Heart Trouble by Kathy Hogan Trocheck

Author:Kathy Hogan Trocheck [Trocheck, Kathy Hogan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Published: 2011-03-02T08:26:41.059000+00:00

20

T

HE CONFRONTATION WITH JACKIE left me shaken and depressed. Edna, on the other hand, was certifiably pissed.

“Let her go if she feels that way,” she groused, still scrabbling around, opening cabinet doors and drawers in search of her car keys. “I’m not going to apologize to her for being white and owning a business. The others don’t feel that way.”

“I don’t want her to quit,” I said. “We need Jackie. But I don’t like her making me feel like a bigot, either.”

“Here they are!” Edna said jubilantly, holding up the key chain. “Somebody put them in the junk drawer.”

She pulled on her coat and headed for the back door. “Don’t stew about it,” she ordered me. “You heard her. She’s not going to quit before Christmas. She’s got a car payment to make. And you know how she is about that Mustang of hers. It’s her baby.”

We both knew Jackie could get another job anytime she liked.

After Edna was gone, I decided to call Bucky Deavers. Ordinarily I didn’t volunteer information to the police about one of my cases, but this one time, I had a bad feeling about their case against Bryant Mayes.

When I called I got a voice mail recording telling me that Bucky was in the office, but away from his desk. I left a message.

I got out the Whitney Dobbs case file and started making notes about my conversation with Billy Tucker. I wanted to go back down to the Brown’s Mill Golf Course and the Promised Land to check out the shack he’d told me about. And I wanted to follow up on some of the stuff Carol Steiner had mentioned. If Carson Dobbs was stashing money away, could he have been fooling around with the insurance billings in his office?

While I was making a list of things I needed to check on, Doyle Bollinger called.

“Yeah, how you doing?” he asked. I could hear traffic in the background. He was calling from a car phone. “I understand you’re on the Whitney Dobbs investigation now.”

“I’m working for her daughter,” I said. “Would you have some time to talk to me about your findings?”

“Why not?” he said. “There wasn’t much. I didn’t even write up any paperwork. You know where my office is?”

I looked at the business card. The address was unfamiliar.

“It’s an office park,” Bollinger went on. “Come out 285 to Peachtree-Dunwoody and turn left. Come past the hospitals, and you’ll see a little office park called Dunwoody Plaza on the right. I’m in Building G, number four. Between an oral surgeon and a physical therapist. I’m on my way. You want to meet in about twenty minutes?”

“Better make it thirty,” I said.

I grabbed my jacket and the phone rang again.

It was Deavers, returning my call. “You staying out of trouble?”

“You know me better than that,” I said. “How’s the case coming against Bryant Mayes?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“This one’s a hummer, Bucky.”

“Not what the crime lab says.”

“You got the ballistics report back?”

“You know I can’t talk about that.

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