Hair of the Dog by Susan Slater Page A

year.
    â€œMs. Linden, this is a town of thirty-nine hundred and three people. To say we’re a close-knit community doesn’t even begin to capture it. One hospital is shared with two other towns within a twenty-mile radius and a high school is also shared. In 1973 fifty-four students graduated from that high school. I was one of them. Don’t you think I’d remember if I’d gone to school with someone named Evers?”
    Elaine felt the click as well as heard it. Ms. Simpson had hung up. Elaine was completely without direction—other than checking county criminal records, she had no other places to go. Instead of having answers for Maggie and a star report for Scott Ramsey, she had nothing. How could she have flunked her very first assignment? Then again, maybe no news was good news. If Stanley didn’t exist, there must be a reason. He had something to hide. Maybe her fruitless morning had really saved Maggie from making a big mistake. She was starting to feel better.

Chapter Nine
    Dan was nursing a third cup of coffee at the track’s restaurant while waiting for his fourth interview of the morning. Was he sabotaging himself? So convinced that Fucher was innocent that he heard only what he wanted to hear? UL&C was getting a little antsy without a concrete reason for continuing to bankroll the investigation. His email updates were leaving a little to be desired. But they trusted him. He’d asked for one more week with a final report due Friday a week from today. And if he didn’t have the info that his gut told him was out there…Well, he had a week didn’t he?
    He used the first half hour to get better acquainted with Fucher’s mentor and supposed guardian, Fred Manson. He made this more of a friendly unofficial chat, no recorder, no note-taking. Dan motioned for him to take a chair across the table from him. He took in the fluffy white hair, graying beard, and hard, squinty brown eyes that looked up through shaggy brows—an odd little, muscular man somewhere in his fifties who took his work home with him if the dirty fingernails were any indication. And how odd a pinky ring so mud-encrusted that Dan couldn’t name the stone but a hefty amount of gold peeked through the grime. The diamond stud in his left ear fared better—it was sparkly clean—a diamond a little too big to be real, Dan thought. A little ostentatious none the less even for a Zircon.
    â€œCoffee?” Dan had ordered a carafe and several set-ups.
    â€œTea man myself this early in the morning.” A pleasant smile. At least his bottom denture was in place, Dan noticed.
    â€œHave you worked for the track long?”
    â€œA few years now. I did some work for Dixie Halifax and she steered me in this direction.”
    â€œMaintenance always been your line of work?”
    â€œNo. I’ve been a Master Gardener most of my life. Orchids are my specialty. Put ninety-six points on the dendrobium, Andree Millar, in ’97. Beautiful plant over one hundred buds or fully open blooms the day of judging.”
    â€œThat’s impressive. Do you still raise orchids?” Dan had no idea where this was leading; he needed to get back to information about Fucher.
    â€œNo, nothing on a big scale anymore. Ms. Halifax hired me to bring the track up to snuff—I’d done some work in the area—that and the grounds here keep me busy. I have a crew of twenty including those doing track maintenance.”
    â€œSo you’ve known Fucher for three years? Or longer?”
    â€œMore like five. I used to date his mother. God rest her soul. Beautiful lady, just devoted her life to her son. That boy wouldn’t read or write today if it hadn’t been for her. She schooled him all at home—never sent him away.”
    â€œThat’s commendable.”
    â€œI’ll say it is. Women don’t put family first anymore. Out traipsing around, working full time—home