As the door closed behind Mrs. Norton, Detective Sergeant Price said firmly, “I think I know who she is. Not a chance that red was out of a bottle. Her hair glistens like copper in the summer sun.”
Who would have thought a homicide detective would be so poetic?
I sent a little telepathic message to Bobby Mac: He’s adorable, but you are my man. Not to worry. Bobby Mac always had an eye for good-looking women and understood when I admired a manly male. But we always danced the last dance together.
Cobb glanced at Price, his gaze speculative. “Right.” He turned to the artist. “Okay, Tammie, print up some copies for us.”
The artist made a change, smudged charcoal, added a stronger line to the jaw.
I nodded in approval. A very nice likeness indeed. However, my pleasure ebbed, it wouldn’t be helpful to have this image broadcast.
The artist returned the pastel pencils to their box and slipped the sketch pad and box into a portfolio. “Major crook?” Her voice was startlingly deep.
Cobb cleared his throat. “She may have information that would be useful in an investigation.”
The artist stood almost six feet tall. Although she was careless with makeup—too much eyeliner and an orange lip gloss that bordered on strange—I admired her silvery gray silk charmeuse cap-sleeve blouse and an ankle-length bias-cut jacquard skirt with swirls of raspberry, silver, and indigo and open silver sandals. I supposed she didn’t mind cold toes.
She walked to the door, then turned. For an instant, her posture froze. She looked at me.
I looked back at her.
Our eyes met.
Uh-oh.
Some children see what isn’t there. Rarely is that true of adults.
The artist slouched against the lintel. “Is she on the side of the angels?”
Detective Sergeant Price’s generous mouth twisted in an odd, lopsided grin. “I think so. I definitely think so.”
Tammie waggled her portfolio. “Who knows? She may be closer than you think.” She gave a gurgle of laughter. “I have a feeling she’ll be in touch.”
I nodded vigorously.
Her eyes, also silvery gray, watched me. “I’ll get the copies out as soon as possible.”
I shook my head with equal vigor.
“Of course”—her tone was casual—“we’ve been having some problems with the program. Sometimes when I try to make the transfer to digital, everything gets screwed up.” As she turned away, she gave me a decisive, amused wink.
The door closed behind her, and I started to breathe again.
Peg glanced at her watch. “Chief Cobb, I’d lost track of the time.” Her tone was anxious. “I’m due at Susan’s lawyer’s office at two and I need to take Keith home.”
Chief Cobb held up his hand. “If you can spare just a minute more, Miss Flynn.” He was genial, but his eyes were intent. “How did you happen to have lunch with the woman Officer Cain identifies as the driver of the car the night your aunt died?”
Peg turned her hands up in amazement. “I was shocked when Johnny told me that.” Her face turned pink. “I mean, when Officer Cain told me. I’d never seen her before today. She came into Lulu’s behind us and sat down next to Keith. Keith spoke to her and she was very nice to him. If she knew Susan, she didn’t tell me. It’s so odd, all of it. But I’m sure Jo—Officer Cain isn’t mistaken. He’s always very precise.” Her face turned even pinker. “We were lab partners in chemistry in high school. He is very methodical.”
Johnny’s face was pink, too. He carefully didn’t look toward Peg. “Susan Flynn said the redheaded woman was a friend from out of town.” He gazed earnestly at the chief. “There’s no reason Peg—I mean Miss Flynn—would have known her.”
Small steps sounded on the wooden floor. Keith ran toward Peg. “I found M&M’s. Can I have some?” He pointed at Chief Cobb’s oak desk. A side drawer had been pulled out.
“Oh, Keith.” Peg came to her feet.
Cobb grinned. “That’s okay. All right, Keith, it looks like you’re a good M&M detective.” He strode to the desk, lifted out a big bag of the small candies. “I’ll bet you count good, too. How many candies does a good detective deserve?”
Keith’s eyes danced with pleasure. He held up both hands, fingers outspread.
The chief laughed aloud and measured out ten M&M’s.
Peg looked at her watch. “I’m going to be late to the meeting. Leon Butler was going to show Keith some horses, but I don’t have time to drive out there.”
Johnny Cain stepped forward. “Sir, since Miss Flynn was helping us, perhaps I can be of assistance. Miss Flynn and I are old friends. I could take Keith out to Leon’s and she’ll be able to get to her meeting.”
Chief Cobb looked from one to the other. “If that is agreeable to you, Miss Flynn, Officer Cain has my permission.”
Johnny turned to Keith. “Would you like to ride with me in a real police car?”
Keith crunched another M&M and nodded vigorously. Peg knelt to help him into his coat. Johnny swung Keith up and onto his shoulders.
Peg squeezed Johnny’s arm. “Thank you, Johnny. We can switch the car seat to the police car. Please tell Leon I’ll pick Keith up…”
As the door closed behind them, Chief Cobb held out the M&M bag.
Detective Sergeant Price opened his hand, popped a half dozen in his mouth.
The two men exchanged thoughtful glances.
Cobb looked dour. “Susan Flynn was last seen with this knockout redhead. Next time the redhead shows up, definitely identified by Johnny Cain, she’s sitting next to Susan Flynn’s grandson at Lulu’s. Peg Flynn claims she never saw her before. I don’t like coincidences. They stick in my craw.”
Price crunched the candies. “Lots of unanswered questions on this one, Chief.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got feelers out to pick up financial background on the Flynn heirs. Off the record.”
I hadn’t worked at the mayor’s office without understanding the good old boy network in Adelaide. Someone always knew what you wanted to find out and a promise of confidentiality loosened lips faster than a shot of Jack Daniel’s. If other evidence suggested the murderer’s identity, a court order could be obtained to get any needed records.
Price grabbed a navy ski jacket from the coat tree. “Hey, Sam. To call a spade a spade, I’ll bet this redhead is that good-looker who was mixed up in the murder at St. Mildred’s, the one who talked to witnesses pretending to be Officer M. Loy. She had a way of disappearing, too. We never found a trace of her. Anywhere. She was a babe.”
Cobb managed a good-humored chuckle. “You need a girlfriend, Hal. No point in holding out for somebody who clearly doesn’t live in Adelaide.”
“Yeah.” Hal’s tone was regretful. “Besides, even if she”—he didn’t identify me, but that wasn’t necessary—“showed up, I remember for sure she wore a wedding ring when I saw her on the back porch of the rectory. The good ones are always taken.”
After the door closed, Cobb’s genial expression faded. He walked toward the blackboard. There were no marks on it. Someone had wiped away the comments I’d added yesterday.
Cobb picked up a broken piece of chalk. He muttered aloud. “Who wrote on the blackboard and every word nailed Neva. Another coincidence?” He stared down at the chalk fragment in his big fingers. “Then the chalk fell on the floor. I saw it. I think. Okay, things fall. Another coincidence? And how about my notes? That pencil sure seemed to be moving, and when I got to Pritchard House and looked at the legal pad, I found stuff I don’t remember writing down. I guess I could have. And now I’m talking to myself. Out loud. Maybe it’s all Neva’s fault. It’s hard to think straight when Neva’s around.” He lifted his hand to the blackboard.