handles pointed in the same direction. I pulled out the drawer under the bar and got out a stack of paper napkins. My mind flitted to the idea of cookies. We should have cookies with our coffee, it would be nicer.
“Dixie? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
I stepped back to the coffeemaker and watched the dark liquid rising in the glass bottom, climbing toward the four-cup line. When it reached the line, the machine
burped and hiccuped a couple of times and a few more drops fell into the black lake. I waited a few seconds to give it time to squeeze out its all, and then lifted the pot and carried it to the bar. As careful as a prayer, I poured two mugs of coffee and took the pot back to its home base.
Then I turned around and folded my arms across my chest and met Guidry’s gaze.
“Guidry, the guard was dead when I saw him. It wouldn’t have changed anything if I’d called. Two or three minutes’ difference, that’s all.”
“I’m not concerned about the timing, Dixie.”
“Okay, I should have called. I know that. But I didn’t want to get involved in another murder. You understand that, don’t you? When the truck drove in, I knew the driver would report it, so I left.”
“The guard’s name was Ramón Gutierrez. Twenty-nine years old, no criminal record. Married, two kids. Killed by a single bullet to the left temple, probably a thirty-eight caliber.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. “Why are you telling me this?”
“A witness saw you leaving the murder scene.”
This time when my heart tripped it wasn’t because I was close to Guidry. It was because I suddenly got the full import of why he was there.
“For God’s sake, Guidry, I didn’t kill him!”
His hand on his coffee mug was steady as he looked at me. “The call from the Herald-Tribune guy came in at six-fifteen. The Medical Examiner estimates the guard was shot no more than three or four hours before.”
“You can’t be serious about this! You know I didn’t kill that man.”
For the first time, I saw a glint of anger in Guidry’s eyes. “What the hell were you thinking? Didn’t you expect the deliveryman to tell us you were there? Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me find it out this way?”
An undercurrent of some emotion I couldn’t identify rang through his disappointment, some old hurt or resentment that didn’t have anything to do with me or the current situation. We all carry such a bundle of old experiences, it’s a wonder we’re ever fully in the present.
By the way he compressed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head, it seemed he’d caught himself having feelings he regretted.
He said, “We have a new DA, Dixie—a woman with a lot of ambition and a lot of political connections. Here’s how she’s going to see it. You’re a former deputy with sharpshooting awards. Your work takes you in and out of empty houses, so you probably carry a weapon. You were hired to take care of Ken Kurtz’s iguana. You went to his house, but the guard wouldn’t let you in. Maybe you had words with him, maybe he insulted you. You’re emotionally stressed because of what happened back when you killed that guy, so you flipped out and shot him in the head. You came home, ditched the gun, and returned to the Kurtz house pretending it was the first time you’d been there.”
“I don’t carry a gun, and I didn’t shoot the guard. I didn’t even know that was the Kurtz house when I went to the guardhouse. I was trying to find a place to wait out the rain.”
I thought about Ken Kurtz saying I would never tell
Guidry that Kurtz had lied to him, or that I had warned Kurtz to get rid of his gun before he talked to Guidry. Instinct, Kurtz had called it. Acting on instinct rather than intellect. Now my instinct told me I had disappointed a man I greatly admired and respected. Maybe I had completely blown any chance of getting closer to him.
The weird thing was that I was as disappointed in Guidry
“Dixie? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
I stepped back to the coffeemaker and watched the dark liquid rising in the glass bottom, climbing toward the four-cup line. When it reached the line, the machine
burped and hiccuped a couple of times and a few more drops fell into the black lake. I waited a few seconds to give it time to squeeze out its all, and then lifted the pot and carried it to the bar. As careful as a prayer, I poured two mugs of coffee and took the pot back to its home base.
Then I turned around and folded my arms across my chest and met Guidry’s gaze.
“Guidry, the guard was dead when I saw him. It wouldn’t have changed anything if I’d called. Two or three minutes’ difference, that’s all.”
“I’m not concerned about the timing, Dixie.”
“Okay, I should have called. I know that. But I didn’t want to get involved in another murder. You understand that, don’t you? When the truck drove in, I knew the driver would report it, so I left.”
“The guard’s name was Ramón Gutierrez. Twenty-nine years old, no criminal record. Married, two kids. Killed by a single bullet to the left temple, probably a thirty-eight caliber.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. “Why are you telling me this?”
“A witness saw you leaving the murder scene.”
This time when my heart tripped it wasn’t because I was close to Guidry. It was because I suddenly got the full import of why he was there.
“For God’s sake, Guidry, I didn’t kill him!”
His hand on his coffee mug was steady as he looked at me. “The call from the Herald-Tribune guy came in at six-fifteen. The Medical Examiner estimates the guard was shot no more than three or four hours before.”
“You can’t be serious about this! You know I didn’t kill that man.”
For the first time, I saw a glint of anger in Guidry’s eyes. “What the hell were you thinking? Didn’t you expect the deliveryman to tell us you were there? Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me find it out this way?”
An undercurrent of some emotion I couldn’t identify rang through his disappointment, some old hurt or resentment that didn’t have anything to do with me or the current situation. We all carry such a bundle of old experiences, it’s a wonder we’re ever fully in the present.
By the way he compressed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head, it seemed he’d caught himself having feelings he regretted.
He said, “We have a new DA, Dixie—a woman with a lot of ambition and a lot of political connections. Here’s how she’s going to see it. You’re a former deputy with sharpshooting awards. Your work takes you in and out of empty houses, so you probably carry a weapon. You were hired to take care of Ken Kurtz’s iguana. You went to his house, but the guard wouldn’t let you in. Maybe you had words with him, maybe he insulted you. You’re emotionally stressed because of what happened back when you killed that guy, so you flipped out and shot him in the head. You came home, ditched the gun, and returned to the Kurtz house pretending it was the first time you’d been there.”
“I don’t carry a gun, and I didn’t shoot the guard. I didn’t even know that was the Kurtz house when I went to the guardhouse. I was trying to find a place to wait out the rain.”
I thought about Ken Kurtz saying I would never tell
Guidry that Kurtz had lied to him, or that I had warned Kurtz to get rid of his gun before he talked to Guidry. Instinct, Kurtz had called it. Acting on instinct rather than intellect. Now my instinct told me I had disappointed a man I greatly admired and respected. Maybe I had completely blown any chance of getting closer to him.
The weird thing was that I was as disappointed in Guidry
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