George.”
“And?”
“Hoke, who thinks I’m nuts.”
“Well, Hoke is either very off or very on.”
Sam remembered that the two men were childhood friends.
“Yes, and?” he pressed.
“Liza.”
“What’d she say?”
“That she thinks someone…” Then Sam realized she couldn’t go on, not with so many ears so close. She shook her head.
“See,” Beau whispered, leaning down, “we need to get together and talk.”
“We are together and talking.”
He ignored that. “Have you spoken with Queen again?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
She’d been thinking about that. She had lots of questions for the Widow Ridley. But how was she going to approach her? She couldn’t just call. This was a house of mourning. She looked into Beau’s eyes as she slipped the pearl and diamond earring from her right ear.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Leave it,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Under there.” She pointed to a chair.
Beau smiled. “When?”
“When the crowd moves.”
“Moves where?”
“What do you—” Then she looked around. The crowd had moved, but she hadn’t. And of course, he’d let her keep standing there, pressed breast to chest.
She flung her earring under the chair and sashayed out of the room without a backward glance. She knew the smirk on his face. She didn’t need to look.
Back home, Harpo met her at the door holding his mouth crooked. The next step, she knew, would be his fake limp.
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty, dog,” she told him. “I’ve been hard at a funeral.”
“He wants a bath,” Peaches said. “When I came home from my meeting at the mayor’s office, he was standing in George’s bathroom staring at the tub.”
“Why do I have a dog who’s a clean freak?”
“You might get in there yourself and take a long soak. It would relax you some.”
“Don’t I look relaxed?”
“No. You look like twenty miles of bad road,” Peaches said flatly.
“Thanks.”
“I’m just telling you what I see. Who’d you see today? You see the murderer at Forrest Ridley’s funeral?”
Sam started to answer What murderer? but she knew Peaches knew better. Peaches knew everything.
“I might have,” she said. “I don’t know.”
*
Upstairs, she gave Harpo a quick shampoo and wrapped him in a towel, then rinsed the tub, filled it with hot water and bath oil, and stepped in. After a quarter of an hour, she reached for the phone.
“What’s up, Cookieface?” answered Cutting, her best tracker in San Francisco. “Where are you?”
“ In the tub.”
“God,” he sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I weren’t fifty-nine, fat, and gray.”
“We can still talk dirty.”
“Please, my heart can’t stand it.”
Then Cutting listened carefully to what she wanted. “If Ridley was in a hotel in this town recently, I’ll get it for you, and the names of any roommates,” he promised. “Now, get out of there before you pucker.”
The call to the local Drug Enforcement Administration office was business all the way. Yes, her contact said, Buford Dodd was a suspect in drug drops in Watkin County. But so were lots of other folks.
“These country boys can be mean,” the agent warned. “And I apologize for sounding like a chauvinist oink when I say this, Ms. Adams, but it’s no business for a lady. I wouldn’t sniff around these boys if I was you, even if I knew I had the right tree. They hurt you real bad when they fall.”
Nine
“What exactly is it that you want to know, Samantha?” Queen Ridley rose, stiff-backed, from her white sofa. “What are all these questions about that unfortunate ‘surprise’ party leading toward?” She lit a cigarette and exhaled through her lovely nose. “Or is this just some peculiar brand of torture that you reporters reserve for the bereaved?”
“Queen, I…” Blew it. Came on too fast, too strong.
“You are here as press, aren’t you? Asking questions about my —our
“And?”
“Hoke, who thinks I’m nuts.”
“Well, Hoke is either very off or very on.”
Sam remembered that the two men were childhood friends.
“Yes, and?” he pressed.
“Liza.”
“What’d she say?”
“That she thinks someone…” Then Sam realized she couldn’t go on, not with so many ears so close. She shook her head.
“See,” Beau whispered, leaning down, “we need to get together and talk.”
“We are together and talking.”
He ignored that. “Have you spoken with Queen again?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
She’d been thinking about that. She had lots of questions for the Widow Ridley. But how was she going to approach her? She couldn’t just call. This was a house of mourning. She looked into Beau’s eyes as she slipped the pearl and diamond earring from her right ear.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Leave it,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Under there.” She pointed to a chair.
Beau smiled. “When?”
“When the crowd moves.”
“Moves where?”
“What do you—” Then she looked around. The crowd had moved, but she hadn’t. And of course, he’d let her keep standing there, pressed breast to chest.
She flung her earring under the chair and sashayed out of the room without a backward glance. She knew the smirk on his face. She didn’t need to look.
Back home, Harpo met her at the door holding his mouth crooked. The next step, she knew, would be his fake limp.
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty, dog,” she told him. “I’ve been hard at a funeral.”
“He wants a bath,” Peaches said. “When I came home from my meeting at the mayor’s office, he was standing in George’s bathroom staring at the tub.”
“Why do I have a dog who’s a clean freak?”
“You might get in there yourself and take a long soak. It would relax you some.”
“Don’t I look relaxed?”
“No. You look like twenty miles of bad road,” Peaches said flatly.
“Thanks.”
“I’m just telling you what I see. Who’d you see today? You see the murderer at Forrest Ridley’s funeral?”
Sam started to answer What murderer? but she knew Peaches knew better. Peaches knew everything.
“I might have,” she said. “I don’t know.”
*
Upstairs, she gave Harpo a quick shampoo and wrapped him in a towel, then rinsed the tub, filled it with hot water and bath oil, and stepped in. After a quarter of an hour, she reached for the phone.
“What’s up, Cookieface?” answered Cutting, her best tracker in San Francisco. “Where are you?”
“ In the tub.”
“God,” he sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I weren’t fifty-nine, fat, and gray.”
“We can still talk dirty.”
“Please, my heart can’t stand it.”
Then Cutting listened carefully to what she wanted. “If Ridley was in a hotel in this town recently, I’ll get it for you, and the names of any roommates,” he promised. “Now, get out of there before you pucker.”
The call to the local Drug Enforcement Administration office was business all the way. Yes, her contact said, Buford Dodd was a suspect in drug drops in Watkin County. But so were lots of other folks.
“These country boys can be mean,” the agent warned. “And I apologize for sounding like a chauvinist oink when I say this, Ms. Adams, but it’s no business for a lady. I wouldn’t sniff around these boys if I was you, even if I knew I had the right tree. They hurt you real bad when they fall.”
Nine
“What exactly is it that you want to know, Samantha?” Queen Ridley rose, stiff-backed, from her white sofa. “What are all these questions about that unfortunate ‘surprise’ party leading toward?” She lit a cigarette and exhaled through her lovely nose. “Or is this just some peculiar brand of torture that you reporters reserve for the bereaved?”
“Queen, I…” Blew it. Came on too fast, too strong.
“You are here as press, aren’t you? Asking questions about my —our
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