him."
"That's easy," Marcus said. "Just don't ever do anything noteworthy again. I expect that will be difficult—for you, that is. Let's eat. That's what funerals are for."
The two men attacked the buffet, which was loaded with the perennial foods of southern social functions—shrimp, ham biscuits, chicken salad, baked Brie and chutney, fresh strawberries to dip in chocolate, and pecan tartlets. The predictability of the food didn't make it any less delicious, and Simon was loading his plate for the second time when he and Marcus ran into Julia and Sergeant Gates grazing on the strawberries.
"Not too busy today, Sergeant?" said Simon.
"I'll have you know that this is official police business," Gates said. "We're checking out the attendance at the victim's funeral. Miss McGloughlan is, of course, here in her capacity as legal adviser to the police department."
"Actually," said Julia, "we heard they were having shrimp and strawberries, and this rather neatly coincides with our lunch hour."
Simon introduced the two of them to Marcus Clegg.
"What's this about a murder investigation?" asked Marcus. "There wasn't anything in the paper about that."
"We're half-kidding when we say that," Simon said. "We'd like to find out more about what happened to Anne Bloodworth, but we're not sure we can."
"Keep it under your hat," Sergeant Gates said. "I'm afraid the powers that be at the police department wouldn't be pleased with me."
"I'm not sure what the chairman of my department would think about it, either," said Simon.
"Hey," said a young voice. "You guys have monopolized the strawberries long enough. Let some of the rest of us get some."
The speaker was Bobby Hinton. He was wearing a black armband and carried a halffull buffet plate.
"Sorry, Bobby. We'll get out of your way," Simon said.
The group moved outside to the porch, where they could stuff themselves while enjoying the weather. North Carolina had entered that lovely phase in late May after most of the pollen had been washed away in yellow rivers down the city's storm drains, and before the wall of heat and humidity descended on them in July. Then it would be too hot even to go swimming, and air conditioning would become a necessity of life comparable to bread and water. Now the little group stood comfortably on the porch, looking out over Hillsborough Street and the grounds of the college.
The group ate in silence for a few minutes, then collectively paused for conversation. "In a few weeks, we won't want to be outside," Gates said. "We'll all be inside hovering over the air-conditioning vents."
"I sometimes wonder if summer is worth it," Julia said. "I mean, in July and August, you can't walk from your house to the car without breaking a sweat."
"You business types wear too much clothing," Marcus said. "Human beings were made to wear T-shirts and shorts in the summer."
"And baseball caps," Simon said.
"And sandals," Marcus said.
"I could see me showing up at work looking like that," Julia said. "I would probably get fired."
"I don't know, Julia," Gates said. "I think the police department would thoroughly enjoy you in shorts. We could pick a day when the chief is out of the office."
"I'll do it if the guys wear shorts, too. Some of you must have decent legs," Julia said, looking pointedly at the bottom half of Gates's massive self. His legs were the size of good-sized tree trunks.
"Me in shorts is a sight to behold," Gates said. "But I get your point. Sorry."
Simon was impressed that Julia had treated Gates so gently. He could not have meant to make so obvious a sexist remark. Simon watched Julia finish what was on her plate. She still wasn't dieting, thank goodness. One strand of her auburn hair was tangled in an earring, and Simon longed to reach out and smooth it free.
Julia caught him looking at her. She smiled at him. Simon knew he had been caught out. He desperately wished they were alone so that he could ask her out.
"That's easy," Marcus said. "Just don't ever do anything noteworthy again. I expect that will be difficult—for you, that is. Let's eat. That's what funerals are for."
The two men attacked the buffet, which was loaded with the perennial foods of southern social functions—shrimp, ham biscuits, chicken salad, baked Brie and chutney, fresh strawberries to dip in chocolate, and pecan tartlets. The predictability of the food didn't make it any less delicious, and Simon was loading his plate for the second time when he and Marcus ran into Julia and Sergeant Gates grazing on the strawberries.
"Not too busy today, Sergeant?" said Simon.
"I'll have you know that this is official police business," Gates said. "We're checking out the attendance at the victim's funeral. Miss McGloughlan is, of course, here in her capacity as legal adviser to the police department."
"Actually," said Julia, "we heard they were having shrimp and strawberries, and this rather neatly coincides with our lunch hour."
Simon introduced the two of them to Marcus Clegg.
"What's this about a murder investigation?" asked Marcus. "There wasn't anything in the paper about that."
"We're half-kidding when we say that," Simon said. "We'd like to find out more about what happened to Anne Bloodworth, but we're not sure we can."
"Keep it under your hat," Sergeant Gates said. "I'm afraid the powers that be at the police department wouldn't be pleased with me."
"I'm not sure what the chairman of my department would think about it, either," said Simon.
"Hey," said a young voice. "You guys have monopolized the strawberries long enough. Let some of the rest of us get some."
The speaker was Bobby Hinton. He was wearing a black armband and carried a halffull buffet plate.
"Sorry, Bobby. We'll get out of your way," Simon said.
The group moved outside to the porch, where they could stuff themselves while enjoying the weather. North Carolina had entered that lovely phase in late May after most of the pollen had been washed away in yellow rivers down the city's storm drains, and before the wall of heat and humidity descended on them in July. Then it would be too hot even to go swimming, and air conditioning would become a necessity of life comparable to bread and water. Now the little group stood comfortably on the porch, looking out over Hillsborough Street and the grounds of the college.
The group ate in silence for a few minutes, then collectively paused for conversation. "In a few weeks, we won't want to be outside," Gates said. "We'll all be inside hovering over the air-conditioning vents."
"I sometimes wonder if summer is worth it," Julia said. "I mean, in July and August, you can't walk from your house to the car without breaking a sweat."
"You business types wear too much clothing," Marcus said. "Human beings were made to wear T-shirts and shorts in the summer."
"And baseball caps," Simon said.
"And sandals," Marcus said.
"I could see me showing up at work looking like that," Julia said. "I would probably get fired."
"I don't know, Julia," Gates said. "I think the police department would thoroughly enjoy you in shorts. We could pick a day when the chief is out of the office."
"I'll do it if the guys wear shorts, too. Some of you must have decent legs," Julia said, looking pointedly at the bottom half of Gates's massive self. His legs were the size of good-sized tree trunks.
"Me in shorts is a sight to behold," Gates said. "But I get your point. Sorry."
Simon was impressed that Julia had treated Gates so gently. He could not have meant to make so obvious a sexist remark. Simon watched Julia finish what was on her plate. She still wasn't dieting, thank goodness. One strand of her auburn hair was tangled in an earring, and Simon longed to reach out and smooth it free.
Julia caught him looking at her. She smiled at him. Simon knew he had been caught out. He desperately wished they were alone so that he could ask her out.
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