Free Mudlark by Sheila Simonson

never dealt with a crab before."
    I shoved the crab back into its bag and replaced it in the fridge. "I guess I'd better start the soup. Did
you get my message?"
    "About the bread? It's in the box." Our handsome old-fashioned bread box was almost the only relic of
the kitchen as it had been when we moved in.
    I approved the baguettes and took cans from the cupboard. "Want a beer?"
    Jay was already rummaging in the refrigerator. "Ballard Bitter or Full Sail?"
    I went for Full Sail, and he opened beer while I opened cans. "Still no lights at the Cramers. I hope
Lottie's all right."
    "Shall I call?" Jay set my glass on the work surface and pulled a chair from the nook.
    "I left a message."
    The front door opened and shut on voices. Jay and I exchanged looks. "Freddy," he said. "And
Darla."
    Freddy came thumping in with his girlfriend in tow. "Hi, Jay. Where's Tom, Lark? I got the specs for the
computer."
    Jay was offering Darla a choice of beer, wine, Coke, or coffee. She chose Coke and took a can for Freddy,
too.
    As I put ice in their glasses, I was wondering what had provoked Darla's presence. She rarely visited,
and she treated Jay and me with polite reserve when she did. Since she was trying to dampen Freddy's ardor, I
thought that was understandable, but it didn't make for jolly spontaneity. I said hello.
    She took the glasses and gave me a brief smile, then said with abrupt intensity, "Where's Tom? They
haven't arrested him yet, have they?"
    I blinked. "Do you know Tom Lindquist?"
    "He's my cousin."
    "Good heavens."
    Darla was one hundred per cent Native American, a fact she was apt to fling at people's feet like a
gauntlet when she first met them. She was also the youngest member ever elected to the Nekana tribal council, an
office she took very seriously, as indeed she should. When Darla passed the bar, she intended to work in a firm
headed by the tribe's lawyer, a distinguished local attorney and former congressman who had promised to groom
her to deal with Nekana legal affairs. She was working three days a week in the law office that summer as a
paralegal.
    Darla took her Coke into the nook and began pressing for details of the investigation. I let Jay and
Freddy bring her up to date while I minced garlic and readjusted my perceptions. There was no reason Darla
should not be Tom's cousin, of course, and no reason his name would have come up during her infrequent earlier
visits either. We hadn't known him then. I peeled an onion and began chopping it with my trusty French knife. Still,
the coincidence surprised me.
    They didn't look much alike, though Tom's hair and eyes were dark. Darla had the fairer complexion.
The real difference lay in body structure. Though she was not at all fat, Darla was short and wide, with a round face.
She was a good three or four inches shorter than Freddy, in fact, which probably contributed to his attraction to
her. Tom was about Jay's height, five eleven, and slighter. Jay has wide, solid shoulders and a deep chest--which
probably contributed to my attraction to him . I thought Tom was just pleasant-looking, but Darla was really
pretty, and there was certainly no family resemblance.
    The onion was getting to me, so I finished chopping it and washed the juice from my hands. When I had
wiped my streaming eyes, I measured olive oil into the kettle.
    I sipped at my beer while the oil heated. No way could Jay allow the sheriff to co-opt him for the
investigation team. Freddy was already Tom's partisan, having bonded over the computer. If Tom was Darla's
cousin, he was more than just a neighbor with literary credentials. He was practically a relative. I wondered if Jay
appreciated the complications.
    I tipped the garlic and onions into the oil and took out a wooden spoon to stir with. The oil bubbled
gently. I love the smell of fresh garlic. I opened the other cans and listened as Freddy and Jay filled Darla in on the
fire. Freddy was explaining how he had cleaned the disks when I heard the