Page 66 of The Perfect Hosts

“That’s right,” Jamie says. “And when I tried to ask Wes about this, about the explosion, instead of trying to help you know what he said?” Before Colson can respond, Jamie continues. “He told me that he knew who I was. Told me he had done some checking up on me. My wife. Pretty much told me he could talk to the right people and get Tess a job.”

Colson lets out a long breath. “That’s what Wes does,” he says. “That’s what makes him a good businessman, but not necessarily a very good person. He does his homework.”

“He also said that after Juneau disappeared and I was hurt so badly, his father paid for me and my mom to move back to San Antonio. And that he created the scholarship that sent me to college. Did you know that?”

“I did not,” Colson says quietly.

“The only reason I can think of for Wes telling me all this is that he is trying to leverage me somehow. He doesn’t want me digging any deeper and is calling in that favor his dad did for me years ago. He has something to hide. What doesn’t Wes want coming out?”

“You’ve got to understand,” Colson says, “the Drake boys have never been held accountable for anything in their lives. Their father was always there to clean up things. Now Wes does his own cleaning up.”

Jamie waits for him to continue, watching as the older man peels the label off the bottle and rolls the damp paper between his fingers. “The sheriff’s office has gotten some calls over the years asking for one of us to do a wellness check on Madeline Drake. They always called the nonemergency number, but I sent a deputy out to see what was going on. Even went out there once myself.”

“What did you find?” Jamie asks.

“Nothing,” Colson says. “Nothing that we could act on. Each time Madeline said she was fine, that someone must have been playing a mean-spirited prank. There was nothing we could do.” He sets his bottle aside, gets to his feet, and steps inside the house leaving Jamie on the porch alone. A few minutes later, he returns with two more beers and offers one to Jamie, who waves it away.

“You found nothing you could act on, but you found something. What was it?” Jamie asks.

“Madeline Drake bruised up and moving around like she got kicked in the head by one of her horses,” Colson says. “Ofcourse, that’s exactly what she said. Blamed herself and said that she got careless and got knocked off a horse, and it stepped on her head. Nothing we could do about it.”

“You still could have arrested him, brought him in for questioning. Something,” Jamie insists. “Especially if there’s a clear pattern of abuse.”

“In a perfect world, yes, J. J., that’s what we would do,” Colson says, a spark of irritation in his voice. “But you have to know that even if you do all those things, if you don’t have a prosecutor with the balls to do anything about it, your hands are tied.”

“So what you’re telling me is Wes Drake is capable of blowing up his own barn and killing a woman, but there’s nothing we can do about it because he has deep pockets?” Jamie says with disgust.

“I’m not saying that at all, J. J.” Colson says, matching his tone. “I’m just saying get the rock-solid, undeniable evidence and prove it. You’re the feds, you have the resources. Do your thing. I’ll do whatever I can on my end to help, but you gotta have the proof.”

Jamie lets Colson’s words sink in. He’s right.

“I talked to someone who says that she saw Wes and Juneau talking before she disappeared. Did you know that?” Jamie asks.

Colson lifts his eyebrows. “They went to the same high school. I’m guessing Juneau talked to a lot of people.”

“But did you ask Wes if he knew her? If he had any interactions with her?” Jamie presses.

Colson sets his beer aside and leans forward. “Of course we did. Wes was the one who found you, which was a miracle on its own. That stretch of ditch was so overgrown with grass it’s a wonder he saw you at all. We questioned him several times, and he said he really didn’t know your sister.”

“But...” Jamie prompts.

“But...” Colson tilts his head from side to side. “Others did see them together now and again—at school, in town, all very innocent.”

“Like they were dating?” Jamie asks. He can’t believe it. How was he the last to know?

“No,” Colson says. “No one said they were dating. They simply talked to one another now and then. They werefriends.”

“He has an alibi for that night?” Jamie manages to ask, his frustration building.

“He had a football game and then went home,” the sheriff says, his voice tight. “His brother, Dixon, vouched for him. So did his parents. It’s all in the binder, J. J. And to be honest, I’m getting a little worried about you. Are you sure you’re not conflating Juneau’s case with the Drakes’?”

“I’m just trying to be thorough, and I think we both know that Wes isn’t quite the nice guy that so many people believe him to be. His affairs, the way he treats his wife, the text messages to Johanna prove at least that.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t prove he’s a murderer,” Colson says gently.

“Anything farther back?” Jamie asks. “You said Wes’s dad got him and his brother out of a lot of scrapes. What kinds of trouble did they get into?”

“Mostly kid stuff. Underage drinking, speeding, general mischief,” Colson recalls. “But there was something else. I was just a deputy at the time, so I wasn’t privy to any of the details. It was all very hush-hush.” He pauses as if debating whether to go on with the story. Jamie waits him out.