A Garden of Vipers by Jack Kerley Page A

didn’t dial cops every time mail dropped through the door slot.
    She shook her head. “Haven’t touched it.”
    â€œNo windows open, doors unlatched?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMight I ask why you think someone’s been inside?”
    She beckoned me to follow her upstairs. Passing her bedroom, I glanced inside. An unmade bed, the covers a tangle, a big tangle.
    It seemed I could smell flowers coming from the room.
    Dani led me to her office, shelves of books and magazines, a couple of billowing ferns beside the window, a ceiling fan. The space was centered by a large teakwood desk. There was a credenza behind it, a chair between them. She pointed an accusatory finger at the chair.
    â€œSomeone was at my desk.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    She sat, turned to the computer monitor. “I touch-type about seventy-five words a minute. I focus on the screen, watch the words. Because I never take my eyes away, everything’s set up to grab it efficiently. Like a blind person, maybe. Watch.”
    She opened a blank screen, began typing, her eyes riveted to the monitor. I stood beside her and watched the words race across the screen.
    I’m writing a story, Carson, but now I’ve decided I want to make a note, so I reach for a pencil…
    Her hand reached out to a mug of pencils. Two inches past her fingertips. She drew her hand back, kept typing.
    See? Too far away. I’m back writing my story. Uh-oh, I need to confirm some facts with a source. So I reach for the phone…
    She reached. This time her hand was an inch or so to the right.
    Suddenly I decide I need a telephone number. It’s in my PDA. Still banging away, I reach behind me to its usual place, right on the corner edge of the credenza, but…
    Her hand swung behind her, fingernails tapping the edge of the credenza, the PDA a book’s-width away. She turned to me.
    â€œSee?”
    â€œMaybe you were having an off day. About an inch off. I’m not trying to be funny.”
    â€œI’ve been working like this for eight years. My office at the station is set up the same way. Someone was here, moving things.”
    â€œYou’ve checked your files? Anything missing?”
    She opened the bottom desk drawer. A few hanging folders, scant pages in them. “Nothing I can see. No active stories. No names of people or companies being investigated, no secret meetings, no incriminating papers. All I have are outdated notes. What should I do?”
    I cleared my throat. “There’s no evidence someone’s been in here. It’s based on…ergonomics.”
    Her pink nails clacked on the credenza. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
    â€œI’m not sure what I believe anymore, Dani.”
    She frowned. “That’s a strange thing to say, Carson.”
    â€œWhere are the flowers, Dani?”
    A pause. “What flowers?”
    â€œYou haven’t seen Ms. Place, I take it? I stopped by earlier. She accepted a few hundred dollars’ worth of posies. I brought them over here.”
    â€œUh, they’re in my bedroom. They were from the station. Uh, because of me being made an anch—”
    â€œSave yourself some lying. I read the card.”
    All color drained from her face. “Carson…”
    â€œI heard your phone message the other night, too. When did you start fucking Buck Kincannon? Recently? Or all along?”
    She closed her eyes. Swayed. At that moment I would have let her fall.
    â€œWe, Buck and me…were dating before you and I met. It was over a year ago, obviously. What you’re thinking, it’s not…”
    I mimed pulling a card from an envelope, like at an awards show. Or from a florist’s delivery.
    â€œAnd my final question is…”
    â€œPlease don’t, Carson.”
    â€œHave you been to bed with Buck Kincannon recently? The past month?”
    Her fists balled into knots. Tears streamed down her