Clean Burn by Karen Sandler Page B

my chest. “There’s coffee on your shirt.”
    Apparently more offended by my lack of hygiene than the lie, she shamed me into tugging my computer bag strap over the brown stain. As I recalled, it was chicken molé and not coffee, but that was a moot point.
    “Is Ken in?” I asked.
    “ Sheriff Heinz is busy,” she said huffily.
    At that moment, Ken emerged from the direction of his office, hurrying across the lobby. He spotted me. “You’ll have to wait in my office. I’ll be a while.”
    Miss Sweet-as-pie looked ready to spit nails at Ken’s sanction of my presence in her domain. Pink lips pursed, she took her time arranging the daily log for my signature, then dug through the box of visitor’s badges as if searching for an appropriate tag for a miscreant such as myself.
    With Miss Sweet-as-pie’s stamp of disapproval, I slunk down the hall to Ken’s office and opened my laptop on his desk. His computer, with its bouncing Greenville County Sheriff logo screensaver, tempted me, but I heeded my conscience and resisted an exploration of his hard drive. I couldn’t get past the password anyway.
    I did avail myself of Ken’s printer, using my laptop’s cable to connect to the network. I printed hardcopies of Marty Denning’s driver’s license and original arrest report.
    When Ken still didn’t turn up, I dug out my cell phone to call Sheri. She answered the office phone after a leisurely four rings, mumbling an absent-minded “Watkins Investigations.”
    “Am I interrupting your morning mocha?” I asked.
    “The Chronicle. Some interesting scandals in the mayor’s office.”
    I propped my feet up on Ken’s desk. “You do still work for me, right?”
    “I’ll let you know after I read the comics.” The rustle of newspaper carried over the phone. “Three new clients called. I conducted initial interviews and faxed them the contracts. We can finalize when you get back today.”
    “About that,” I said, wincing in advance of Sheri’s likely reaction. “I’ll need another day.”
    A few moments of silence ticked away. “Are you making progress?”
    I heard the implied question – was there a shred of hope Sheri could dangle out to Mrs Madison. “I’m following leads. Give me contact information on the new clients. I can call them from here.”
    I typed the names and numbers into the address book on my computer as she rattled them off. Then I spent another half hour touching base with the two women and one man looking for marital closure. I’d just finished typing in the notes when Ken returned, giving me a sour look when he saw my feet on his desk.
    He shoved them off, a twinge shooting up my left leg as it dropped on the floor. “You deserted me last night.” He dragged over the visitor chair and with his thumb directed my butt into it. “What’s that on your shirt?”
    I shut my laptop and stuffed it in my bag. “I dropped in at the Hangman’s Tavern last night.”
    He squinted at me, obviously not too thrilled I was poking around on my own. “And?”
    “Nothing new about Beck other than he unexpectedly didn’t show up for work. But one of the patrons had an interesting story. Sondra. Last name is in my notes.”
    Ken settled in his chair and propped his feet up where mine had been. “Bleached blonde, brown eyes?” I nodded. “Sondra Willits. Used to be more of a social drinker before she hooked up with that boyfriend of hers.”
    “You remember something about a dumpster fire a few months ago?”
    “Vaguely. I think Alex wrote her up.”
    “Apparently that same night she saw a kid sitting in a car outside the Hangman’s Tavern.”
    His mouth tightened. “A lot of drunks drag their kids along with them.”
    “Beck was there that night. I’d like to know if it matches my timeline. Or if Sondra gave a vehicle description when Alex took her report.”
    He picked up the phone. “Julie, get me Alex’s report on that dumpster fire at the Hangman’s Tavern. It was about three