Dark Tort

scowling, and Gus optimistic and brimming with confidence.

“Arch, where do you put your stuff?” Gus demanded as he unzipped his down jacket and dropped it to the floor. “Oops.” Gus, his appealing face shiny with melted snow, gave me a wide smile and scooped up the coat.

“I’ll show you,” Arch said, frowning. He hung his and Gus’s jackets on the hooks in the kitchen, then turned to give me a serious look. “We invited somebody to dinner.”

“What?”

Immediately defensive, Arch retorted, “It’s what you would have done! We found her crying in her house. It’s Wink Calhoun, Dusty’s friend. You know, the one who adopted Latte? Anyway, she’s coming, and she’s bringing Latte. Hope that’s okay. They’ll both be here in about five minutes—”

“I’ve already invited Wink, but not Latte—” I began.

“C’mon, Mrs. Schulz,” Gus pleaded, his cheerful, red-cheeked face upturned to mine. “That’s a really cool dog, and we don’t have one at my grandparents’ place. Anyway, he took right to me! We both said it would be okay if she brought him.”

“Call me Aunt G.,” I told him, and he broke into a huge smile.

“Okay, Aunt G.,” which came out sounding like Angie, “we had to do it. Wink was Dusty’s best friend. Plus, she lives in a garage or something.”

“I know, I know, I’ve already asked—”

“Actually, Wink lives in a guesthouse,” Arch corrected, in a tone that made me cringe, since it echoed my own. “It’s a garage that somebody turned into a guesthouse on Pine Way. Nobody was at the big house, so we backtracked to the driveway and followed the sound of the crying. And get this, she’s only a receptionist, and she bought three subscriptions.”

Tom asked, “Is that how she described herself, ‘only a receptionist’?”

“Yeah,” the boys chorused.

“She’s the receptionist at Hanrahan & Jule,” I informed the boys as the doorbell rang. Then I said, “You boys need to go find Scout the cat and put him in the cage we use to take him to the vet. If he attacks Latte again—”

But the boys were already scrambling away, calling exuberantly for the cat.

When I opened the door, Wink Calhoun, tall, pretty, and pink-eyed, hesitated before stepping across the threshold. Her flat, oblong face always seemed just a bit too large for her body, and a pronounced underbite prevented her from being beautiful. But she had a ready smile and a retro look, complete with finger-waved light brown hair that gave her an undeniable charm. She wore a navy blazer over a white oxford-cloth shirt and a long blackwatch-plaid kilt that complemented her slender, shapely figure. She also wore tassel loafers, which I noted were soaking wet.

Her lack of movement at the door frustrated Latte the basset hound, however. He let out several loud barks and bolted into the house, tearing the leash out of Wink’s hands.

“I’m so sorry!” Wink began as the boys tumbled out of the kitchen to welcome the dog. Wink called to Latte to calm down. Not only did the basset hound ignore her, he started barking wildly as he raced around in a circle from the front hall, through the living room, then the dining room, then into the kitchen, back through the hall and the living room…until he hit the dining room again. Scout the cat, who had been hiding in the basement, took that opportunity to streak up the stairs, where the boys squealed and pounced on him. Jake the bloodhound, who had been sitting in his usual spot out on the deck, was clawing madly on the back door to be let in, all while howling at the top of his lungs to be allowed to be part of the fun. Latte, who seemed to be encouraged by the chaos, continued to make a mad circular dash through the rooms on the main floor, until Tom scooped him up in his arms.

“I’m telling you, Miss G.,” Tom called over Latte’s hollering, “apprehending criminals is nothing to this!”

“This is so cool!” Arch said, smiling gleefully, when he and Gus returned to the kitchen.

“Here, let me have him,” Gus was insisting to Tom. Tom allowed a squirming Latte to be taken by Gus. Latte, sensing the weakness of the transfer, wiggled madly and leaped out of Gus’s arms, only to begin his crazed circuit once more. Tom caught him again in the kitchen, and quickly transferred the dog outside.

“I made it!” Wink said. “You wanted me to come over, and the boys said—”

“Tom’s fixing a roast. Come on in.”

I shut the door behind her and opened my arms. She walked into my hug and began to shake with sobs.

“I’m so sorry, oh, dear Wink, I’m so sorry,” I repeated over and over.

Tom peeked out the kitchen door. The boys’ voices behind him were querulous. Where’s Mom? Why won’t you let the dogs in? Why doesn’t Wink come into the kitchen? But when Tom caught my eye and saw the embrace, he backed silently into the kitchen and quieted the boys.

At length, Wink stopped crying. She took a tissue out of her blazer pocket, cleaned up her face, and regarded me.

“Let’s talk in the living room,” I said gently. “How about a glass of sherry?”

Wink swallowed and didn’t move. “Sorry about falling apart. Dusty was my best friend in the firm. This happens to other people. It doesn’t happen to people you know.”

“The cops are working on it,” I reassured her. “It’s a good sheriff’s department. And later on, you and I can talk about what they were all up to.”

Wink pressed her lips together firmly. “I don’t think the cops are going to find out what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know these people the way I do.”

CHAPTER 9

So tell me about them,” I said.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you. I really do want to find out what happened to Dusty,” she said. Her mouth turned down. “I just don’t want to hear any of the gory details, you know?”

“Don’t worry.”

“And I can’t divulge any, you know, of the confidential business stuff, although I really don’t care at this point.”

“The cops talked to you, right?”

She looked over at the fire. “Yeah.”

“You told them everything pertinent, I hope?” When she nodded, I said, “Let’s go sit down.”

I led her into the living room, where I poured two glasses of sherry. I knew I probably shouldn’t have more booze, especially after I’d had only a few hours’ worth of sleep the previous night, and part of that slumber had taken place in a moving car. But I’d hardly touched the glass Tom had given me, and I wanted Wink to feel better. Plus, I wanted to loosen up her tongue, even to facts she might not think were pertinent.

“What do the cops know so far, about Dusty’s death?” she asked, once she’d thanked me for her glass of amber liquid.

Immediately wary, I said, “Not much.” The coroner and the rest of law enforcement usually kept secret the cause and manner of death, in the hope that a killer might unwittingly give away some detail that had not been released to the public. I wished Tom would join us, but I could hear him out in the kitchen. He’d closed both doors, had let both hounds back in, and was now listening to Arch and Gus alternate in telling stories about the people who’d bought magazine subscriptions. Without thinking, I checked Wink’s wrist. I was ashamed to be looking, even unconsciously, for Dusty’s bracelet. But crooks, Tom was always telling me, were notoriously stupid. Wink’s shirt had long sleeves, and I couldn’t see anything. Still, I told myself I was being ridiculous. Wink had been Dusty’s best friend.

I said, “What did you mean when you said I didn’t know these people the way you do? Do you think someone will hurt you if you tell the cops something? Or even if you tell me?”

“I’m just spooked.” She took a sip of sherry and looked around the living room, apparently as confused as most visitors by the combination of cheap orange upholstered furniture and clearly valuable antique wood pieces.