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Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

S hane pulled up a long driveway, dust kicking up around his truck as he parked near the barn. The property was to the west of Cotton Timmons and belonged to Robert Gilley, a retired forester known for his straightforward demeanor and love of horses. Shane had met Gilley a few times over the years.

Deputy Kuno had already questioned him, but Shane wanted more.

The barn doors were open, revealing a tidy interior with tools hanging neatly on the walls and a chestnut horse tethered in the center aisle. Gilley stood beside the horse, brushing its coat in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Deputy Weaver,” Gilley said with a nod when Shane stepped inside. “What brings you out here?”

Shane approached, removing his hat. “Morning, Mr. Gilley. I know you’ve already given a statement that you heard nothing the day of the crimes, but I’m here about your neighbor—Cotton Timmons.”

Gilley’s hand paused mid-stroke before resuming. “Figures. He finally done something stupid enough to land him in jail? ”

Shane cracked a slight smile but quickly sobered. “Not yet, but his name keeps coming up. I wanted to ask if you’ve had any dealings with him.”

Gilley let out a low whistle. “Dealings? Hell, Deputy, I’ve had more than my share of dealings with Cotton. Man’s got a temper that burns hotter than a blister bug in a pepper patch.”

“Go on,” Shane prompted.

Gilley leaned against the horse, crossing his arms. “Ol’ Cotton thinks his property is the holy land. Couple years back, we had a big dust-up over the property line. Cotton swore up and down that some of my fence posts were on his side. I told him he was full of it, but he kept coming over, yelling about it and insisting he was right. Then one day, he showed up with a shotgun slung over his shoulder, telling me I’d better move my fence or else.”

Shane’s stomach tightened. “He threatened you?”

“Sure did,” Gilley said, his tone calm but firm. “Told me he’d ‘handle it his own way’ if I didn’t fix it. I didn’t take kindly to that, but I’m a calm man. One that don’t go shooting off his mouth without facts to back it up. So I hired a surveyor. Turns out the fence was smack dab where it should’ve been. Cotton was wrong.”

“What happened after that?” Shane asked.

“Not much. I showed him the survey report, and he huffed and puffed but didn’t apologize. We haven’t spoken since. He keeps to his side of the line, and I keep to mine.”

“Sounds like you’re better off that way,” Shane said.

“You’re not wrong,” Gilley replied, brushing his horse again. “Cotton’s always been that way—stubborn as a mule and mean as a snake when he thinks he’s been crossed. He’s one of the sorry crop who show up at all the town council meetings, complaining about crap that can’t be changed instead of focusing on what can be. ”

“What about his family?” Shane asked.

Gilley snorted. “What family? His wife left him years ago. Couldn’t put up with him anymore and got out of Georgia. Took the kids with her. From what I hear, they’re all grown and scattered across South Carolina now. Don’t think they keep in touch. Can’t blame ’em, either.”

Shane nodded thoughtfully. “So he’s been living alone all this time?”

“Yep. Just him, his pitiful dog, and his grievances. Man’s got nothing but time to stew in his own bitterness.”

“Has he ever mentioned the Colburns to you?” Shane pressed.

Gilley shook his head. “Not directly, but I’ve heard down at the barber shop that he’s going around griping about their dog a time or two. Said it was running loose and getting into his chickens. Don’t know if there’s any truth to it, but Cotton doesn’t let things go easy. If he’s got a grudge, he’ll carry it to the grave.”

Or to someone else’s graves.

Shane thanked Gilley and made his way back to his SUV, his mind churning. The property line dispute and past threat of violence gave him a clearer picture of Timmons’ temper. Combined with his ongoing feud with the Colburns, it was more than enough to keep the man in his sights.

The next stop was Cotton Timmons’ property. His old pickup truck was parked out front. As Shane stepped out of his vehicle, the screen door banged open, and Cotton stomped onto the porch, his face red with anger.

“Deputy, I’ve about had it with y’all,” Cotton growled, jabbing a finger toward Shane. “Them GBI folks were here yesterday, poking around, taking my damn DNA like I’m some kind of criminal. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m sick of being treated like this. I’ve got rights and y’all are breaking them!”

Shane held up a calming hand. “Mr. Timmons, calm down. I’m here to follow up, that’s all. And for the record, I’m not a deputy. It’s Detective Weaver. I’ve got a few more questions, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Cotton crossed his arms, glaring. “You’d better make it quick. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

Shane’s eyes drifted past Cotton to the battered suitcases stacked just inside the doorway. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Cotton snapped. “Like I told your guy Tuffin, it’s my annual fishing trip in Colorado. I’ve been planning it for months, and I’ll be damned if I’m letting you or anyone else stop me.”

Shane’s brow arched. “Convenient timing.”

“Don’t you start,” Cotton barked. “I’ve got nothing to hide, and I’m tired of y’all harassing me. This is the last time I’m answering questions. Next time, I’m calling a lawyer.”

Shane stepped onto the porch, his tone steady. “Then let’s make this quick. About the Colburns—have you ever, at any time, been inside their home?”

“Nope. Unlike you and your people, I respect a man’s home as his personal property. We ain’t friends and there’s no reason I would’ve been inside.” Cotton crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the porch pole.

“Okay,” Shane said. “Next. You said their dog was on your property, killing your chickens. Do you have proof of that?”

“I got a photo of the dog standing right near where my chickens roost,” Cotton said, his voice rising. “That’s proof enough!”

“Was the dog barking? Chasing? Acting aggressive?”

“No, not while I was looking but that don’t mean nothing,” Cotton snapped. “And what does it matter now? The Colburns are dead, so there’s no more feud.”

Shane tilted his head, studying Cotton. “Seems like a lot of anger over something pretty small, don’t you think? ”

Cotton bristled. “I’ve got every right to be angry. Folks need to keep their animals on their own property. Dogs run off deer I want to hunt, kill livestock, tear up gardens. You’d be mad, too, if it was your land.”

“And what about the dog excrement in the Colburns’ mailbox last year?” Shane asked.

Cotton’s face darkened. “I told Willis, that wasn’t me. I ain’t bagging up no dog shit for any reason no matter how mad I am.”

“Would you take a polygraph to prove that?” Shane pressed.

Cotton’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped back, gripping the edge of the door. “This conversation’s over. I’m getting a lawyer.”

The door slammed shut, and Shane stood on the porch for a moment, his jaw tightening. Cotton Timmons was hiding something—he was sure of it. Now, it was just a matter of finding out what.

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