Free Show Time by Suzanne Trauth

pleasantries. The atmosphere had changed noticeably at the station. No trace of Bull’s bonhomie and good-natured clutter.
    We entered the chief’s inner office and he indicated that I should sit in a chair opposite his desk, which was as neatly arranged as Suki’s. “So . . . you’ve been hearing some things? About Jerome Angleton?”
    A knock at the door. “Enter,” he said.
    Suki appeared, file in hand. She silently placed the folder on Bill’s desk and turned to leave. “Thanks. Let me know when Ralph returns.”
    She nodded and quietly closed the door.
    â€œA woman of few words,” I said lightly. “Almost . . . serene.”
    â€œShe’s a Buddhist.”
    â€œA Buddhist cop. Wow.”
    â€œAlso a martial arts black belt. Suki’s a solid professional.”
    Unlike Etonville’s other full-time officer. Ralph had been Bull’s fishing buddy, drinking partner, and poker pal. His attitude was laissez-faire and his work habits less than professional, but he was an agreeable guy.
    â€œI can see that,” I said.
    â€œWe worked together before.”
    I waited for him to continue, but he sat back in the desk chair and crossed his arms. “So, Jerome?”
    â€œRight. Well, you know small-town life.”
    â€œI’m beginning to,” he chuckled.
    â€œIt turns out that one of the shampoo girls at Snippets—that’s a hair salon . . .”
    â€œGot it.”
    â€œShe has a cousin who lives on Ellison Street. A few doors down from the place where Jerome lived.”
    He nodded politely so I filled him in: Monica Jenkins on the front porch swing drinking a beer and a mystery woman dropping by to pick Jerome up. I couldn’t offer much by way of description of either the woman or the car. But Chief Thompson frowned as I spoke, nodding occasionally. When I finished, he wrote down Monica’s name.
    â€œDo you think finding this woman might help the investigation?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe,” he said.
    â€œI drove by his house the other night.”
    He raised an eyebrow.
    â€œI’m not sure why.”
    Chief Thompson opened Jerome’s file and studied its contents. “You were close to him?” he asked softly.
    When he looked up again, after a minute, my eyes were full. “Just a good friend. I don’t want to get in the way, but I’d like to help. If I can.”
    The chief tapped his index finger against the file, then carefully closed it. “Okay. Thanks for stopping in. Let me know if you hear anything else.”
    As an afterthought, I added, “The other night when I drove by, another car also drove down Ellison and stopped near Jerome’s place. It was an SUV. A big one.”
    Chief Thompson made a note.
    â€œMaybe it was just a coincidence.”
    He nodded and I pulled my bag onto my shoulder and walked to the door. At least I thought it was the entrance to the hallway. I entered a tiny room that had served as Bull’s office kitchen; I’d delivered dinner here once and it had been chock-full of pastry boxes, take-out containers from fast-food joints on the highway, and dirty dishes. And Ralph stuffing his mouth. But all hints of Bull’s epicurean excesses had been replaced with neat piles of stationery, a fax machine, and evidence cartons.
    â€œOops,” I said and backed away from the door.
    â€œBeen a few changes around here,” the chief said. I could hear, rather than see, the corner of his mouth sneak upward again.
    I shut the office door behind me.
    * * *
    On my days off, I liked to sleep in, do my laundry, catch up with errands, and maybe get in a chapter or two of my latest thriller. But today I decided to clean house and invite Carol and Lola—and Pauli, who was dropping by after school to show me his ideas for the Windjammer website—for an early dinner.
    By five o’clock, I was facing Pauli and his laptop at my dining room