“Anybody besides Dwight and I wouldn’t believe it either,” I assured him.
Deputy Jack Jamison arrived right behind us and introduced me to his wife, Cindy. I knew they’d become parents back in late summer, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember if it was a boy or a girl.
“How’s that baby?” I asked, hoping they’d give me a hint.
“Fine,” said Jamison, both of them beaming. His wife was pretty, fair-haired, and, like her husband, a little on the tubby side, but a cuddlesome armful if the way Jamison was looking at her meant anything.
“This is only the third time we’ve both left him,” she said shyly.
“We’re honored, then,” I said. “Is he sleeping through yet?” (From listening to some of my friends bitch about it, sleeping through the night seems to be the first big thing in a newborn’s development.)
“Finally!” said the proud papa, and she added, “In fact, we may have to leave early so I can feed him before he goes down for the night.”
Which naturally meant that we all immediately cast discreet glances toward her generous bustline. Cindy Jamison seemed like a nice person and I hoped no one else would notice the faint milk stain on the nipple area of her Christmassy gold satin blouse.
“Well, hey, hey, hey!” called several voices as we passed to the bar area, and glasses were raised to us.
Tonight, the bar was stocked with beer and wine only, and it was strictly cash. “But,” said the bartender Jerry had provided, “I was told your money’s no good here tonight, Major Bryant.”
Dwight ordered a glass of Chardonnay for me and, after looking over the selection of beers, settled for a Michelob and added a bill to the tip glass.
“Hey, girl!” said a familiar voice and there was K.C. Massengill, whom I hadn’t seen since Dwight and I announced our engagement. Her hair was still sun-bleached from the summer—she has a place out on Lake Jordan—but she’s always worn it long and now it was cut in a short, sleek style that flattered her slender neck and sparkly chandelier earrings. More surprising than her haircut was her escort—fellow SBI agent Terry Wilson.
Once upon a time several years ago, for about twenty minutes between his second and third wives, I actually considered hooking up with Terry. Then I came to my senses and faced the fact that I would always come third behind his young son and his job as head of the SBI’s unsolved murders team. Somehow we had the good sense to stay friends—probably because he’s another lawman who likes to fish with Daddy. He and Dwight have gotten tight since Dwight came back to Colleton County, so we run into each other fairly often. He swears that he’s known for at least a year that Dwight and I were on a collision course for marriage.
“And another one bites the dust,” said K.C., giving me a hug.
“I like the haircut,” I told her, “but I thought you needed it long so that you could change your looks on stakeouts.”
She smiled. “No more stakeouts. Got promoted last month and now I sit at a desk most of the time.”
“Really? Congratulations!”
Buffing her nails against the tunic of her black velvet pantsuit, she murmured with mock modesty, “Thank you, thank you.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna get old and fat together,” Terry said, referring to the fact that he himself spends more time behind a desk these days than out in the field.
As for getting old and fat, he might be carrying an extra five or six pounds around his waist, but K.C. was as slim and sexy as ever.
“So what’s going on here?” I asked her later when we were in the ladies’ room, freshening up our lipstick. “Y’all just ride out from Garner together or are you two seeing each other?”
“Well, our offices are in the same wing so, yeah, we do see more of each other these days.”
“C’mon, K.C. This is me. Give.”
“He makes me laugh,” she said.
“And?”
“He’s like that camel that gets his nose under the tent flap, and the next thing you know, the camel’s sleeping in your bed.”
“Y’all are living together?”
“It started out with fishing.” She capped her lipstick and slipped the case back into her black velvet clutch. “I let him put his boat in the water at my landing this summer and one thing sorta led to another. I’m still not completely sure that he’s not in it for the bass.”
“Oh, right,” I said.
She shook her head in bemusement. “I never intended to tie up with somebody on the job.”
“Me either.”
“Oh well, those roads to hell—they do keep getting themselves paved, don’t they?” she said, and we smiled at each other in the mirror.
Tonight, Jerry’s red tablecloths had been replaced by snowy white ones with alternating red and green napkins. The centerpieces were pots of red poinsettias wrapped in green foil.
Although Tracy’s death was again the main topic of conversation around the room, for most of them it was more a matter of professional interest than a sense of personal loss. Yes, Tracy had conferred with many of these officers about various cases under investigation, but that was business. She had not socialized with them.
