Smoke by Kaye George

that.”
    “Mother thinks Marshmallow needs special pig treats. He seems to like Cheerios and popcorn just fine, but Mother found a recipe for peanut butter flavored pig treats in the ‘Potbelly Insider Magazine’.”
    Chief drummed his pencil on his desk blotter and glanced at the clock on his wall. “Immy, what did you want to see me about?”
    “Oh yes. I wanted to talk to Amy JoBeth. If I could.”
    “Why do you want to see her, Immy?”
    “Well, I guess I want to cheer her up. She has a history of depression. It’s not good for her being locked up.”
    “I don’t believe being locked up is good for anyone. But we don’t release prisoners because they’re upset about being locked up.”
    “I don’t want to get her released. I’m not going to try to spring her. Honest.”
    Chief pondered for a moment. “How about if I let you talk to her through the bars?”
    “That’s fine.” Immy especially disliked the confinement of jail cells.
    So she was escorted to Amy JoBeth’s cell, relieved to find it wasn’t the one she’d spent a night in once. She got a cold feeling inside when she glanced at that one as she passed it. Of course, there were only three jail cells, so it wasn’t far away. The other cells were empty, and the chief left her alone to talk to Amy JoBeth. Immy was glad about that. It might give her a chance to suss out some good dope.
    Amy JoBeth looked up at Immy with dull eyes. She wasn’t on the floor under the cot, but she didn’t look well. Immy stepped to the bars and grabbed them. They were as cold and unyielding as she remembered.
    “Hi, Immy. What are you doing here?”
    “I, uh, would you like some brownies?”
    “No, Immy. I would not like some brownies. I would not like anything. Except to redo the past. I never should have left Ernest.” Amy JoBeth returned her gaze to the concrete floor.
    Did that mean she regretted killing Rusty?
    “What are they charging you with? Do you have a good mouthpiece?” Immy had read every piece of detective fiction in the Saltlick library at a young age and slipped into the lingo with ease.
    “What do you think? Murder. They think I killed Rusty.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he killed Gretchen.”
    Oh. “That’s not what I meant, but I didn’t know Rusty killed her. How did you find that out?” How could she get her career going if all her cases were going to solve themselves?
    “Vern told me Rusty did it. He said Rusty told him.”
    Immy pondered this for a minute. “When did that happen?”
    “You know how Vern brought me that jerky when I came out of the storm shelter?”
    That moment was vividly etched in Immy’s mind. She hoped it had given Amy JoBeth an accurate assessment of Vern’s intelligence level.
    “Vernie said Rusty told him when he was there to buy jerky. He saw Rusty putting Gretchen into the smokehouse. Into the smokehouse! He told Vern to tell me he was so sorry he’d shot Gretchen.”
    Since she was still calling him Vernie, Immy guessed she still loved him. “Rusty told Vern that? Why would Rusty do that?” But then, why would Vern buy pork jerky for Amy JoBeth? And why in the hell would Rusty think he should smoke Gretchen? Were those two men just that dumb?
    “He said he’d take it all back if he could.” Amy JoBeth squeezed her eyelids shut and tears streamed over her round cheeks.
    “But the shop was closed so he couldn’t, I guess.”
    “What?” Amy JoBeth looked straight at Immy for the first time, animation playing across her face.
    “I said Vern couldn’t return the jerky because the health department closed Jerry’s Jerky Shoppe.”
    “I was talking about Rusty taking back what he did, not Vern taking back the jerky. Are you crazy, Immy?” She rose and approached the cell bars.
    Ha. Coming from a person who locked herself in a tornado shelter, those were fine words.
    Amy JoBeth dashed the tears from her face with her sleeve. “Why did you come here?”
    Oh yes, she must remember her mission