“Call me anything you want but late to dinner.”
She looked at him but didn’t laugh.
“Tracy, do you have any idea who could’ve done that to Temple?”
“Gosh no. Who would want to do something like that to her? It must’ve been a stupid robber.”
“We found some money in a drawer. He, or she, didn’t take that. Had Temple quarreled with anyone that you knew about?”
“Oh sure. Her sister in Chicago. She thought Temple was, you know, a hick. Living in the country like this. Said Temple should move to the city and make a name for herself.”
“Anyone else? How about boyfriends?”
“Oh boy.” Tracy gave a crooked smile. “That was one thing about Temple. She picked some real losers. Said so herself. That was the only dumb thing about her, she kept picking the wrong guy. Let’s see, there was this tall, skinny guy, an actor, he lived with her a couple of months. Something St. John, I can’t remember his first name. He was kinda creepy-looking, but I don’t think he’d hurt a fly.” The girl lifted her head suddenly. “Wait a minute, there was a guy, Chico. Chico McAllister. Drove a pulp truck. He got mad at her once, said he’d break both her arms if she didn’t quit playing the piano when he was watching football.”
“Hmm.”
“Bunk?”
“What’s that?”
“I need to know something. Was it fast for Temple? Did she suffer?”
“I don’t think so. My guess is she went quickly. Probably didn’t feel it.”
“Was she... was her head like bashed in?”
The chief shook his head. “Her face wasn’t touched. As a matter of fact, she looked really nice. Like she was about to go somewhere. Had on some lipstick and eyeshadow.”
Tracy looked at him, frowning. “Are you sure about the makeup?”
“Of course I am.”
“She never wore makeup unless she was going out. And she almost never went out during the week.” Tracy reached down and idly scratched her pup’s ear. “There could be another reason for the makeup. She might have put it on if she was expecting a man visitor.”
For the second time in less than a minute, Bunk said, “Hmm.”
“Come on,” said Chico. “You have to be kidding. You don’t think I’d do something like that?”
They’d found him outside the trailer he shared with his wife and child, changing the oil filter on a stake-body truck. His hands were covered with black oil, and flecks of oil twinkled in his beard. A small gold earring dangled from one ear, and a red scar looped under his left eye.
“We don’t think anything right now. We’re just asking questions. I understand you went together for a while.”
A pale, pregnant woman had come to the door of the trailer, and peering out between her legs was a little boy with a plastic duck.
“We went together for maybe a year. Part of that time I lived with her, yeah. Everyone knows it. My wife knows it. She was a nice lady, I can’t think who’d do this. You think I did it?”
“We haven’t come to any conclusions yet,” said Hanley, while Bunk grimaced. “The investigation is in the preliminary stage.”
“Yeah?” Chico looked at him. “Look, I may be a little rough around the edges, but I don’t go in for killing people. Ain’t that right, Charman?” He turned toward the woman standing now on the trailer’s porch. Behind her the boy’s eyes were big as silver dollars. “I may be rough but I ain’t evil, ain’t that right?”
A sudden smile blossomed on the woman’s face. “You’re sweet,” she called to him.
“See that? Who would do this? Maybe something to do with land. I knew she was worried about a developer setting up something next door. Every chance she got, she’d pick up more land.”
Hanley was taking notes.
“Thanks,” said Bunk. “If you think of anything else, let us know.”
“Excuse me,” said Hanley, “but we have a report that you once threatened her.”
“Huh?” The logger stared at the young cop, and he didn’t look happy. “Didn’t you used to work at Barcomb Motors?”
Hanley grinned. “Got tired of eating grease and losing fingernails. We were told you once threatened to break both Temple’s arms if she kept playing the piano during football games.”
“Who told you that?” Chico dropped onto his haunches, kneaded his forehead leaving an oily smear. “Maybe I did say that.” He glanced up at the sky. “If I did, I’ll answer for it someday.” He stood, a distant look in his eye. “That was the old days when football meant something to me. Sure, I still like the game, but not like that any more.” He gave Bunk a searching look. “Did I really say that? Maybe I’ve learned something since then after all.”
“There’s that kid again,” said Jeff as they pulled up to the curb outside the police station after investigating a report of a vicious dog. Tracy was riding her bike up and down the sidewalk. “She doesn’t let up. Maybe we ought to swear her in as a deputy and let her conduct the investigation. You and I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
Bunk climbed out of the car. “How’s it going, Tracy?”
The girl produced a weak smile. “I don’t know. I’ve got another voice teacher. Sabrina Moffat. She called right after I saw you last time and suggested I start up with her. I’ve had one lesson already.”
“Do you like her?”
“Not much. She’s not very friendly, and she’s super strict. If you’re five minutes late, that’s too bad, you don’t get any extra time. Temple used to give me extra time unless another student was waiting.”
“Interesting.” Hanley stood behind Bunk. “Sabrina called that niece of mine who was a student of Temple’s. Pretty pushy lady.”
Later that afternoon, Bunk and Jeff went to Ms. Moffat’s dark, musty house on Depot Street in town. A student was trilling inside, her voice scooting up and down the scales like a rabbit.
They went in as the student, a young woman with dark eyes and a brisk stride, was leaving. Hanley looked after her and said softly to himself, “Hey.”
Sabrina, six feet tall, square-jawed, glared at him. Reluctantly she let the two into the vestibule.
“You’ve taken on a lot of new students, haven’t you?” said Bunk.
“Isn’t that my business?”
“A lot of Temple’s students.”
Sabrina’s bluegreen eyes narrowed. “Just what are you implying?”
“Where were you around eight night before last?” said Jeff.
“I don’t like any of these questions,” said Sabrina. “It so happens, I was home, reading a book.” She looked pointedly at Jeff. “Something you probably don’t do very often yourself.”
“That’s right, I can’t read. Can someone vouch for the fact that you were home at that time?”
“My elkhound. But I don’t think she’d want to talk to you gentlemen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.”
“Nice lady,” said Jeff as they went down the steps toward their Crown Victoria. “I wonder how long my niece will last taking lessons with her.”
“I hear there’s going to be an auction at Temple’s place,” said Tracy, pedaling up to Bunk outside the police station. He was getting into his patrol car on his way to investigate a nighttime burglary at the Rite Way Sports Shop. “I wonder who’ll buy that painting Temple had? It’s worth a small fortune.”
“Painting?”
“It hung in the little bedroom at the back of the house. She kept it there so most people never saw it. I liked it because there’s a kitty in it. A French painter. Vooleur? Voolez? Something like that.”