Edited for Death by Michele Drier Page A

romance all of a sudden?” Though Heather sounds cool with the statement, I know that she doesn’t want the details.
    “We had a very nice time, thank you. Had dinner at a good restaurant, went to a gallery opening, it was sunny and warm all weekend. And no, I didn’t leave Mac in a kennel. Clarice came over to feed him and use the pool.”
    “OK, good,” Heather says. “I’ve gotta run, mom. Jes and I are going to go for drink. I’ll call later, bye”
    God, I love almost-adult children.
    Clarice’s cell gives me the ubiquitous message, “Press five to leave a callback number... ,” I wait through the instructions and say, “Hi, Clarice, it’s me. Had a great weekend. Wanted to see if you and Mac are OK. “
    Mac is home alone when I come in. He tells me he’s been abandoned, has never been fed and greets me with astounding jumps, licks and wiggles. I check his full food and water bowls which mean Clarice just left and find her note stuck to the front of the microwave.
    “Amy, Hope you had a good time. I did, used the pool, walked Mac. Fed him early today. Going to the movies, see you tomorrow, C.”
    Clarice left at four, so Mac was alone about an hour.
    That dog lies to me.
    I change my bed, throw in a load of laundry and make a grocery list. Mac is a limpet.
    “Hey, it wasn’t very long,” I say. “You didn’t have to go to the kennel. You like Clarice. Did you have a good time with her? Did she take you for a walk? Do you need to go on another walk?”
    Mac nods yes. This time he doesn’t lie.
    I let him lead around the neighborhood, showing me what has changed.
    He has no idea what changes I’ve seen.

 
     
    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     
    Summer’s here. I slog through the rising heat, glad I work inside.
    Dodson is on my list today. As is an email to Phil when I get my questions formed.
    I scan the newsroom on the way into my office. All heads down and working. Nobody looks ready to queue up but the line will form inevitably.
    I dial the Marshalltown number. When Dodson’s voice comes on the line I put my bright phone persona on.
    “Hi, Sheriff Dodson, it’s Amy Hobbes from the Press ,” I say. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I wanted to talk a little bit about the murders.”
    “No, but I don’t know what I can tell you. We haven’t developed any more information than I told you last time.”
    An unpromising start, but I dive right in anyway. “After our visit, I’ve been sorting things out in my mind. Royce was open about a lot, but I get the feeling that he’s hiding—no, more like holding some things back. How’s his reputation?”
    A small silence, then “I will say that a lot of the other business people in town are behind him,” Dodson says. “This town, and the county for that matter, could use a hefty infusion of cash, and if it comes from the Bay Area, so much the better. Those folks don’t put a burden on our services. We look at tourism as a real clean industry.”
    “I can understand that,” I say, making notes to have Roberts develop a story on the hoped-for tourist boom. “Who’s the contractor, someone local?”
    “Royce put his money in the right places when he came back up here. He said he wanted this to be a help to the locals and so he hired Burt Harmony. Burt’s family’s been here for about 75 years. I think his dad, Al, did some work on the hotel in the 60s and they stuck it out through the thin times so it’s fair that a good-sized job like this came his way.”
    I have a nanosecond of conscience for walking on Clarice’s territory, but squash it and ask, “I know you said that you haven’t developed anything new, but is there any more you can tell me? I’ll settle for off-the-record background.”
    “I just don’t have a thing, Amy. Even that stuff I gave you earlier, when Janice Boxer was killed, hasn’t gotten a bite of interest beyond the usual nut cases and conspiracy theory folks.”
    “What conspiracies?” Woo-hoo! OK, here we