Free Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler Page A

were. Told you I didn’t want no trouble.”
    “Thanks for nothing.” I turned and searched the noisy room for Ryan’s stomach or Cleary’s calm, dark face. How did they find me? No one could possibly have known where I’d been going.
    “Okay, I give up,” I said. “Where are they?”
    “He.” Floyd jerked his head toward a corner booth where a dark-haired man wearing a conservative gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a furious expression, stood up and crooked his finger at me.
    The epithet I muttered caused the skinny cowboy standing next to me to burst out laughing. I was, obviously, going to be given the privilege of explaining myself earlier than I’d anticipated.
    Walking slowly toward the man in the gray suit, I decided on the casual approach.
    “Chief Ortiz,” I said. “I hardly recognized you in your grownup clothes.”
    His facial impersonation of a mannequin impressed me, though I decided not to share that particular thought. He pointed to the seat across from him.
    “Sit down.”
    So much for the casual approach. I slid across the slick brown vinyl, avoiding eye contact. After he sat down, we played more of the silence game. While he worked at intimidating me, I occupied myself with studying his hands which were tapping a soft cadence on his thick white coffee mug. They were huge, strong-looking, with short, neat nails, and though clean, stained black in rough crevices no soap can reach. A mechanic’s hands. I looked up at him in surprise.
    The expression on his face was unreadable. I refused to give in and look down, hoping my face didn’t show the dog-caught-in-the-garbage-can look I suspected it held.
    Finally, he spoke.
    “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
    An excellent question. One I’d asked myself several times in the last twelve hours. I looked him straight in his peculiar gray-blue eyes and told him the truth.
    “I have absolutely no idea.”
    For a moment he appeared stunned. Not the answer he expected. Not the answer I expected. His mouth made a sharp downward curve.
    “You can tell me about it now,” he said. “Or we can go down to the station. Your choice.”
    My day had been full of choices, none of which had been appealing in the least. He wouldn’t believe I intended telling him everything at our afternoon meeting, so there seemed no point in mentioning it.
    “You know, you might find people more cooperative if you were a little friendlier,” I pointed out, trying to stall for time.
    He started to slide out of the booth. “Okay, Ms. Harper, let’s go.”
    “No, wait. I’d rather talk here.”
    “Then talk.”
    I drummed my fingers on the wood table and studied his maroon paisley tie. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you.”
    “Now, there’s a novel concept.” He sat back and crossed his arms.
    I gave him one last irritated look before telling him everything I’d seen in the last twenty-four hours including Eric’s argument with Marla and how all Rita’s possessions were gone. I emphasized how she couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the murder.
    “And how do you know that?” he asked.
    “I just do. She didn’t have any reason to.” I paused and took a deep breath. “She’s my cousin, Chief Ortiz.”
    “Your family has some sort of genetic immunity to capital offenses?”
    “That’s not what I mean. I know her. She’s a lot of things, but she’s not a killer. I’m not saying she didn’t see anything. She probably did, and that’s why she’s hiding. She could be in danger. We have to find her.” My voice faltered slightly. Remembering what happened to Marla, a cold knot of fear twisted my stomach.
    He adjusted his glasses impatiently. “We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to say this once, Ms. Harper, so listen up. Stay out of this investigation. I’ll find your cousin. I’ll find Ms. Chenier’s murderer. And I’ll do it without your help. Got it?”
    “Excuse me, but where does it state that looking for your