Murder Deja Vu

means.”
    “It means hysterical,” Clarence said, “which you are getting before you even know what I want to ask you.”
    “Why don’t you sit down, Waylon,” the bartender said, “and listen to the man? How’d you like it if someone framed you for murder?”
    “But this guy’s guilty,” Greer said. “Everyone knows that.”
    “I don’t,” Clarence said. “Because he’s not.”
    “Well, I just heard over the radio that he’s on the run. Innocent men don’t run, so he’s guilty.”
    “He’s running because he rotted in prison for fifteen years. Would you hang around and wait for that to happen again? I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
    “Me neither,” the bartender said. “Won’t hurt you to listen, Waylon. You got nothing better to do. Rayanne didn’t leave here with a guy six-three. She left with a guy ’bout your height, only heavier.”
    Greer shrugged. “Yeah, I saw him hit on her.”
    Clarence felt that internal jolt a cop gets when he’s on the verge of uncovering an important piece of information. Easy, Clarence. This guy’s not a fan. “Tell me about him.”
    Greer huffed and puffed, took a long guzzle of his beer and slapped it on the bar. “I watched him go after her. She was mad as hell at me ’cause I was drunk.”
    Someone down the bar yelled, “Big surprise there.”
    “Shut up, jerkoff. I’m sober now.”
    “What did he look like?” Keep him on subject.
    “About my height, with a mole on his cheek, but soft, you know what I mean?”
    “No. Explain it.”
    “Puffy. White and pasty. Like he didn’t never work outside. Too much of the good life. Booze without exercise. I drink, but I work out.” Greer straightened. “I’m in good shape.”
    Clarence didn’t want to hear about Greer’s workout schedule. “The mole. Did it look real?”
    “Naw. Damn thing was fake as they come. You could see the way he kept pressing it, like he thought it might fall off.”
    Clarence wondered if he told the sheriff this, but he didn’t want to get Greer off track by asking. He also wondered why he let his girlfriend go off with someone he knew wore a disguise. Must’ve been way more than drunk. “What else?”
    “He wore sunglasses. Who the fuck wears shades inside except Nicholson and rock stars? A cap too. Brand new one. I bet he never set it on his head before. You know what it had on it? John Deere. This guy never once planted his ass on a tractor. I can tell you that for a fact.”
    “Hair color?” Clarence asked.
    “Hmm, couldn’t tell. Cap covered his hair. If I had to guess, you know, from the eyebrows, I’d say light brown. But I can’t be sure. I was pretty wasted, and I was mad back at Rayanne.” A thoughtful look came over Greer’s face. “Shouldn’t of let her go. Shouldn’t of.”
    A hush came over the bar. No doubt everyone there agreed. Clarence learned more than he bargained for. An almost clear description of the man’s physical appearance. Things that couldn’t change overnight. Waylon Greer stood about six feet, but height alone wasn’t going to help. Six feet was average these days. Clarence was six feet, and he’d bet the guys at the table the night of the murder were in the same range, give an inch either way, except Reece. But soft—now that said something. Clarence knew exactly what soft looked like. He didn’t know what the men at Reece’s table looked like, but he’d find out in person as soon as he returned to Boston.
    “Thanks, Mr. Greer. I appreciate your time. You’ve been a great help.”
    “I have?” When Clarence nodded, Greer said, “Hope you get the son of a bitch who done it. Whoever it is.”
    “Me too.” Clarence plunked a twenty in front of Greer. “Drink up on me.” Then he turned to the bartender. “Thanks for your help.” He plunked down a twenty and a ten. “What’s your name, by the way?”
    “Elvis.” He crossed his heart. “God’s truth.”
    “Well, Elvis’s friend is leaving the building.” Clarence waved over his shoulder and walked out the door. He had a few more things to do before he left for Boston.

Chapter Twenty-Three
Not-So Subtle Interrogation

    C larence went back to his room at Pine House to freshen up. He checked his watch. Jeraldine ought to be home by now. He speed-dialed her cell. “Hey, babe. Any news for me?”
    “Just got to the office. I called Baker from the airport in Asheville to see what he could come up with before I got back. He found someone from Charlotte