Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [88]
“They’ve questioned you again?” I asked.
“Don’t pull that innocent game on me. I realize your first allegiance belongs to your husband, the police chief, so let’s not pretend anything else.”
“You’ve got it all wrong—” I started, trying not to give in to the anger rising up in me, telling myself he was just acting this way because of grief.
His voice swelled in volume. “Just give Gabe a message for me. Tell him I wouldn’t kill my sister for any amount of money or land in the world. And tell him the next officer that shows up at my door will have to speak to my attorney.” He threw the book he was holding back on the shelf.
“Nick, wait—” He whipped around and walked away before I could finish. I ran up the stairs to Elvia’s office, bursting in without knocking. She was sitting in front of her computer, her chin in her hand.
“I am so sick of people,” I said, flopping down in one of her peach-colored office chairs.
She continued staring at the brightly lit screen, then punched a couple of keys. “Tell me,” she said, her eyes never leaving the screen. I ranted and raved about the Tattler column, about my encounter with Nick, about being blamed for something I hadn’t done and indeed had spent an incredible amount of time trying not to do, and about the general jerkiness of the male sex altogether. She continued to work as I complained.
Finally she made an irritated sound, turned the computer screen off, and turned her chair to face me. “Speaking of the male sex, this new word-processing program has me ready to send a truckload of your best steer manure to Bill Gates.” She folded her hands in front of her, studied me with steady, black eyes, and said, “So, what are you going to do about it?”
I slumped in the chair, suddenly so tired all I wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers. “I don’t know. The most irritating thing is it’s really no one’s fault. I can’t help it if I found Nora’s body or that I’m so intimately involved with most of the suspects. Gabe can’t help it that he’s the chief of police. We can’t help it that we happen to be married. You know, I’ve tried not to poke my nose into this one. I’ve just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now Gabe’s reputation is paying for it. I’m so worried about him. With everything that’s happened in his life the last few months, I’m afraid that this might be the one thing that’ll cause him to snap.”
“Is he mad?”
“No, he’s actually being pretty understanding about it. But Michael Haynes is probably chewing his ear off as we speak. Who knows what he’s going to be like after that?”
“So, I repeat, what are you going to do about it?”
I shrugged and picked at a piece of lint on the chair arm. “I’m tempted to actually start asking a few questions since I’ve got the name anyway. Maybe I can find out something that Gabe and his detectives can’t and get this thing resolved and everything back to normal.”
She shook her head, her shiny black hair making a swishing sound on her silk collar. “I knew you’d end up getting involved. I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
I stood up and tugged my jeans down over the tops of my boots. “You and me both. See you at the opening ceremonies tomorrow? My speech is at six o’clock.”
“If you’re not in jail or the hospital,” she said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, my beautiful and skeptical friend,” I replied. “Oh, by the way ...” I went on to tell her about the Datebook Bum’s maroon diary.
“I feel so bad about him,” she said. “I called Shaker’s Mortuary and made some arrangements. I’d like to read it when you’re through.”
Outside, I walked through the crowd, trying to decide if I should try to find Gabe or just make a dash to the truck on my own despite his request. I stood on the street corner next to the Rocky Mountain Candy cart and looked out over the milling crowd. Surely there would be other people leaving at the