Bad To The Bone by Katy Munger Page A

Boomer
always said I was." She shrugged. "I never put much stock in that
romantic crap anyway. It's all an illusion and illusions don't last
long."
    "Do you think Robert Price killed your
husband?" I asked bluntly.
    "Sure, why not? And if not him, some other
husband. Boomer didn't care where he dipped it. And he didn't
particularly care who knew it."
    "Wouldn't it bother you if an innocent man
went to jail?"
    "I did time with Boomer and I deserved
better. Let Robert Price do his."
    Talk about frosty. Compared to her, the
latest cold snap was nothing.
    "Did your husband have a lot of life
insurance?" I asked, remembering her earlier guess that I worked
for an insurance company.
    "Of course. He had coverage up to his
eyeballs. So do I. Boomer was a smart man financially, if nothing
else. I'm rolling in the bucks. But then, I was rolling in them
before. The police have already gone through all this with me. I'm
sure they're looking at it as a possible motive. Isn't that the
first motive everyone thinks of? Money?" She stared at me,
amusement in her eyes.
    "Not me. I find that money runs a poor
second to sex and love."
    She gave a sort of bark that was supposed to
pass for a laugh. "That rules me out. I haven't seen a pecker in so
long, I couldn't tell you what one looks like."
    "That's okay. I don't need any pointers." I
stood to go. There was no point in questioning her further. She
didn't know anything. Or care, for that matter.
    "What are your plans now?" she asked.
    "What do you mean?"
    "What are you going to look into next?"
    "I'm not sure. His business dealings,
maybe." It was as specific as I wanted to get. I like to keep my
cards as close to my chest as a 38D bustline will allow.
    "Was he active in any businesses outside the
car dealership?" I asked as we headed for the door. If Tawny
Bledsoe was involved in something financial with Boomer, that might
give her a motive for killing him.
    Amanda Cockshutt shook her head. "I don't
know where he would find the time to have outside business
dealings. Between his dealership and all the women he saw, my
husband was booked solid. But I suppose it's possible."
    "There is one more thing," I said, hoping to
get something useful out of the interview, no matter how small. "I
don't want to upset you by asking this, but did you know the woman
your husband was seeing when he died?"
    She shook her head again. "I didn't need to
know her. They were all alike. Killer bodies. Empty brains. Willing
to settle for a schmuck like Boomer."
    "Unlike you," I pointed out unkindly.
    "At least I got this out of it." She raised
both arms in a sweeping gesture.
    I wouldn't have called it a good bargain. A
great-looking house is still an empty shell filled with dead
objects. It was no substitute for a life.
    "Thanks for your time," I told her, suddenly
anxious to leave Amanda Cockshutt's cold world behind.
    "Sure." She touched her throat with a
slender hand. "And tell your client, whoever she is, that Boomer
didn't really love her and she needs to move on with her life. He
didn't love anyone but himself."
    "I don't think it was like that with my
client," I said evasively.
    "Sure it wasn't." She shut the door in my
face.
    I returned to my car, wondering what it
would be like to spend your nights inches away from the body of the
person who betrayed you regularly, to count out your days together
locked in mutual hate, each unwilling to be the first to crack and
show the weakness of true emotion, each silently daring the other
to crumble and reveal they had once cared.
    It just didn't seem like a game worth
playing to me.
    Bobby'd had no luck with his routine
inquiries, but he promised to keep trying. So far, Tawny Bledsoe
had vanished without leaving a trail. But he had come up with a
name and an address for her family. Her maiden name was Worth. Her
parents lived near Lizard Lick, about twenty-five miles northeast
of Raleigh. It was late afternoon and, if I hurried, I could beat
the commuter traffic.
    The