“Would you like to say why?”
Clearly she did not.
“Mother?”
“Oh, for pete’s sake, Susan! Don’t look at me like
that. I did
264
HARD ROW
off me. I fell in a stupid mud puddle and wrecked the
clothes I was wearing. Of course I went in and took a
shower. I knew he wouldn’t be there. He was afraid to
look me in the eye.”
“Why?” asked Mayleen Richards.
Until now, the deputy had sat so quietly that the oth-
ers had almost forgotten that she was in the room.
“I beg your pardon?” said Mrs. Harris.
“Everyone says he was a big man with a short fuse
and a strong will. Why was he afraid of you?”
“I—I didn’t mean it like that.” For the first time, her
voice faltered, but she made a quick recovery. “It was
because I could always get the best of him when we ar-
gued. That’s all.”
“The last time you spoke to him was last spring, you
said?” asked Dwight.
“That’s right.”
“People say you two had a huge fight then. What was
that about?”
Mrs. Harris stood up and looked down at Pete Taylor.
“Are we done here?”
Her daughter stood, too, a puzzled look on her face.
“Mother?”
“It had nothing to do with why he was killed,” she
said.
“Was it over his girlfriend?”
“I don’t want to talk about that here, Susan,” she
said and swept from the room.
Susan Hochmann turned to the two deputies with
a helpless shrug. “We’ll be staying at Dad’s place for a
couple of nights. Please call me if you learn anything
else.”
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MARGARET MARON
“I will,” said Dwight. “And Mrs. Hochmann?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you’ll call
know.”
She nodded and hurried after her mother. Dwight
looked at Richards. “What do you think?”
“I think I ought to go back to that migrant camp and
see if I can’t find out exactly what the Harrises fought
