“Poor old Ralph. He needs business, but none of us will die for him. I think he’s hoping the husband of that dead woman will ask him to lay her out.”
Sally couldn’t stand it anymore. She rose, tried to smile, and said, “Thank you for breakfast, Thelma. I’ve got to go home now. Amabel must be worried about me.”
“Martha called her and told her you were here with James. She didn’t have a word to say to that.”
“I’ll thank Martha,” Sally said politely. She waited for James to join her. It was raining outside, a dark, miserably gray day.
“Well, damn,” James said. He walked back into the foyer and fetched an umbrella from the stand. He said as they walked down the street, “I’ll bet you the old men are playing cards in Purn Davies’s store. I can’t imagine them missing the ritual.”
“Sheriff Mountebank will realize who I am, James. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I don’t think so. He probably saw your picture on TV, but that would have been last week at the latest. He won’t make the connection.”
“I’m sure the authorities would have sent photos out to everyone.”
“This is a backwater, Sally. It costs too much to fax photos to every police and sheriff office in the country. Don’t worry about it. The sheriff doesn’t have a clue. The way you answered him polished it off.”
His eyes were as gray as the rain that was pouring down. He wasn’t looking at her, but straight ahead, his hand cupping her elbow. “Watch the puddle.”
She took a quick step sideways. “The town doesn’t look quite so charming in this rain, does it? Main Street looks like an old abandoned Hollywood set, all gray and forlorn, like no one’s lived here forever.”
“Don’t worry, Sally.”
“Maybe you’re right. Are you married, James?”
“No. Watch your step here.”
“Okay. Have you ever been married?”
“Once. It didn’t work out.”
“I wonder if any marriages ever work out.”
“You an expert?”
She was surprised at the sarcasm but nodded, saying, “A bit. My parents didn’t do well. Actually … no, never mind that. I didn’t do well, either. That’s just about one hundred percent of my world, and it’s all bad.”
They were walking past Purn Davies’s general store. Quinlan grinned and took her hand. “Let’s go see what the old guys are up to. I’d like to ask them firsthand if it’s true that nobody heard anything the night that poor woman was murdered.”
Purn Davies, Hunker Dawson, Gus Eisner, and Ralph Keaton were seated around the barrel, a game of gin rummy under way. There was a fire in a wood-burning stove that looked to be more for show than for utility, a handsome antique piece. A bell over the door rang when
Quinlan and Sally came through.
“Wet out there,” Quinlan said, shaking the umbrella. “How you all doing?”
There were two grunts, one okay, and Purn Davies actually folded his cards facedown and got up to greet them. “What can I do for you folks?”
“You meet Amabel Perdy’s niece, Sally St. John?”
“Yep, but it weren’t much of a meeting. How you doin’, Miz Sally? Amabel all right?”
She nodded. She just hoped she could keep her fake names straight. Brandon for Sheriff Mountebank and St. John for everyone else.
There was more than polite interest in his question about Amabel, and it made Sally smile. “Amabel’s just fine, Mr. Davies. We didn’t have any leaks during the storm. The new roofs holding up really well.”
Hunker Dawson, who was sitting there pulling on his suspenders, said, “You had us all out looking for that poor woman who went and fell off that cliff. It was cold and windy that night. None of us liked going out. There weren’t nothing to find anyway.”
9
SALLY’S CHIN WENT up. “Yes, sir. I heard her scream and of course I would alert you. I’m just sorry you didn’t find her before she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” The front legs of Ralph Keaton’s chair hit hard against the pine floor. “What the dickens do you mean, murdered? Doc said she must have fallen, said it was a tragic accident.”