his place in the mountains or he might’ve been working
over in the New Bern office. Like I say, he never lets me
know where he was going or when he was coming back.
He’d take a notion and he’d be gone and the only way
I’d know was if I happened to be out there in the hall
when he was leaving. ‘Back in a few days.’ That’s all he
ever told me. But you can ask Sid—Mr. Lomax.”
151
MARGARET MARON
She passed the plate of cinnamon rolls down the
table and Jamison took another. Dwight and Richards
passed.
“Do you know Ms. Smith?” Dwight asked. “Flame
Smith?”
Mrs. Samuelson was too disciplined to sniff, but the
expression that crossed her face was one that reminded
him of Bessie Stewart, his mother’s housekeeper who
had helped raise him. He would not have been surprised
to hear a muttered, “Common as dirt.”
“I’ve met her,” she admitted.
“And?”
“And nothing. If she was here in the mornings, I
fixed her some breakfast, too. Wasn’t any of my busi-
ness what went on upstairs, although I have to say that
she was always polite to me. Not like some of them he
brought home.”
Dwight paused at that. “He had other women?”
“He used to. When he and Mrs. Harris were still liv-
ing together. This last year though, it’s only been her.
That Smith woman.”
“Do you know their names?”
Mrs. Samuelson cupped her mug in her workworn
hands as if to hold in the warmth and her brown eyes
met Dwight’s in a steady look. “If you don’t mind, sir,
I’d just as soon not say.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but if Mr. Harris has been mur-
dered, we need to know who might have hated him
enough to do it.”
The housekeeper nodded to the two detectives. “They
say those hands and legs y’all’ve been finding might be
him?”
152
HARD ROW
“I’m afraid so.”
She shook her graying head. “I don’t see how any
woman could do that. That takes a hateful and hating
man.”
“Like a husband who finds out his wife’s been cheat-
ing on him?”
She thought about it, then nodded slowly. “Only one
