Kansas Troubles by Fowler Earlene

Author:Fowler, Earlene
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

NINE

IT WAS FIVE o’clock when I dropped by the Derby police station. I knew I’d better hustle because Kathryn would probably be cooking supper tonight, and since I’d not done much to endear myself to her so far, I didn’t want to make matters worse by being tardy. Dewey leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on his desk, a beeping Game Boy in his hand.

I flopped down on the vinyl office chair. “Boy, I certainly feel safer knowing Derby’s Chief of Detectives Dewey Champagne is on the job.”

He gave a good-natured raspberry. A chorus of miniature cheers erupted from the electronic game.

“Are you going to Lawrence’s club tonight?” I asked.

He swung his legs down. “As if I have a choice. I’ve been to so many of Cordie June’s performances, I could sing backup.”

I laughed. “That’s something I’d pay at least a nickel to see.”

“That’d be about what it’s worth. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve got something that’ll make your life easier.” I handed him the note that John had written.

“I’m always up for that.” He scanned the notebook paper.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

“Looks all right to me. Just show it to the landlady. I’ll let the sheriff’s detectives know.”

“So, just how much of a mess did you guys make?” I teased.

“Now, watch what you say. I was there when they very neatly searched it. It didn’t take long. She didn’t have much.”

“Did you find anything useful?”

He shook a finger at me. “That’s privileged information. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Well, oink, oink to you, Officer Porky.”

He laughed and handed John’s note back to me. “Just let us know if you find anything we missed.”

“Aren’t you all going to feel really stupid when we do?” I threw over my shoulder as I walked out the door. He snorted in reply.

The scent of roasting chicken told me I was right about dinner. After a quick supper and an even quicker shower, I changed into black Wranglers, my black Tony Lama boots, and a forest-green tank top with a lacy V-neck. I stood in front of the mirror and frowned critically at my curly reddish-blond hair. It had been waist-length until last December, when, in an emotionally overwrought moment, I’d cut it to the middle of my neck. It was now just touching the top of my shoulders and was still too short to braid, so most of the time I just let it hang there. I picked up a brush and attempted to tame it.

“You look great,” Gabe said, coming up behind me and taking the brush out of my hand. He brushed my hair for a few seconds, then lifted it and softly kissed the nape of my neck. “I wanted to do that the very first time I brushed your hair. Remember?”

A lump lodged in my throat. How could we care so much about each other and still have this huge gulf between us? Then I got annoyed. Men. Instead of really trying to solve a problem, they trot out old memories to distract us.

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