Goody Goody Gunshots by SAMMI CARTER Page B

Paramedics and police officers swarmed the scene, talking in solemn tones that didn’t carry to where Marshall and I leaned against the trunk of a police car.
    I’d had to identify the dead man as the same man I’d seen at Hammond Junction, and images of the times I’d seen him alive raced through my head while we waited. Over and over again, I saw his eyes meet mine through the Jetta’s windshield and saw the horror reflected there. What—or who— had he been afraid of? Had someone actually tried to kill him that night?
    All things considered, Marshall took the shock of finding his first dead body pretty well. At least, I think it was his first. I guess there’s no way to really know something like that.
    Once the ambulance carrying the body left the scene, most of those who’d gathered to watch lost interest and wandered away. I’d tried to keep an eye out for anyone who looked more interested in the body than he ought to be, but if the other person who’d been at Hammond Junction was also in the drugstore parking lot, he—or she—hid their interest well.
    Once, I thought I saw Karen and Liberty hovering near the edge of the crowd, but the police didn’t let anyone get close to the scene or to their witnesses. The next time I looked, they were gone.
    Two hours after we found the body, Marshall and I were finally allowed to leave. He walked with me as far as Divinity, but we didn’t have much to say. I guess we were both tired of talking about the murder and answering questions, so we walked in silence. Still, I was surprised to discover that I appreciated not having to make the walk alone.
    Karen had already locked up the store, so after Marshall and I said good night at the bottom of the steps, I climbed to the third floor apartment and locked myself inside. Questions continued to race through my head while I changed into a pair of soft, warm sweats and the faded Sacramento Kings sweatshirt I’d brought with me from California.
    Who was the dead man? What was he doing in Paradise? Why had he been at Hammond Junction on Tuesday night and at the recreation center on Saturday?
    Eventually, the events of the day caught up with me, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten since eight that morning. I dug through my refrigerator, which turned out to be an exercise in futility. I didn’t want to open the box of leftover Chinese that had been in the fridge longer than I could account for, and I couldn’t think of anything to make with mayonnaise and Mom’s strawberry jam.
    I wondered if Marshall had gone back to his restaurant. It was late, but Gigi didn’t stop serving until nine or ten, and I’m sure he probably had paperwork to do. I decided he was probably back there now, indulging in something rich and hot and French while I tried to decide how old the lone can of soup in my cupboard was.
    Yawning, I tried to decide whether I was hungry enough to have something delivered or too tired to wait for food to arrive. In the middle of my contemplations, a knock sounded on the front door. I opened it and found Jawarski leaning against my doorframe, a six-pack of Sam Adams in one hand, a Gut Buster Special from Black Jack Pizza in the other.
    He gave me that lopsided smile of his. “Hey, slugger.”
    My insides did the fluttery thing they always did when he smiled that way. “Hey yourself. You and Sam there at loose ends tonight?”
    “Unfortunately. Know anybody who might be willing to let us hang out for a while?”
    I wasn’t sure which of the three looked best to me. I stepped away from the door so they could all come in. “You must have read my mind. I was just thinking about ordering something.”
    “I heard you were tied up at the drugstore for a while.” Jawarski put the pizza box and beer on my battered old coffee table while I went after paper plates. “How’d you happen to be there when they found the body?”
    I found the plates and tore off a few sheets of paper towel so we could pretend to be