Price looked concerned. “Sam?”
The chief picked up my note, folded it very deliberately, put it in his pocket. “Guess I ate too fast.”
Price looked relieved. “You need some bicarb.”
Cobb took a moment to answer, then said gruffly, “I’ll be all right.” He took a deep breath. “In fact, I’ve got an idea.” His eyes slid around the room. He shook his head, turned to Price. “Find Wade Farrell. Ask him to come here. Tell him we’re up against a wall, but he can help solve two murders.”
Price put down his coffee mug. “Right now?”
“Right now.”
As soon as the door closed, Cobb strode to his desk, punched the intercom. “I’m in conference to everybody but Price.”
“No visitors.” His secretary’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“Right.”
“Calls?”
“I’ll take calls.” He switched off the intercom, looked around the room. He paced back and forth, started to speak, stopped, then blurted out, “If you’ve got something to say, say it. No more blackboards. No more notes.”
Praying that Wiggins was utterly immersed in Tumbulgum, I swirled into being. I chose an amethyst silk shirt jacket over a black silk top and black silk trousers and classic leather pumps in matching amethyst. Amethyst is such a good color for redheads. I hoped Wiggins, if he wasn’t utterly immersed in Tumbulgum, understood that a woman needs to look her best when dealing with a fractious male. To check my appearance, I imagined a black alligator handbag, plentifully filled. I retrieved the compact, flipped it open. I decided I was presentable.
Cobb sat down in his chair, rather heavily. “Officer Loy?”
In an instant, I swirled into uniform.
Cobb ground knuckles into one cheek. “I’m nuts. Totally nuts.”
I swirled back into my pretty outfit, not that a woman can’t look outstanding in a uniform. Still, I felt Chief Cobb might feel more comfortable with me in civilian dress. “Or,” I said brightly, “sometimes I’m Susan Flynn’s visiting friend, Jerrie Emiliani.”
“The redhead in the car.” His voice sounded rusty. “The redhead who disappeared.”
“Sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m not.” I hoped my smile was reassuring. “I’ll be brief. You know everything I know.” This wasn’t quite accurate. “Almost everything. I spoke earlier today with Leon Butler. He cared a lot about Susan Flynn. Leon’s brave. He’s willing to take a big chance to help us catch her murderer.”
“Help
“I’m doing my best to be of assistance.” I was demure. I certainly didn’t want to toot my own horn, but facts were facts. “You wouldn’t know nearly as much if I hadn’t been on the scene with Kim Weaver.”
“I guess that’s right.” Without looking down, he fumbled with his desk drawer, fished out the bag of M&M’s, poured some in his hand, and popped them in his mouth. His eyes never left my face. “All right. What have you got?”
I strolled nearer the desk, perched upon one edge. “Sam,” I paused, “I hope you don’t mind my calling you Sam. I feel that I know you very well. You’re honest, hardworking, smart, a cop who wants to catch a murderer. Now”—I leaned forward—
He pressed against the back of his chair.
“—here’s what you can do.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Yellow flames danced among the logs in the living room fireplace at Pritchard House. The house was quiet now, friends departed, the table cleared of casseroles. The unmistakable reminder of death was the overpowering scent of flowers from the florists’ spectacular arrangements in vases scattered atop tables, the piano, in the entry hall, curving on either side of the fireplace.
The small sofa near the rosewood piano was comfortable, but I was as tense as the mayor had been on long- ago election nights even though he’d spent plenty of walk-around money to bring friendly voters to the polls. I didn’t have any walk-around money. I’d cast my one vote, and the minute hand on the big grandfather clock continued to tick, tick, tick with no sign of victory.
On the floor in front of the fire, Keith and Peg played Chutes and Ladders. Keith’s face folded into an intense frown when he landed on a square that sent him sliding down.
Peg teased him. “That’s what happens when someone eats too much of anything, a tummy ache and a drop back to a lower square. Don’t be discouraged. You’ll land on a good square and scoot right up a ladder next time.”
The phone rang.
I scarcely breathed.
Peg retrieved the handset from the hall. “Hi, Johnny…”
I sank back in disappointment.
“It was a beautiful service. I’m glad you came.” A tiny frown pulled at her face. “Oh, everything’s okay. Except”—her voice was tight with misery—“sometimes I don’t think anything will ever be right again. Johnny, have they found that will?”
