Death Takes Priority by Jean Flowers

know who the deceased is. I understand you were close to him as well as to the suspect?”
    I frowned at her. If she could have read my mind, she would have seen some nasty phrases.
    â€œAnd you’ve come back into town just as all this is happening. Is that right?” she continued.
    I collected my coat and purse, reached to the adjacentsupplies stand, and grabbed a to-go cup. As I prepared to pour my coffee into the paper cup, she handed me her card, a third attempt. “I’d love to chat with you,” she said.
    I headed toward the door, stuffing her card into my pocket, only to avoid littering.
    Before I exited I heard the news clip repeat itself. This time there was an added interview with Selectwoman Gert Corbin, my favorite pot holder friend.
    â€œWe’re all stunned,” the selectwoman said to the woman in the field. “On behalf of all the community leaders, I want to extend my condolences to the family of the victim and also assure our citizens that we are bringing all our resources to bear on finding the killer, who will be brought to justice, and we’re determined to make North Ashcot the safe place it has always been.”
    A long, run-on sentence, my grammar teacher would have called it. Like the kind every politician uses so he or she won’t be interrupted. I was surprised she hadn’t managed to wrap up her thoughts with a reference that furthered her own agenda against the proposed betting club.
    I thought how unfortunate it was that our little television channel wasn’t carried very far to the east. Linda, tuning into news in Boston, wouldn’t have heard our local broadcast; she’d have to wait until I called her this evening, when she’d be forced to rethink her view of our crime rate.

7
    I ’d hoped to go back to work with questions answered, but instead a few more stumpers had been added to my list. Why hadn’t Quinn told me he was going to hire a lawyer, and a “big-time” one, no less? Not that he owed me anything, but I thought a spark was developing between us and I hated to think I was way off on that. Hadn’t we essentially planned a second date before we’d finished the first? I remembered his look at the time. Serious, not joking. And hadn’t he asked to speak to me specifically when he was first in custody?
    Where was Quinn now? Hiding in another state with another name, probably. In other words, in the wind. And, still lingering in my mind: When would I get my phone books back? A coin toss would have helped me decide whether to go home or back to my job. I still had Quinn’s letter to deliver, and though that might have passed musteras being “on the job,” I couldn’t bring myself to approve, especially since there was no telling where he was for sure. My regular duty was calling. And so were red velvet cupcakes.
    I walked from the bakery to the post office enjoying the crisp air and the sweet smell of pink icing. I found Ben at the counter with only two customers, the first buying an armload of colorful special-event bubble-wrap envelopes. To speed things up, I stepped to the counter and took care of the second project in line, a tub of bulk mail for Tracy, who owned the beauty salon I’d passed so often in the last two days, walking to and from the police station. I ran my fingers through my hair. Why did I always feel so unkempt in Tracy’s presence?
    â€œI’m going to make an appointment soon,” I told her.
    â€œEveryone says that when they see me,” said the fortyish woman who still looked like a teenager and, even more so, like a popular child actress Aunt Tess used to love. Today Tracy’s curls were blue, bordering on purple. “When business is slow, I just walk down the street,” she joked.
    With the office now empty of customers, Ben and I took seats behind my desk. “I think I’ll hang around for a while, in case the police call and need