Gayle Trent by Between a Clutch, a Hard Place Page B

Norville’s investigation by giving you information about Flora or Jim Adams.”
     
    “How’s that doing me a favor?”
     
    “It keeps you out of trouble with the law.”
     
    “Darn that Melvia. She’s the one who told you about Vera.”
     
    I huffed a big breath right at her. “You don’t give me any credit at all, Tansie. I could tell you knew somebody at this library from the way you took off out of my house yesterday. Had to hurry and fix dinner, my foot!”
     
    Tansie pursed her pruny lips and looked all around the library before looking back at me. “Did they tell you anything about Flora?”
     
    “Not much. They said she was nice, fed ham to the animals at the dog pound every Friday, and she liked to read mysteries. That’s about all I know.”
     
    “Was she pretty?”
     
    “I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned, so I’d be inclined to think not.” I cocked my head. “You know what I’m tryin’ to say?”
     
    “Yeah, like when you try to fix an ugly friend up on a date, you stress her other good qualities.”
     
    “Sure,” I said. “Rather than say ‘she’s ugly as a mud fence,’ you say, “she’s awfully kind to animals.”
     
    Tansie nodded. “Still, I’d love to see a picture of her.”
     
    “Me, too. Maybe you can talk your friend into letting you look at any photographs of library employees . . . like at a picnic or something.”
     
    “You reckon they have any?”
     
    “Won’t hurt to ask.” I smiled. “And it wouldn’t compromise a thing.” I got my keys out of my pocketbook. “If you run across any pictures of Flora, copy ’em and bring ’em home with you, all
    right?”
     
    “I’ll think about it.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to compromise the sheriff’s investigation.”
     
    “Suit yourself,” I said, “but you keep me out of your loop, and I’ll sure as shootin’ keep you out of mine.” Then I went and got in the car and told Matlock that if he ever took a notion to bite somebody Tansie would be a good choice—plump and juicy, but maybe a tad sour.
     
    My next stop was the dry cleaners. I decided not to go through the drive-through this time because I was determined to talk with that manager they claimed was their authority on Jim. There wasn’t a sign saying, “No Dogs Allowed,” so I took Matlock in with me. After all, it was a dry cleaners; what could Matlock do to something that they couldn’t fix?
     
    “Hi,” I said loudly as I stepped up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth. You all know Jim?”
     
    There was a longhaired man who stepped out of the back. He smiled at the little redhead who was waiting on customers and said, “I’ll take this one, Maura.” He looked at me. “You said you’re here to pick up Jim Adams’ tablecloth?”
     
    “Yeah,” I said. “You a friend of Jim’s?”
     
    “I wouldn’t say that. He’s kind of a kooky dude, ain’t he?”
     
    “What do you mean?”
     
    “Well, you don’t meet too many cross-dressers his age . . . or, at least, I don’t.”
     
     

CHAPTER TEN
     
     
    My mouth suddenly went dry as a bone. I wet my lips. “Did you say Jim is . . . is a c-cross . . . a cross-dresser?”
     
    “Yeah, man. Isn’t that wild?”
     
    “Are . . . are you sure we’re talkin’ about the same person?”
     
    “Uh, yeah, I believe so.” He went back in the back and got the tablecloth. “I’m talkin’ about the Jim Adams that lives at this address right here.” He pointed to the ticket. “Zat the one you know?”
     
    I nodded. “Zat sure is. But what makes you think he’s a cross-dresser? Is it just because he brings in both men’s and women’s clothes?”
     
    “Aw, no, man; lots of people do that. I’ve seen this dude as both of his personas.”
     
    “You’ve seen Jim dressed up as a woman?”
     
    “Sure, man, only then he uses the name ‘Flora.’”
     
    “Oh, no,” I said with a laugh. “Flora is his wife!”
     
    “Then