deep breath while I began to sweat bullets, questioning whether or not I'd missed an important clue as to what
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