Free Three Times Lucky by Sheila Turnage

Attila. Dale was the last name I wanted tickling her memory.
    The Colonel’s words drifted back to me: “The best defense is a good offense.”
    “So, Detective,” I said, “what have you done with Miss Retzyl? As representatives of the sixth grade, Anna and me are hoping you didn’t throw her in jail or leave her standing by the creek with a crazed killer on the prowl. Go ahead, Anna, tell him,” I said.
    Attila nodded uncertainly.
    “Exactly what are your intentions?” I asked. “The sixth grade has a right to know.”
    Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton raised her hand. “I’m wondering too.”
    “Your Miss Retzyl is perfectly safe,” Starr said. He looked around the café. “Did anyone else see Jesse Tatum tonight?” he asked. “Anyone see anything suspicious?” He sauntered to the bulletin board and stabbed his business card through the heart with a thumbtack. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help.”
    “Goodness, I hope you’re not counting on your cell phone,” Mayor Little said.
    “Why wouldn’t I?” Starr asked.
    “No service to speak of,” he said. “Oh, you might get a sputter here or there, but not for long. That’s one of the benefits of life in Tupelo Landing: no cell bill. No high-speed Internet charges, either, unless you live on First Street and have cable. I’ll gladly relay phone messages for you, though, if you’d like to use my landline. I’m sure Mother won’t mind.”
    “I’ll get back to you on that,” Starr said, looking doubtful. He glanced at Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton. “Does Jesse Tatum have family here?” he asked. “Is there someone I should notify?”
    “Jesse did have a cousin somewhere in the Piedmont,” she said. “A security guard. He died years ago—in Jesse’s arms, as I recall. Jesse was alone in life.”
    Starr plucked Mr. Jesse’s notice of a finder’s fee from the bulletin board and folded it into his pocket. “I think you’ll find my team easy to work with, Mayor.” He looked around the room. “Thank you, Sensei. Everyone’s free to go.”
    Mr. Li bowed, and the Colonel unplugged the coffee urn. “Everybody out,” the Colonel said. “Don’t let these kids walk home alone.”
    I worked my way over to Skeeter. “I’d like to make an appointment,” I whispered as we put our kick pads away. “First thing in the morning.”
    She nodded as Mr. Li walked by. “Mo,” he said, his voice hushed, “I’m going to Durham tomorrow. If you’d like for me to take one of your messages along …”
    “Thanks, Mr. Li.” I grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, and he tucked it under his arm.
    Starr watched our customers pay up and step gingerly into the night. “A couple more questions,” he said as the Colonel closed out the cash register. “Did Jesse Tatum have any enemies? Did anyone here tonight have a grudge against him?”
    “Here?” I asked. “You think the killer comes to the café?”
    “Murderers usually know their victims.”
    The Colonel folded his apron and tossed it on the counter. “As far as I know, Jesse Tatum was a harmlessold coot living out his life on a backwater creek without family or friends,” he said. “Nobody much liked him. But kill him? Why? Time was Jesse’s assassin, and it was closing in on him fast. Murdering Jesse Tatum doesn’t make sense.”
    “You’re wrong,” Starr said. “Murder always makes sense—to the murderer. By the way,” he said, picking up his hat, “where’s Miss Lana?”
    “Away on business,” the Colonel said. “In Charleston.”
    Starr narrowed his eyes. “Please tell her I’d like to talk with her when she gets in. If I don’t hear from her soon, I’ll find her.” He started toward the door. “One last thing,” he said. “I ran that Thunderbird’s plates. You bought that car two weeks ago, not two years ago.”
    The Colonel glanced at me. “You’re right. It was a lie, and I apologize,” he said. “I should have told the truth.