'Hell, are you accusing your own client?'
'Just asking about standard procedure.'
Walker's soft blue eyes got somewhat less soft. But his tone didn't change. Just an open, friendly guy. 'Hey, Spense,' he said. 'You come all the way out here from Boston to tell me how to do my job?'
'You're the only cop in town?'
'Got four patrolmen,' Walker said. 'There's a sheriff's substation about forty miles east and if I get in over my head they'll send a deputy out.'
'You get in over your head much?'
Walker smiled.
'Hell no. This is a town full of yuppies with too much dough. I feel like I'm showboating if I carry a gun. Was it Mary Lou hired you, or somebody else?'
'How about the Dell?' I said.
Again the eyes changed, but the rest of him was friendly.
'A bunch of overaged hippies,' he said. 'Don't bother anybody.'
'And The Preacher?'
Walker shook his head.
'Don't know him. They all got strange names out there. You know, Moon Dog, Dappa, names like that. And they're probably smoking a little cannabis. But, hey, I start cracking down on people smoking dope, I'll have most of the town in jail. Technically the Dell's not in my jurisdiction, anyway. It's county land.'
'So they're not doing anything wrong, and if they are, it's the county's problem.'
Walker pointed his finger at me with the thumb cocked, and winked and dropped the thumb.
'There you go;' he said.
Chapter 3
AMY LOU BUCKMAN lived in a smallish onestory house with white siding, on a cul de sac at the end of a short street on the west edge of Potshot. The yard had no grass. It was sand and stones and several cactus plants. Somehow it managed to look well kept, though I wasn't sure how one kept a stone patch well. Behind the house was a stable and a rail-fenced corral in which several chestnut-colored horses stood in the shade with their heads down, and twitched their skin against the occasional fly willing to endure the heat.
I rang the bell. Mary Lou was in blue shorts and a white tank top when she opened the door. She still smelled of good soap.
'It's you,' she said.
'Yes it is,' I said.
She stepped aside and let me into the air-conditioned house. A yellow Lab wearing a red bandanna for a collar jumped up and attempted to lap me into submission. Mary Lou pushed her away.
'This is Jesse,' she said. 'I do my best, but I can't control her.'
'And shouldn't,' I said.
I bent down and let Jesse lap me for a bit. Then we all went into Mary Lou's gleaming kitchen. The house was so polished, and swept, and scrubbed, and waxed, and ironed, and starched, that it felt as if I were making a mess just by walking through it. Mary Lou and I sat across from each other at a small bleached oak table. Jesse sat on the floor next to it and looked up with her mouth open and her tongue hanging out. Her tail thumped on the floor.
'This is a dog who's been fed from the table,' I said.
'Do you disapprove?'
'No. Dogs are supposed to be fed from the table.'
'Do you have a dog?'
'Susan and I share a German shorthair named Pearl,' I said.
'That helps,' Mary Lou said.
'If you're going to hire a thug, it's better to hire one who likes dogs?'
She smiled.
'Yes, something like that,' she said. 'Will you have coffee?'
'Sure,' I said.
While she was making the coffee, Jesse kept shifting her attention from Mary Lou to me. Food can come from anywhere.
'What have you been up to?' Mary Lou said.
'Well, Mrs. Buckman…'
'Please call me Lou.'
I nodded.
