“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” said Kidd.
“No loons?”
“No. Ol’ Mahlon left at first light without a gun. Gone fishing, I’d guess.”
A hot cup of coffee steamed on the stand beside the bed. I eased up against the pillows and took a grateful sip.
“How’d you know I like it black?”
“No sugar bowl on the counter, no milk in the fridge. Made it easy. How you feeling?”
“Stiff, sore. How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” he said. “Except for the dueling scars. You’re a gutsy lady. Want to come hunting poachers with me some night?”
“Any time you’re in Dobbs,” I smiled.
“Bet you just would, too. Listen, though. You were too beat to talk, but whoever that was last night, he must have gone straight to the desk in what looked like the den ‘cause when I walked in, it was flat torn apart. Papers everywhere. I called Quig Smith and told him and he’s coming out this morning to see if he can get any fingerprints off the doors and desk. I didn’t touch anything inside and you never went in, so he’s going to tell Bynum’s family that he got an anonymous phone tip, okay?”
“Okay,” I yawned.
Very gently, he leaned over and kissed my uninjured cheek. “See you around, Ms. Judge,” and then he was gone.
• • •
A hot shower did wonders for my aching muscles, but it also brought out the bright red of my scratches. I hesitated between leaving them clean for quicker healing and covering them with makeup.
Vanity won, but I promised my face I’d take cream and face soap with me and wipe off all the makeup as soon as court was adjourned. That should be by noon or one o’clock and nothing was on the docket for next day.
And all the time I was dressing, Kidd’s words rang in my head. What sort of burglar tore apart a desk and scattered papers rather than grabbing up the nearest pawnable items? And did he want papers relating to the Alliance or papers relating to Pope Properties?
Suddenly I was reevaluating the figure I’d chased last night. Could it have been a woman? More specifically, Linville Pope? Barbara Jean’s accusations began to take on a tinge of reality.
Since it would be almost as quick to swing back past the island as to leave straight for Beaufort, I planned to wait till after court to pack and clean up. Unless Jay Hadley told (and why would she?), no one else knew I had half of Andy’s papers; but I’ve always thought it better to set the glass back on a sturdy table than cry over spilt milk, even though the cottage offered few places to hide a bundle of files. I briefly considered and rejected the linen closet with its neat stacks of sheets and towels, the oven, or between the mattresses.
In the end, I went for Poe’s solution. Neatly stacked for recycling beside the kitchen garbage basket were all the newspapers I’d read that week, both the
Outside, grinding gears announced the arrival of a large white truck in the field next to Mahlon’s. The door panel read COASTAL WASTE MANAGEMENT CORP, MOREHEAD CITY. Two muscular men stepped out, surveyed the scope of the job, then began tossing junk into the back of the truck. I saw Mickey Mantle go over and speak to them, then a few minutes later, he was tugging at those gamecock pens and moving them one at a time back nearer the house.
Looked like Linville Pope was serious about cleaning up her property. What was it she’d said yesterday? “I do not threaten. I merely state.”
No joke.
• • •
As I crossed the causeway to the mainland, I passed Quig Smith and he gave me a big wave.
At the courthouse, Chet did a double take when he saw my face. “My God, girl! You look like you ought to be standing in front of the bench instead of sitting on it.”
“Oh come on, it doesn’t look that bad, does it?” I examined my face again in the mirror. My hair half hid the scratch on my forehead and makeup almost covered the deeper one on my cheek.
He shook his head. “What happened?”
“I fell into a yucca plant.”
“Ouch!” He flinched in sympathy. “Just jumped up and bit you, huh?”
“What I get for playing Nancy Drew,” I said and told him about chasing the burglar who’d broken into Andy Bynum’s house. With some editing, of course. I didn’t need stories getting back to my family, and he didn’t need to know about the papers or Kidd Chapin either, which meant I had to fudge about what Quig Smith knew.
“I hope you won’t mention this to anybody. I didn’t want to get hung up down here, maybe have to stay over an extra day to answer dumb questions, so I didn’t give my name when I reported it,” I lied.
“You’re lucky they didn’t take a shot at you. Would you know him if you saw him again?”
I shook my head. “I’m not even sure if it was a man or a woman.”
“What about Mahlon Davis or Mickey Mantle?”
“You know them?”
