suspect.”
“Including Sissy James?”
This bite she shook her head. “I don’t see any way she could walk around there without being spotted. Even in disguise. Tim Bandicoot either. I think they’re out.”
I watched her eat and she watched me eat and we giggled at how messy the cheeseburgers were. “So, did we learn anything else?” I asked.
Aubrey squinted at me. She knew I had seen something she hadn’t.
“The eyebrow woman,” I explained. “She lit a cigarette. I poked you, remember?”
“And?”
“Jesus Didn’t Smoke—Why Do You?”
“Ah—the signs. They’re fanatical against smoking.”
“Yet she lit a cigarette,” I repeated. “I’d say either she’s the killer or she’s one of Tim Bandicoot’s spies.”
“Because she lit a cigarette?”
“Because she forgot the rules, Aubrey. Because she was so frightened or nervous, or something, that she just had to have a cigarette.” I reminded her of something the big-eared security guard had said during our first visit: “Smoking was a manifestation of spiritual sloth.”
I watched Aubrey draw the thick butterscotch-banana shake up her plastic straw. It seemed like she was having trouble fitting a new suspect onto whatever list she had in her mind. Finally she said, “So you think we should talk to this woman with the eyebrows?”
“Yes, I do.”
Chapter 9
Monday, May 1
When I got to work Monday, Eric Chen was wearing a necktie. By all appearances a new one. By all appearances one hundred percent silk. I grilled him about it as soon as I got back to my desk with my tea.
He did not like being grilled. “I just felt like buying a tie,” he said. “And if you’re going to buy a tie you might as well wear it.”
I knew what the tie was all about. It was about Aubrey. “I think maybe you’re trying to get my job,” I teased. “Next week it will be a sports jacket and the week after that a three-piece suit. Week after that I’ll be out on my keister.”
Eric loosened the ill-shaped knot under his chin. “You’re crazy, Maddy.” He knew I knew why he’d bought the tie.
I enjoyed my tea while Eric continued his computer background checks for Aubrey. He was trying to find someone in that church directory with a reason, no matter how far-fetched, to poison the Rev. Buddy Wing.
Our investigation of Buddy Wing’s murder was puttering along on three parallel tracks. I say
our
investigation because by now Eric and I were completely seduced by Aubrey’s obsession to free Sissy James. Let me take some of that back. I was seduced by her obsession. Eric was seduced by something else. Anyway, the investigation was puttering along on these three tracks:
The first was to prove that Sissy didn’t kill Buddy Wing. The second was to prove that Tim Bandicoot was a creep, so Sissy would come to her senses and confess, on the record, that she didn’t do it. The third thing was to identify other suspects.
I was searching the map cabinet with Sylvia Berdache—looking for some pre-1950 city zoning maps for some story or the other—when Eric suddenly yelled, “Hello!”
I was bent over the bottom drawer and it took me a few seconds to straighten up. Eric was smiling like a birthday party clown and motioning for me with both hands. I was happy to let Sylvia search by herself. Before going to Eric’s desk I circled by my desk to pick up my mug. He kept smiling and motioning until I got there. “Find something, honeybun?” I asked.
He pointed to a name on the screen. “Wayne F. Dillow, 1144 Summerhill Lane, Hannawa. Complaints. Restraining order. Conviction for breaking and entering.”
“Does not a murderer make,” I said.
“Yeah. But all these charges. Pretty pathological guy, wouldn’t you say? And a member of the flock.”
“Which church directory you working from?” I asked.
He grunted, “Huh?” and I explained that Aubrey had gotten two church directories from Guthrie Gates, a current one and one that was three
“Including Sissy James?”
This bite she shook her head. “I don’t see any way she could walk around there without being spotted. Even in disguise. Tim Bandicoot either. I think they’re out.”
I watched her eat and she watched me eat and we giggled at how messy the cheeseburgers were. “So, did we learn anything else?” I asked.
Aubrey squinted at me. She knew I had seen something she hadn’t.
“The eyebrow woman,” I explained. “She lit a cigarette. I poked you, remember?”
“And?”
“Jesus Didn’t Smoke—Why Do You?”
“Ah—the signs. They’re fanatical against smoking.”
“Yet she lit a cigarette,” I repeated. “I’d say either she’s the killer or she’s one of Tim Bandicoot’s spies.”
“Because she lit a cigarette?”
“Because she forgot the rules, Aubrey. Because she was so frightened or nervous, or something, that she just had to have a cigarette.” I reminded her of something the big-eared security guard had said during our first visit: “Smoking was a manifestation of spiritual sloth.”
I watched Aubrey draw the thick butterscotch-banana shake up her plastic straw. It seemed like she was having trouble fitting a new suspect onto whatever list she had in her mind. Finally she said, “So you think we should talk to this woman with the eyebrows?”
“Yes, I do.”
Chapter 9
Monday, May 1
When I got to work Monday, Eric Chen was wearing a necktie. By all appearances a new one. By all appearances one hundred percent silk. I grilled him about it as soon as I got back to my desk with my tea.
He did not like being grilled. “I just felt like buying a tie,” he said. “And if you’re going to buy a tie you might as well wear it.”
I knew what the tie was all about. It was about Aubrey. “I think maybe you’re trying to get my job,” I teased. “Next week it will be a sports jacket and the week after that a three-piece suit. Week after that I’ll be out on my keister.”
Eric loosened the ill-shaped knot under his chin. “You’re crazy, Maddy.” He knew I knew why he’d bought the tie.
I enjoyed my tea while Eric continued his computer background checks for Aubrey. He was trying to find someone in that church directory with a reason, no matter how far-fetched, to poison the Rev. Buddy Wing.
Our investigation of Buddy Wing’s murder was puttering along on three parallel tracks. I say
our
investigation because by now Eric and I were completely seduced by Aubrey’s obsession to free Sissy James. Let me take some of that back. I was seduced by her obsession. Eric was seduced by something else. Anyway, the investigation was puttering along on these three tracks:
The first was to prove that Sissy didn’t kill Buddy Wing. The second was to prove that Tim Bandicoot was a creep, so Sissy would come to her senses and confess, on the record, that she didn’t do it. The third thing was to identify other suspects.
I was searching the map cabinet with Sylvia Berdache—looking for some pre-1950 city zoning maps for some story or the other—when Eric suddenly yelled, “Hello!”
I was bent over the bottom drawer and it took me a few seconds to straighten up. Eric was smiling like a birthday party clown and motioning for me with both hands. I was happy to let Sylvia search by herself. Before going to Eric’s desk I circled by my desk to pick up my mug. He kept smiling and motioning until I got there. “Find something, honeybun?” I asked.
He pointed to a name on the screen. “Wayne F. Dillow, 1144 Summerhill Lane, Hannawa. Complaints. Restraining order. Conviction for breaking and entering.”
“Does not a murderer make,” I said.
“Yeah. But all these charges. Pretty pathological guy, wouldn’t you say? And a member of the flock.”
“Which church directory you working from?” I asked.
He grunted, “Huh?” and I explained that Aubrey had gotten two church directories from Guthrie Gates, a current one and one that was three
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