``Golf?'' He shook his head. ``The closest I get to a coun- try club is . . . well, nothing you want to hear about.''
She snorted. ``You think I don't know what men do out- side the gates when they have to cover their side bets? Is that what you do? Finance weakness?''
With a shrug, he said, ``I do a little of this, a little of that.''
``Hmph. Well, I can see you've got good red blood in your veins, none of this thin blue stuff.'' She pointed her scissors in my direction. ``What are you doing here, may I ask?''
He nodded at me. ``I go where she says.''
Pinky seemed to relax. She shifted her fierce gaze to me. ``All right, Miss Blackbird. If he isn't here to collect a debt, I can guess what brings you to my doorstep. But I'll tell you right up front--I'm not going to spill anything to the police that didn't really happen.''
``I wouldn't dream of asking you to do that, Pinky. Have you spoken with the police?''
``Of course. They were here first thing this morning. Woke up Kerry, in fact.'' Pinky's fingertips slipped to the bruise on her wrist. ``She's in training and needs her sleep. So I told them what happened, and they left in good order.''
``I wonder if you'd mind telling me what happened last night?'' I asked. ``After you left Popo's salon, I mean. Did you see her in the store?''
Pinky eyed me with suspicion. ``Why do you want to know? Are you helping that milquetoast, Alan Rutledge? I hear he got himself arrested.''
``I don't think he killed Popo. Do you?''
``I doubt it. That boy was under his mama's thumb too long to have enough gumption to hurt a fly. He's not much of a man, is he?'' She couldn't help glancing up at Michael as he sauntered over to the tall windows with Spike.
I said, ``If Alan didn't kill Popo, the real killer is still on the loose. And from what happened in Popo's salon last night, I'm guessing she was murdered by someone who was there. I heard some very ugly talk.'' SLAY BELLES 45
Pinky's fierce gaze sharpened. ``Are you accusing me?''
``No. But I wonder if you know something about Darwin, something that maybe you didn't tell the police.''
``Popo's assistant? That little mole with the pointy nose?'' Pinky bristled. ``I only know him as Popo's gatekeeper.''
``I couldn't help noticing that you . . . well, you tried to give him some cash.''
``A Christmas gratuity,'' she said quickly. ``I'm as gener- ous as possible during the holidays, especially to service people.''
``But he reacted as if you were trying to bribe him.''
``I did no such thing!'' Pinky moved with such agitation that her lap desk overturned and landed on top of one of the sleeping pugs. He snarled, but subsided when Pinky put her hand soothingly on his back. More calmly, she said, ``It was a tip, that's all. Can I help it if he refused? He's been in trouble at that store, so he's probably playing it safe.''
``Do you know about his trouble?''
``Only gossip, which you don't expect me to repeat, I'm sure.''
``Of course not.''
``He nearly lost his job before,'' Pinky said promptly. ``He was in hot water over some missing merchandise. Even Popo suspected he was the culprit.''
``Did you hear that from Popo herself?''
She looked uneasy. ``I don't remember. But Popo dis- liked her assistant. I believe she was trying to get him fired.''
``How do you know that?''
Before Pinky had time to respond, we were interrupted by the arrival of Kerry Pinkerton, a tall, powerfully built young woman with none of her grandmother's natural physical grace, but plenty of brute strength showing in her shoulders.
She strode into the room without noticing me. ``Where the hell is Bunton?'' she demanded. ``He was supposed to have my towels ready when--''
``Hello.'' I stood up. ``You must be Kerry. I'm Nora Blackbird. What a pleasure to meet you.''
I moved to shake her hand, but Kerry skidded to a stop several yards away. Dressed in damp running clothes, she had pulled her dark hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail 46 Nancy Martin to exercise. Her face, suntanned and shining with perspira- tion, had a stormy set to the jaw and brow, but I saw her throw a mental switch that engaged her professional expres- sion instantly--a bland smile, a superior tilt to her nose, no light in her hazel-eyed gaze.
``Hello,'' she said coolly, keeping her distance. ``I hope you don't mind if I skip the handshake. I have to keep my grip healthy for the tour.''
``Of course. Congratulations on your success. Your grandmother tells me you're going to be a big winner this year.''
Kerry walked closer, hands on hips, her athletic stride long-legged and loose. Her running shoes were caked with wet crumbs of dirt, as if she'd been jogging on the grounds of the estate. Ignoring the carpet, she came close enough to loom over her grandmother. ``Really?'' Her voice had an edge. ``What else have you been saying about me, Gramma?''
Pinky's upright posture seemed to shrink before my eyes. Instinctively, her left hand moved to cover the bruise on her wrist again.
I said, ``Your grandmother is very proud of you. Justifi- ably so. Are you going to any tournaments soon?''
``Not soon enough.'' Belatedly, Kerry tried to make the words into a joke by smiling coldly. ``I'm supposed to leave day after tomorrow to start training. Last night my coach gave me a farewell party. What are you doing here, if you don't mind my asking? I'm a little protective of Gramma, you see. She's getting old, and people take advantage of her sometimes.''
``I came to talk about last night. I was at the store
