'Til Dice Do Us Part by Gail Oust

was still time to whip up those lemon bars. I could practically make them in my sleep. While I waited for the crust to brown, I whisked eggs, sugar, flour, and lemon juice for the filling. My mind hopscotched back and forth between manslaughter and smoking guns. It shied away from landing on either square.
    The whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. The words sang through my brain like a refrain from Les Misérables. Should I mention the argument I’d overheard between Lance and Claudia, or keep it to myself? If I told the sheriff, he was likely to read something sinister into it. He didn’t know Claudia like I did and was liable to suspect the worst. It might plant weird notions in his head—notions about motive with a capital M .
    If I kept their argument to myself, would I be guilty of a crime? Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting, and withholding information topped the list. I love Claudia, but not enough to be her cell mate at the state penitentiary.
    Finally the dreaded hour was at hand. I dressed with care in slacks, a teal blue sweater, and a jewel-toned tweed blazer. Before leaving the house, I peeked in on Krystal, who was sound asleep. The poor girl; judging from the pile of soggy Kleenex on the bedside table, she must have cried herself to sleep. Had those tears been for Lance Ledeaux? I couldn’t help wondering. She’d fainted at the news he’d been killed. God only knew what kind of relationship she’d had with the cad. Polly thought they’d looked chummy. I reasoned that there would be time enough to delve into that later. I spread an afghan over her and left a note saying I’d be home in time for dinner.

Chapter 13
    “Hey, Miz McCall.” Tammy Lynn Snow looked up from her computer monitor as I entered the Brookdale Sheriff’s Department. “Sheriff had a few calls to make. He said for you to have a seat, and he’ll be with you shortly.”
    “Thank you, dear,” I told the young woman. I wondered if her wary expression was reserved only for me or for anyone who happened through the front door. She always made me feel the harbinger of bad news. Tammy Lynn tended to be overprotective of her boss. Quite often she led me to believe I upset him, though for the life of me, I can’t imagine why that would have been so.
    I put the plate of lemon bars I’d brought on one of the empty chairs. My mother always drilled into us children not to visit empty-handed. She insisted we bring our host or hostess a small token of esteem and appreciation. It was a nicety I tried to instill into my own two, but with limited success. Oh, they liked the receiving part OK, but they were often neglectful on the giving end.
    I settled into a molded plastic chair and prepared to wait. I glanced around the room. Nothing had changed in the few months since my last visit—same drab office; same drab Tammy Lynn. Her style of dress gave vintage clothing a bad rep. I’d love to sic Connie Sue Beauty Queen on the girl. Gone would be the lank brown hair and the oversized glasses too large for her small face. After some tweaking in the hair and makeup department, I’d turn her over to Polly for help with wardrobe. No more serviceable brown cardigans and plaid skirts—no way, no how. With a sprinkling of makeover magic, the girl could be a raving beauty.
    Restless, I got up and wandered to the bulletin board displaying Most Wanted posters. A couple new felons had been added to the assortment since my previous perusal. Beards, cornrows, and dreadlocks seemed to be the common denominators. These were the same unsmiling faces I’d seen at the post office, but I committed their sorry mugs to memory—just in case. It pays to be careful.
    “Terrible thing about Mr. Ledeaux getting shot, isn’t it?” I said, tossing out a gambit.
    Tammy Lynn stopped pecking at her keyboard. “Yes, ma’am. It surely is.”
    “Did you plan on attending a performance of our play, Forever, My Darling ? That nice young officer,