she handed me a box that contained individual packages of dried peppers and reminded me to be sure I put them out alphabetically. “But I can’t think of anything you’ve done lately that would make someone threaten you.” She gave me a piercing look. “Or have you done something?”
“Scouts honor.” I held up a hand, three fingers folded down and two extended, as if to prove it. “I’m hardly investigating at all.”
“Investigating!” She combined a sniff and a harrumphinto a new and altogether demeaning sort of sound. “You know better than to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I know if I didn’t, you’d still be in jail back in Taos,” I reminded her.
Big points for Sylvia; she didn’t dispute this. Instead, she propped the cardboard box she was holding against one hip and, thinking, pursed her lips. “So if someone told you to mind your own business, maybe you’re minding their business.”
This was an observation convoluted enough to be worthy of me, and Sylvia must have known it because she made a face. “What I mean is, someone must want you to back off. Because maybe you’re getting too close to the truth.”
Of course I’d come to this same conclusion sometime between when I landed on my chili butt on the ground behind the Palace and when Sylvia had been gracious enough to offer me a hand to help me to my feet. “The only person I was looking at as a serious suspect was a woman,” I told her. “And the person who grabbed me . . .” I relived the scene. “Definitely a man.”
“And you don’t have any men in mind?” Her eyes were the same color as the Texas skies above us, and she rolled them for all she was worth. “You know what I mean. I mean, I know you always have men in mind and they’re always the wrong kind of men and obviously a murderer would definitely be the wrong kind of man. So are any of your suspects men?”
I debated about telling her what I was thinking, but in the end, talking out my worries seemed a better plan thankeeping them all hidden inside, nibbling away at my brain.
“Nick knew Dom,” I said.
“The victim.” Sylvia nodded. “Did Nick know him well enough to hate him?”
I thought about how they were former partners and about how Dom ended up in the hospital. “Yes.”
“Do you think Nick killed him?”
“Why do you have his number on speed dial, anyway?”
Honestly, those were not the words I planned to have come out of my mouth, and just listening to them, I cringed. The last thing I needed to do with Sylvia was show any kind of weakness. If I did, it would be the hungry lion and the injured wildebeest scenario. I’d just revealed myself as a limping wildebeest, and I waited for her to pounce and devour me.
Instead, she finished stacking a fresh row of Thermal Conversion, flattened the box the jars had come out of, and set it in the pile of cardboard we’d take to Tumbleweed’s trailer for recycling.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
“You don’t know what I think.”
A tiny smile played its way around her mouth. “Give me some credit, Maxie. I’ve known you nearly thirty years. Of course I know what you think. You think Nick and I—”
“Do you?”
“Have a thing going? With Nick?” There was another box of spice jars sitting on the floor of the Palace waiting to be unpacked and put out on display, but she didn’t bendto retrieve it. Instead, she cocked her head and studied me. “You like him.”
This was not something I was going to discuss. Not when Sylvia might be about to reveal what I thought she was about to reveal.
I chewed on my lower lip.
Sylvia picked up the box of spice jars and slit it open with a box cutter. “He’s a good man,” she said. “Not that I know him very well or anything, but you can tell that sort of thing, you know?” Apparently, she remembered who she was talking to, because she added, “Well, maybe you don’t know. You’ve never been very good at
“Scouts honor.” I held up a hand, three fingers folded down and two extended, as if to prove it. “I’m hardly investigating at all.”
“Investigating!” She combined a sniff and a harrumphinto a new and altogether demeaning sort of sound. “You know better than to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I know if I didn’t, you’d still be in jail back in Taos,” I reminded her.
Big points for Sylvia; she didn’t dispute this. Instead, she propped the cardboard box she was holding against one hip and, thinking, pursed her lips. “So if someone told you to mind your own business, maybe you’re minding their business.”
This was an observation convoluted enough to be worthy of me, and Sylvia must have known it because she made a face. “What I mean is, someone must want you to back off. Because maybe you’re getting too close to the truth.”
Of course I’d come to this same conclusion sometime between when I landed on my chili butt on the ground behind the Palace and when Sylvia had been gracious enough to offer me a hand to help me to my feet. “The only person I was looking at as a serious suspect was a woman,” I told her. “And the person who grabbed me . . .” I relived the scene. “Definitely a man.”
“And you don’t have any men in mind?” Her eyes were the same color as the Texas skies above us, and she rolled them for all she was worth. “You know what I mean. I mean, I know you always have men in mind and they’re always the wrong kind of men and obviously a murderer would definitely be the wrong kind of man. So are any of your suspects men?”
I debated about telling her what I was thinking, but in the end, talking out my worries seemed a better plan thankeeping them all hidden inside, nibbling away at my brain.
“Nick knew Dom,” I said.
“The victim.” Sylvia nodded. “Did Nick know him well enough to hate him?”
I thought about how they were former partners and about how Dom ended up in the hospital. “Yes.”
“Do you think Nick killed him?”
“Why do you have his number on speed dial, anyway?”
Honestly, those were not the words I planned to have come out of my mouth, and just listening to them, I cringed. The last thing I needed to do with Sylvia was show any kind of weakness. If I did, it would be the hungry lion and the injured wildebeest scenario. I’d just revealed myself as a limping wildebeest, and I waited for her to pounce and devour me.
Instead, she finished stacking a fresh row of Thermal Conversion, flattened the box the jars had come out of, and set it in the pile of cardboard we’d take to Tumbleweed’s trailer for recycling.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
“You don’t know what I think.”
A tiny smile played its way around her mouth. “Give me some credit, Maxie. I’ve known you nearly thirty years. Of course I know what you think. You think Nick and I—”
“Do you?”
“Have a thing going? With Nick?” There was another box of spice jars sitting on the floor of the Palace waiting to be unpacked and put out on display, but she didn’t bendto retrieve it. Instead, she cocked her head and studied me. “You like him.”
This was not something I was going to discuss. Not when Sylvia might be about to reveal what I thought she was about to reveal.
I chewed on my lower lip.
Sylvia picked up the box of spice jars and slit it open with a box cutter. “He’s a good man,” she said. “Not that I know him very well or anything, but you can tell that sort of thing, you know?” Apparently, she remembered who she was talking to, because she added, “Well, maybe you don’t know. You’ve never been very good at
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