Bad To The Bone by Katy Munger

refugee."
    "Slutty? I'm not the one wearing combat
boots."
    Her eyes moved automatically to her feet
just as a slender woman with short brown hair appeared in the
hallway behind her. Amanda Cockshutt was tall, with a strong face
and wide-set eyes that were an unusual greenish-gray. Her hair had
been cut short in a style that emphasized the wide angles of ber
cheekbones. No black for this widow—she was wearing an expensive
silk warm-up suit patterned in pink and purple geometric
shapes.
    "A private investigator?" she asked.
"Whatever for?"
    "I'm looking into your husband's death." I
handed one of my cards over the head of the glowering old lady.
Momma glanced at my hand like she was thinking about biting it. I
quickly returned it to my side.
    Amanda Cockshutt turned the card over in her
hand curiously and stared at the back, as if seeking further
explanation there. "Who hired you?"
    "I can't tell you," I said. "It's
confidential."
    "Secrets," the old lady snapped, then
actually spit on the front stoop. "More secrets. Tell her to go
away."
    Amanda Cockshutt ignored her mother and
gestured for me to step inside. "Please come in. If it's important
for someone to know more about my husband's death, I'm happy to
help. Some friends and I were sharing memories of Boomer, but they
were just leaving."
    Her eavesdropping guests took the hint. They
obediently placed their drinks on nearby tables and started
mumbling about their coats.
    I waited in the hallway as Amanda Cockshutt
distributed coats, scarves and gloves. The old lady glowered at
each guest as they left, leaving no doubt that she thought they had
the family silverware stashed in their pockets.
    "Mother, I'd like to talk to Miss Jones
alone, if I may," Amanda Cockshutt requested. The shrieks of two
small children fighting deep within the house erupted. "Perhaps you
could get Tommy and Alyssa to stop fighting for five minutes and
give us all a break." There was an edge to her voice.
    I stared as the old lady clomped
belligerently away.
    "Don't pay any attention to her," Boomer's
widow said. She put a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the
living room. "My mother is old-style Italian from New Jersey. She
feels out of step down here. She's been living with us for two
years now, and she gets crankier every day. Hates the South. But
she's an amazing housekeeper. No one wields a broom like my
mother."
    "Really?" I asked. "Does she sweep with it
or ride it?"
    "Now, now, Miss Jones," my hostess chided me
calmly as she reached for a bottle of gin. "She's my mother, not
yours, so I'm the one who gets to make fun of her." She raised her
eyebrows and gave me an unexpectedly raffish grin.
    "Point taken," I said.
    I turned down an offer for a drink and
waited until she had settled herself on the sofa and put her feet
on the coffee table. Her legs were long and her feet were tiny.
They made my size nines look like clodhoppers.
    "Your client is confidential?" she asked
over highball glass.
    "Yes, I'm sorry."
    "The police?" she guessed.
    I had to laugh at that one. "No. Not the
police."
    "Robert Price, then? You're trying to get
him off the hook?"
    "I really can't say," I said politely.
    "My husband's insurance companies? They said
there were no problems."
    I tried shrugging, but she was not to be
stopped.
    "I know—some lady friend of Boomer's?" she
suggested.
    I was unable to resist the opening. "Did he
have a lot of those?"
    "Oh, yes." Her feet fell from the coffee
table with a clunk. She leaned forward, a strange smile on her
face. "Boomer had more lady friends than I did. And I'm in the
Junior League. Am I surprised he was killed by a jealous husband?
No. The only thing that surprises me is that it took so long."
    "Why did you put up with it?"
    She gestured at the room. "We all have a
price. Boomer made a very good living. I enjoy not having to work.
What can I say? I've never been all that interested in romance, so
I was happy to be left alone. Perhaps I am the cold fish