he gets a new Porsche, he won’t care enough to come after me. By then he’ll be saying ‘good riddance,’ happy I’m gone!”
Even though it was midafternoon, neither of us had been hungry before, but with this upturn in Abilene’s future prospects, I suggested sandwiches. Abilene was no chatterer, but she talked while we ate, about everything from the kids to people she’d gotten rides with while hitchhiking to the emus.
I was pleased that the insurance idea had relieved her worries about Boone coming after her with murder on his mind. But I wasn’t so sure everything was hunky-dory just yet.
Had Boone reported the Porsche stolen? What happened when Sgt. Dole ran Abilene’s name through official channels? And what about driving without a license and wrecking a car?
11
After we finished eating, I debated with myself about driving back to the house. I was curious about what Sgt. Dole and Deputy Hamilton were doing there, of course, but I didn’t want to expose Abilene to more of Sgt. Dole’s probing. I had the impression that the investigation into the murder of the sheriff’s nephew had considerably higher priority than Abilene’s lack of proper identification or even the Northcutts’ deaths, and maybe, if we kept a low profile, running her name through some “wanted” system would slip his mind.
I also considered just picking up and leaving. That had a definite appeal, and maybe it would work. Sgt. Dole might figure looking for us wasn’t worth the bother. But my ever-vigilant conscience nixed that. Sgt. Dole, the Law, had told us to stick around. Although I had to admit that another reason for staying was my curiosity about Frank Northcutt. He’d been ready enough to accept the possibility that his parents may have been murdered, with Ute a star suspect. Would he be as ready to accept the suicide-pact assumption?
So what we did was get out the lawn chairs, set them up on the shady side of the motor home, and wait to see what happened. Koop played mighty hunter chasing grasshoppers. A plane too high to see left a graceful jet trail across cloudless blue sky. Abilene and I sipped more iced tea. She seemed considerably more at ease now, probably because she no longer feared Boone might be coming after her. But also, I suspected, because she’d shared her secrets and had nothing more to hide.
It was almost 4:00 when a gray-haired man in a white car, two men in a van, and another police car drove by. I took this to be the medical examiner in the car, with the van for transporting the bodies. No sign of the son yet, which made me wonder just how far he had to travel.
We watched the entourage disappear around the bend in the green tunnel.
“What do you think?” Abilene asked.
The question came out of nowhere, but I didn’t have to ask what she was referring to. “I suppose it’s what it looks like. The Northcutts made a pact. Jock Northcutt shot his wife, then himself. Sgt. Dole doesn’t seem to have any doubts.” Although I wasn’t so certain about Deputy Hamilton. I gave her a curious glance. “Why do you think it might not be a suicide pact?”
She twisted the iced-tea glass on her jeans. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“I could never go to the library in town, but twice a month a bookmobile came out to the rural areas. I read some classic stuff that Mrs. Burton—she’s the one who drove the bookmobile—said I should. And I like books on interesting places and people. But what I really like best are mysteries.” Sounding guilty, she added, “Murder mysteries.”
“Me too.”
“You?” She turned in the lawn chair to look at me as if I’d just confessed to a secret vice, maybe a hobby of pickpocketing in my spare time. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve been reading them for years. Cozies. Suspense. Thrillers. Hard-boiled detectives. Lady sleuths. Everything from Nancy Drew, way back when, to Mrs. Pollifax in the
Even though it was midafternoon, neither of us had been hungry before, but with this upturn in Abilene’s future prospects, I suggested sandwiches. Abilene was no chatterer, but she talked while we ate, about everything from the kids to people she’d gotten rides with while hitchhiking to the emus.
I was pleased that the insurance idea had relieved her worries about Boone coming after her with murder on his mind. But I wasn’t so sure everything was hunky-dory just yet.
Had Boone reported the Porsche stolen? What happened when Sgt. Dole ran Abilene’s name through official channels? And what about driving without a license and wrecking a car?
11
After we finished eating, I debated with myself about driving back to the house. I was curious about what Sgt. Dole and Deputy Hamilton were doing there, of course, but I didn’t want to expose Abilene to more of Sgt. Dole’s probing. I had the impression that the investigation into the murder of the sheriff’s nephew had considerably higher priority than Abilene’s lack of proper identification or even the Northcutts’ deaths, and maybe, if we kept a low profile, running her name through some “wanted” system would slip his mind.
I also considered just picking up and leaving. That had a definite appeal, and maybe it would work. Sgt. Dole might figure looking for us wasn’t worth the bother. But my ever-vigilant conscience nixed that. Sgt. Dole, the Law, had told us to stick around. Although I had to admit that another reason for staying was my curiosity about Frank Northcutt. He’d been ready enough to accept the possibility that his parents may have been murdered, with Ute a star suspect. Would he be as ready to accept the suicide-pact assumption?
So what we did was get out the lawn chairs, set them up on the shady side of the motor home, and wait to see what happened. Koop played mighty hunter chasing grasshoppers. A plane too high to see left a graceful jet trail across cloudless blue sky. Abilene and I sipped more iced tea. She seemed considerably more at ease now, probably because she no longer feared Boone might be coming after her. But also, I suspected, because she’d shared her secrets and had nothing more to hide.
It was almost 4:00 when a gray-haired man in a white car, two men in a van, and another police car drove by. I took this to be the medical examiner in the car, with the van for transporting the bodies. No sign of the son yet, which made me wonder just how far he had to travel.
We watched the entourage disappear around the bend in the green tunnel.
“What do you think?” Abilene asked.
The question came out of nowhere, but I didn’t have to ask what she was referring to. “I suppose it’s what it looks like. The Northcutts made a pact. Jock Northcutt shot his wife, then himself. Sgt. Dole doesn’t seem to have any doubts.” Although I wasn’t so certain about Deputy Hamilton. I gave her a curious glance. “Why do you think it might not be a suicide pact?”
She twisted the iced-tea glass on her jeans. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“I could never go to the library in town, but twice a month a bookmobile came out to the rural areas. I read some classic stuff that Mrs. Burton—she’s the one who drove the bookmobile—said I should. And I like books on interesting places and people. But what I really like best are mysteries.” Sounding guilty, she added, “Murder mysteries.”
“Me too.”
“You?” She turned in the lawn chair to look at me as if I’d just confessed to a secret vice, maybe a hobby of pickpocketing in my spare time. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve been reading them for years. Cozies. Suspense. Thrillers. Hard-boiled detectives. Lady sleuths. Everything from Nancy Drew, way back when, to Mrs. Pollifax in the
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