Free Bones to Pick by Carolyn Haines

often brought weather warm enough for shorts. Ninety-five percent humidity and temperatures above seventy made it difficult to be festive. I dreamed of snow as I drove past the fallow cotton fields.
    The statue of Johnny Reb on the courthouse lawn looked a little sad. A committee had formed to demand that the statue be removed, saying it was offensive. I couldn't look at the worn bronzed face of the "every soldier" and see anything offensive. I saw sadness and loss and bitter disappointment. The statue didn't glorify the war that had torn my country apart, but it did honor the sacrifice of many families. My idea was to add other statues, not to destroy what had always been a part of my childhood.
    I walked into the sheriff's office and looked around. It was empty. Coleman had fired Rinda Stonecypher, and no one had been hired to replace her.
    "Gordon?" I called as I walked into the office and slipped behind the counter where the jail docket lay. "Gordon?"
    It seemed no one was home. The door to Coleman's office was open. Gordon hadn't moved in, which I thought was a wise decision on his part. It was one thing for him to act like sheriff in Coleman's absence, but it was another to try and take his office.
    From the doorway, I could see a sheaf of paperwork still on the desk and a small, framed photograph. I walked to the desk, feeling very much like the intruder I was. I picked up the frame and turned it around. It was a picture of cotton fields and, far at the back of the horizon, a horse and rider skimming over the fields. No one else could possibly have recognized me. I put the picture down.
    "Can I help you?"
    I looked up, guilty as a felon, at Gordon standing in the doorway.
    "Any word from Coleman?" I asked. I didn't know how much Gordon knew about my feelings for his boss, but he was astute. He certainly knew there was something between us.
    "He called about an hour ago."
    "He did?" I sounded too eager.
    "He's coming back. Thursday. For the board of supervisors meeting."
    "Is he coming back to work?"
    "You'll have to ask him." Gordon stepped out of the doorway and went to his desk out front.
    I followed him like a puppy. "Did he say how Connie was feeling?"
    Gordon bent his head for some paperwork. "He didn't say. I don't mean to be rude, but those are things you should take up with him, not me."
    I felt a flush touch my cheeks. Gordon was absolutely right. I'd gone all over town asking questions about Coleman and his personal business. Coleman knew my phone number. If he had something to tell me, he would have called. "Thanks, Gordon. I only need one more thing. Did you match the prints at the murder scene with Allison's shoes?"
    He nodded. "A perfect match. Those shoes were in that mud hole. Now if you can convince me Allison wasn't in the shoes, we'll be getting somewhere."
    I thought about what he was offering. "Do you think Allison killed Quentin?"
    "The evidence tells me she did. The tissue sample taken from beneath Quentin's fingernails belongs to Allison."
    "But Allison said they had an argument and Quentin scratched her face."
    Gordon tidied his desk. "People don't always tell the truth, Sarah Booth. You know that. But I will say that watching her and seeing how hard she's taking it. . ." He shrugged. "But guilty people are often remorseful."
    "Do you have any other suspects?" I asked, not wanting to be too obvious and bring up Harold's name.
    Gordon smiled. "Coleman told me to cooperate with you, but he didn't say to give away the farm."
    "Thanks. I'll check back with you later." Gordon wasn't going to give me anything else, and if I was going to
Leflore
County
, I needed to get on the road.
    Heading vaguely northeast, I notched the roadster up to eighty on the empty, flat highway and let my mind wander over what I knew of the case.
    The way Quentin was killed indicated rage and a desire to punish. She'd pissed off a number of people, but 99 percent of angry people don't commit murder. I was looking for that 1