“Part of the fun is getting there first. We are competitive, as all animals are. And don’t look so put out. We are just animals, especially when it comes to sexual conquest. The survival of the fittest. It’s how the species improves.”
“That is the craziest bull—” Tinkie sputtered before I cut in.
“Suffice it to say, we don’t see eye to eye on this. But it’s neither here nor there to our case. So do you know if Tulla had made a play for Bart?” I was looking for a reason Kathleen would be interested in knocking Clarissa into the river—and then why Tulla might want to frame Kathleen for the dirty deed of destroying the car.
“I don’t know. Ask Tulla.”
“I doubt she’ll be as open about her … sexual proclivities as you are.”
“Try her. You might be surprised.” Clarissa waved toward the door. “Now, you should leave. I have to finish my morning business.”
I wanted to ask who her business was, but I didn’t. I had a better idea for that. “We’ll speak with Tulla. I hope she’ll be truthful. You might encourage her if you really want us to close this case.”
“I can do that.” She led us to the door and opened it. “No car?” she asked.
“Uber.” Tinkie held out her phone. “We’ll call one now.”
“Good idea.” Clarissa couldn’t push us out of the house fast enough. She closed the door while Tinkie was still looking up Dallas Sweeney’s number.
“Hold off on the Uber,” I said as I edged Tinkie across the porch and down the steps. When we hit the sidewalk, I urged her left. The tree-shaded street, so beautiful, was empty of traffic. The sidewalks had all been swept clean. This was a neighborhood of big houses, spacious lawns, established gardens, and a sense of the old South that made me realize how barren of character so many of the new subdivisions were.
“Where are we going?” Tinkie asked when we’d covered half a block.
“To that big shrub.”
“For what?”
“To hide in it. I want to see who pulls out of Clarissa’s house. Remember, there was someone in there. A cop, I believe.”
“Right!” Tinkie was all in.
We ducked into the thickness of a huge Indian hawthorn that provided plenty of cover. It wasn’t five minutes before a silver Mustang came out of Clarissa’s drive, moving far too fast for that neighborhood. Luck was with us—the driver came in our direction. The man behind the wheel was tall, broad-shouldered, and most of his face was hidden in shadow, but I clearly saw a Columbus city police officer’s hat on his head, the old Smokey variety of hat.
“That looks like Jerry Goode!” Tinkie said, as shocked as I was.
Indeed, it did appear to be the lawman who was suing Bricey Presley for the death of his grandmother. How in the world had he fallen into Clarissa’s clutches?
22
We needed to talk to Coleman about possible ways to get Goode to talk to us. I didn’t see that Tinkie and I had any leverage to make him spill the beans about his relationship with Clarissa. Perhaps Coleman had a solution.
Dallas Sweeney answered the call for an Uber, and before long we were on the outskirts of Columbus headed to the Bissonnette House. “Dallas, what’s the story on Jerry Goode. He seems like a good guy. Is he a good police officer?” I asked.
“Never heard anything hinky about him. Lost his grandmother at that Supporting Arms nursing home. There was something not right about that situation, but if I heard the details, I don’t remember.”
“We checked the place out,” Tinkie said. “It looked well run. There was an issue with a private nurse.”
“Right!” Dallas snapped her fingers and gave us a grin in the rearview mirror. “I remember. Sounded to me like he had a case against Bricey Presley.”
“Is Jerry known to be a player in town?” I asked.
“He’s dated above his station, as the elite class would say.” She was mocking them big-time.
“Why would anyone in law enforcement get involved with a group of cheaters?” Tinkie asked. “I don’t much care what people do in the bedroom, as long as all parties involved know the score. But isn’t adultery illegal in Mississippi?”
“It’s a crime.” I knew that from listening to my parents talk. My dad, a lawyer and judge, enjoyed discussing the law with my mother at the dinner table. I learned a lot just by listening. “And it’s also a cause for calculating alimony for the injured spouse.”
“Now wait a minute,” Dallas said. “Sleeping with another consenting adult is a crime in this state?”
“Sleeping with a married consenting adult.” I clarified the point of the law. “If you aren’t married, you’re just easy.” I gave her my smartass grin. “If you are married, then you’re breaking the law if you sleep with someone other than your spouse.”
“Are you sure that’s still the law?” Dallas asked.
I had to smile. I wondered if she was worried about her conduct. “It’s the law, Dallas. Just steer clear of married men and you’ll be fine.”
“Sometimes you don’t know they’re married,” Dallas pointed out.
“In that case, I believe ignorance would be taken into consideration.” I didn’t know for absolute sure, but she looked way too worried.
“That sounds a little better. It’s just too easy for someone to get tricked.”
There was definitely a story behind that statement. Too bad we were pulling up in front of the B and B.
“Will we see you during the mumming?” I asked Dallas.
“Not me. I’m working. I like the idea of acting out an old familiar story, but it’s a matter of economics.”
“Thanks, Dallas.” We hopped out and hurried inside.
When we opened the front door I stopped so suddenly that Tinkie bumped into my back.
“Move it along, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie grumped. She looked around me and froze.
The entire parlor was strewn with colorful costumes. There was a monk’s robe, a chain mail outfit, a green jersey and tights with a bow and quiver, a gorgeous dress cut
