Free May Day by Jess Lourey Page A

it would be strawberry soda mixed with Aqua Net. I had never been inside, and the Hallmark ceramic collectibles lining her windows told me that was just fine.
    I spied the new police Jeep out front of Kennie’s house. Gary Wohnt had come a-calling. It occurred to me that there should be a better place for the law to be the night after a murder, and that further cemented my suspicions of Wohnt. Growing up in a small town where the only regular crime is being a teenager—breaking curfew, smoking, vandalizing—I had an inherent distrust of the law that was deepened by Wohnt’s greasy appearance and authoritative demeanor.
    I parked my car at the water tower and strolled down the hill to Kennie’s, searching for a suitable lie should I get caught snooping. I wanted to peek in her windows, but it was barely dusk, and it was too likely that I’d be caught.
    At the end of her walkway, I decided that people do talk to the law, especially if they found a dead body that day. I would sit on Kennie’s stoop, and if she or Wohnt came out, I would ask them something. What I would ask, well, that would have to come to me.
    I scrunched into myself, looked left and right, and then floated down Kennie’s walk and parked my ass on her stoop. Voices drifted out at me, a man’s and a woman’s, but I couldn’t decipher their words. I stood up and leaned my back against Kennie’s door. That wasn’t much better, so I tipped my ear against the wood, cultivating a look of bored disinterest should a neighbor notice me. I was just a polite gal waiting for the Chief to come out. Ho hum.
    “He didn’t come over here. Y’all know me better than that.”
    My ears perked up, and I leaned toward the open window closest to the front step.
    “Remember, I knew you back then, too.” The Chief.
    Kennie giggled flirtatiously. “Better than most, and that and a buck’ll buy y’all a cup of coffee.”
    There was a shuffling of furniture and clinking of glasses that obscured the next few exchanges. I pictured Kennie and the Chief inside, he in his uniform, she in a sheer chiffon robe and wearing those high-heeled shoes with bursts of feather over the toes, stirring their martinis and admiring one another. My throat tightened queasily, and the background noise inside quieted down.
    “. . . told you this town isn’t ready for gambling. You know that.”
    “If I knew that, y’all think I woulda ever brought it up? People don’t know what they’re ready for until I tell ’em. This town is full of sheep and hens.”
    I wondered what sort of animal that made Kennie, being that she was the mayor of said sheep and hens. January of this year had marked the beginning of her third term as the town leader. She usually ran
unopposed, but last year the local militia started a movement to unseat her. Their candidate was named Les Pastner, and his campaign slogan was “Les Government Is More.” His campaign team, made up of four guys who spent most of their productive life in a fishing shack, went so far as to craft homemade buttons with Les’s picture over an eagle and two crisscrossed rifles. At the final count, Les received 97 votes to Kennie’s 392. Battle Lake clearly believed that the devil you knew was better than the one you didn’t, even if she was nosy and had big hair.
    I leaned farther toward the window, pressing my hands into the vinyl siding to keep my body at the correct height. My calves creaked with the extension.
    “You know that’s not why I came. I’m here about the murder. I’m wondering what I need to know.”
    The Chief’s stern words made my stomach twist. They were talking about Jeff. I stretched my body out as far as it would reach and swiveled my ears forward, until I was all but sitting in the window.
    “The only thing you needed to know I already told you. Jeff was in my . . .”
    “Harumph.” The faux cough from directly over my shoulder startled me right off the wall, and I fell over into the bushes. I glanced up