Flynn's In by Gregory McDonald Page B

room. “Yes.”
    “Who else was in on the decision to move Huttenbach’s body?”
    Still looking down the huge room, Roberts said, “Anyone else who says he was.”
    “I see.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Not right now.”
    Dunn Roberts picked up an empty ice bucket and brought it to Taylor, who was just leaving the room.
    Flynn turned his head back to Clifford. “You have a sister.”
    “We’re a big family, I guess. I have two sisters.”
    “And one was attracted to Dwight Huttenbach.”
    Country Journal
still open on his lap, Clifford looked directly into Flynn’s face. “I guess Jenny was.”
    “You guess?”
    “Jenny has been seen with him. I have heard they showed up at places together. She volunteered for his last campaign.”
    “Were they intimate?”
    Clifford wrinkled the bridge of his tanned nose. “Probably.”
    “After Huttenbach married?”
    “I’d say so.”
    “Is your sister married?”
    “No.”
    “So how do you feel about your sister’s probable intimacy with a married man who happens to be a friend of yours?”
    “Like I should blow Huttenbach’s head off with a shotgun.” More color came to Clifford’s face. He shook his head. “Jenny’s a grown-up, Flynn. What she does is her business.”
    “Which do you really feel?”
    “Oh, come on.”
    “Huttenbach had an easy time with women?”
    “Not more so than others.”
    “You mean, not more than you.”
    “These are easy days, Flynn.”
    “You’re not married?”
    “No.”
    “Do you consider yourself a special friend of Huttenbach’s?”
    “Not special. We were friends. I liked him—especially when he left his trumpet home. He was really awful on the trumpet. And he thought he was good. I’ve always known him. Jenny’s always known him. If Huttenbach and my sister enjoyed each other, that was their business, not mine.”
    “What if they didn’t enjoy each other?”
    “If things worked out badly? I don’t know that they did. I’ve been assigned to the Middle East the last six months, Flynn. I don’t know all that much about what’s been going on in Jenny’s life. I called her last night to tell her that Dwight is dead.”
    “What was her reaction?”
    “She cried. But Jenny always cried when her toys broke.”
    Flynn sniffed his drink and put it on a side table.
    “I have a daughter named Jenny,” said Flynn. “Momentarily indisposed.”
    “Sorry to hear that.”
    “Nothing a little uplifting music won’t solve.”
    Lauderdale carried two martini glasses over and handed the full one to Flynn. “The man who found my music box.”
    Tonight, Lauderdale’s wig was raspberry in color, but similiarly tilted as the one he’d worn to lunch. His gown was a seedy pink. The material was strained across his chest. The breasts of his gown looked punched in. One strap hung off his right shoulder. The stockings on his thin legs were baggy. His high-heeled shoes looked enormous.
    “I see you did dress for dinner,” Flynn said. “Almost.”
    He took the martini and put it on the side table next to the bourbon.
    “I recovered the music box,” said Lauderdale. “Thanks to you. I’ll play it for everyone at dinner. Who do you suppose hid it in the storage room?”
    “I understand you have a noted composer-conductor among your membership.”
    “‘A noted composer-conductor,’ “Lauderdale quoted. “That’s pretty good. You’d better watch this man, Clifford. With his brains, it won’t take him much longer to figure out you shot Huttenbach.”
    Lauderdale wobbled away on his high heels.
    Across the room, D’Esopo was drinking beer from a can.
    “You want a clue?” Clifford asked.
    “You going to incriminate yourself?”
    “You’ve heard of Ashley-Comfort, Incorporated?”
    “They make guns, I think.”
    Clifford nodded his beer glass toward the member in the hounds-tooth jacket. “That’s Ashley. You’ve heard of the Huttenbach Foundation?”
    “Not really.”
    “It’s a humanitarian foundation