Free Lead-Pipe Cinch by Christy Evans Page B

talk about pride and self-respect and all the things that made me keep my failures to myself.
    “When a girl gets dumped, Sheriff, she doesn’t want to tell the whole world.”
    Although not the most complete response I could have given, it was an explanation he would understand. An explanation that left intact what little dignity I had left.
    “About the only thing that’s evidence of,” I continued, “is embarrassment. And that isn’t a crime, is it?”
    “If it was,” he answered, “I’d need a lot bigger jail.”
    He levered himself out of the chair and stretched to his full six feet—an imposing sight. Easy to see why Sue was developing a crush on him—even if she wouldn’t admit it. I wondered if it was mutual, and how long it would take one or the other of them to act on it.
    “I suppose that’s all I have for now, Georgie. There may be more questions later, after we know a little more. But for now, I appreciate your candor.” He waved at the box on the trunk. “And the pizza.”
    I stood up and walked him to the door. As he drove away, I considered his last words. After they knew a little more? Blake had fallen in the moat and drowned. There wasn’t much to know.
    Except what he was doing out there in the first place.
    The good news was that maybe Stan Fischer could answer that question.
    The bad news was that meant talking to Stan Fischer, a man not noted for his discretion and civility.
    I was so dead.

chapter 12

    Sleep was out of the question, at least in part because it was only nine o’clock.
    I considered calling Sue and telling her about the sheriff’s visit. She was definitely a night person, often watching TV or reading until well past midnight, so it was still plenty early to call her.
    Except there are some things you never outgrow. And one of those things was my mother’s insistence that you never called anyone after 8:00 P.M., unless it was an absolute emergency.
    I didn’t think Sheriff Mitchell’s visit qualified as an emergency. At least I hoped it didn’t.
    Instead, I changed into my workout clothes. The second bedroom of my little rental was outfitted with mats for martial arts practice. It wasn’t as good as sparring and tumbling with a partner, but it still allowed me to practice.
    I moved through my routine. The twisting, tumbling, and reaching were far different from the moves I used on the job, and I could feel different muscles stretching and pulling as I worked.
    It would be great to have a partner. I had tried to interest Sue but she said she already had a proven method of self-defense. It was called running away. She said it was clear I needed it, though, since I was the one who got shot at and chased by murderers.
    I explained to her that martial arts were more about balance and serenity than fighting. She said if she was any more serene, she’d be in a coma.
    I didn’t have an answer for that one, because she was right. Sue maintained a calm and sunny outlook on life, and seemed quite content. I was the one who needed serenity.
    Especially now. Stan Fischer was on his way to Pine Ridge.
     
     
    In the morning I was no more serene.
    I was barely out of bed when the phone rang for the first time. It was Barry.
    “The sheriff still has the McComb site under wraps,” he said, when I answered. “We can’t work out there until he’s through, and I don’t have anything else going today.”
    “That’s okay, Bear.” It was a nickname I didn’t use often, though it fit him. He was my boss, after all, even though he sometimes felt like the older brother I’d never had. “There’s some work at the Homes for Hope house that’s been waiting for me to have some spare time. I can catch up on a couple projects over there today.”
    “You sure? I might be able to get you a couple hours in the office.”
    “I don’t think Angie would appreciate my help,” I said. “She has things running just fine without me messing it up.”
    “Well, if you’re sure.”