how Andrew and April had reacted to the news. In return, he told me about the unexpectedly big bank account that Braz had secretly squirreled away and how hurt Tally had seemed over the discovery. He also shared what Mayleen Richards had learned while backtracking on Braz’s storage-locker buys. There was a Georgia woman who’d bought back some of her mother’s furniture, which would seem to do away with any motive. Besides, Mayleen had talked to a couple of people down there in the transportation department who had gone out to dinner with the woman in Atlanta Friday evening.
The owner of the other furniture buy, a massive set of oak bedroom furniture, had been located as well.
“It was part of his ex-wife’s divorce settlement, but after they sold the house, she didn’t have any place to put it, so he stored it for her, paid the first three months’ rent and after that, forwarded all the notices on to her. Mayleen said he sounded sorta happy it’d been forfeited. Said he never had a good night’s sleep on that bed from the minute she bought it.”
That left the negligees as the only other buy in North Carolina.
“And it looks like your guess that she was keeping it secret from her husband might be on the money,” Dwight told me as I pulled into the parking lot beside the Agricultural Hall. “She sent a brother to try to save the stuff, not her husband. And she seems to have let it drop rather than making an issue out of it that might would get back to him.”
“She had the locker six years? That’s some affair,” I said. “Sounds like a divorce would’ve been easier.”
“What would be easier is if you’d get a bigger car,” he said in exasperation, untangling himself from the seat belt.
Even with the seat pushed back as far as it would go, Dwight has trouble getting his long legs in and out of my Firebird and he mouths off about it every time he rides with me. (There’s a reason so many law officers favor Crown Victorias and pickup trucks. Most of those men are as big as Dwight.)
Although the sun had set, it wasn’t completely dark yet, but the carnival was in full swing. Toe-tapping country-western music poured from the loudspeakers. The Ferris wheel was turning and the Tilt-A-Whirl held shrieking teenagers, but there seemed fewer people on the midway than on Friday night. It was still early, though.
I didn’t recognize the young woman working the Guesser, at the front of the midway. We watched while she guessed a little girl’s weight and was off by four pounds. “You must have hollow bones, honey. Pick yourself a bear.”
The child happily chose a green one, which her dad clipped to the belt loop on her jeans; then she scampered away toward the Ferris wheel.
“Guess your age, guess your weight,” the woman began when I approached her.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m looking for Tally Ames. Do you know if she’s working this evening?”
“At the Dozer,” she answered, already losing interest in me and gazing past my shoulder to catch the eyes of the people entering behind us.
Almost immediately, we ran into the carnival’s patch, Dennis Koffer. He didn’t recognize me from Friday night, but he had a smile for Dwight. “How’s it going, Major? You here tonight on business or pleasure?”
“Some of both.” He shook hands and turned to me. “Have you met Judge Knott?”
“Judge, it’s a pleasure,” Koffer said, offering his hand.
Nothing changed in his manner that I could pinpoint, yet when he heard my name, I sensed that he recognized it and knew my relationship with Tally.
“Anything you can tell me about your investigation?” he asked Dwight, relighting the cigar that seemed permanently attached to the corner of his mouth. “I mean, anything besides what Arnie told me about the kid that punched Braz out?”
“Nothing yet,” Dwight said. “I may need your help tomorrow. We’re going to come back and interview everybody again. See if anyone’s remembered something useful.”
“Sure. You’ve got my pager number. Just give me a buzz.” At that moment, almost on cue, the pager went off. After glancing at the number displayed, he said, “Y’all enjoy yourselves tonight,” and hurried back the way he’d come, trailing a cloud of fragrant cigar smoke.
I noticed Dwight noticing Koffer’s sturdy leather shoes as the man walked away and I punched his arm hard. “I thought you were off duty.”
“I am.” All the same, he looked closely at the place where Koffer had stood. The ground had been trampled into dust and we saw that his shoes had left little triangles across the instep and heel.
We walked on down the busy midway, occasionally bumping into people we knew, though most were strangers. Invitations came thick and fast from the colorfully lit game stands to come on over and try our luck, test our skills, step right up and have a little fun.
“You gonna win me a stuffed animal to guard my bedroom door?” I teased.
He shot me a sidelong glance and his lips twitched. “Never noticed that you needed one,” he said dryly.
That was so like the old Dwight that I laughed in relief and linked my arm through his.
“What?” he said.
“I really was afraid things might change between us,” I confessed. “But you were right. They haven’t, have they?”
“Well, one thing’s changed,” he drawled. “Or weren’t you paying attention last night?”
“Oh, I was paying attention.”
The tingle was suddenly back and I could have jumped his bones right there. (It really had been a long dry summer.)
“I even took notes,” I added demurely.
