“But the two men they arrested had all the missing cash. They were convicted, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they killed him, mostly likely, and they had the money, but the diner hadn’t been broken into. Hugh used his key to get in, and Louie’s was in his pocket. Chief has always thought there was an inside man.”
Immy was impressed that Ralph knew some lingo, too. “An inside man? Someone who worked in the restaurant?”
“Yep.” Ralph’s slow nod seemed sad. “Nothing we could ever prove, though. His buddies haven’t ever ratted on him.”
More lingo. “So do you suspect someone in particular?”
Ralph’s eyes grew hard. “We sure do. Always have. Baxter Killroy.”
“He was working at the diner back then? I thought he started bussing for Uncle Huey recently.”
“He worked at the diner for a few years before the robbery, then left the area. I don’t know where he’s been lately.”
“But you don’t know he had anything to do with it.”
“No, we don’t.”
Immy’s mind reeled. She tried to connect the dots between Baxter, the old robbery-murder, and Uncle Huey. The picture her mind made didn’t connect any of the dots, though. It looked more like a jumbled abstract. She needed to know if Baxter had helped kill her father.
Maybe she could find out. Baxter had wanted to get together tonight. She would have to be careful, if he were a dangerous criminal. Could someone with those eyes and that smile be dangerous?
“Thanks so much for telling me, Ralph.” Immy stood up, and Ralph had no choice but to stand up, too, and leave. “I appreciate it.”
“See you Friday,” he said as he ducked into his cop car. He slammed the door and drove off.
Immy spied Baxter’s truck idling around the corner as Ralph drove out of sight. She stood on the porch and waited. Sure enough, a minute or so after the cruiser disappeared, Baxter circled the block and pulled his pickup onto the grass.
“Hey, Immy,” Baxter said, climbing out and bounding up the wooden steps. “I saw your mother and daughter leave.”
“And I assume you just saw Ralph leave. Why are you spying on me?”
“Not spying, babe. I wanted to see you alone, so I had to watch until everyone left. You promised to see me tonight, remember?”
“I did not promise to see you, Baxter. You said to call, but I didn’t say I would do that either.” What Ralph had told her was going through her head. She was torn between believing Ralph’s opinion of Baxter and those sexy eyes.
“You know you want to, though, right?” Baxter paused to squint and check his reflection in the small glass window of the inner door, then strolled into the living room and tossed his cowboy hat onto the coffee table. “We have the place to ourselves, right? How long?”
“They’re buying a new Barbie. Could take a while.” Now why had she said that? She felt like clapping her hand over her big mouth. She probably should have said they’ll be back any minute. She wasn’t thinking straight again.
Before she could form another thought, Baxter had her in a clinch and had taken her breath away with his hard, hot kiss.
One thing led to another, and Immy got caught up in the moment. Between gasps, she resolved to start grilling Baxter. Not quite yet. In just another minute.
“Baxter,” she panted, “I need to…” She tried to make her head stop whirling as Baxter used exactly the right touch in exactly the right places. Her clothing was coming off, one piece at a time, almost like magic.
“There’s something we should…” Lordie, Baxter looked good without his shirt.
Immy heard the familiar sound of the Dodge’s wheezy engine, as the van pulled up in front.
“Quick,” she breathed. She snatched their clothes from the living room floor and pulled Baxter into the bathroom. He resisted for a moment, but Immy overpowered him, her adrenaline surging from panic. She got the bathroom door shut and locked as she heard the front door open and Drew burst in, announcing with a triumphant shout the purchase of three new Barbies. Immy groaned. Three!
“What the hell do I do now?” whispered Baxter.
“Sh. I’m thinking.” Immy pulled her jeans on and slipped her tee shirt over her head. Her shoes could wait. It wouldn’t look odd to be barefoot. “Get dressed,” she urged him, when Baxter failed to follow her excellent lead and just stood there, practically naked. The window in the bathroom was small, but Baxter might be able to fit through it. It faced the back yard, too. So, with dusk approaching, that would probably be the best way for him to leave.
“Imogene.” Mother’s voice sounded right outside the bathroom door. She rattled the knob. “Unlock this door, Imogene. Why is Baxter Killroy’s truck in our yard?”
Oops.
“And what is his hat doing on the coffee table?” Mother demanded.
Baxter moved fast when he got going. Immy snatched his boots from the floor and handed them to him as he reassembled himself. He was fully dressed in a flash. Must have had some practice at this, she thought.
Immy looked at the window again and figured he might not fit through it anyway. His shoulders were kind of broad. The bathroom was silent, except for the dripping faucet. Ah, that might work.
“Get down on your hands and knees,” she whispered, her mouth on his ear so Mother wouldn’t hear. Immy pulled open the door of the cabinet under the sink and pushed Baxter’s head inside. Then she unlocked the door and whipped it open.
“Baxter was helping me look at that leak under the sink.”
“You can’t look at it yourself?” Mother had never appeared more skeptical.
“He thought maybe he could fix it. You know how it’s been bothering you.” She tapped the back of Baxter’s head, and he pulled it out of the cabinet. “Guess not, huh?” Immy said to him.
“Nope, I don’t think I have the right tools.”
Whew. He caught on fast anyway. Baxter got to his feet.
“Well, bye, Baxter,” said Immy. “It was nice of you to stop by.”
She couldn’t read his level, humorless look, which she hoped meant her mother couldn’t either. The meaning probably wasn’t all that good.
Her mother didn’t question her after Baxter left, but she was decidedly cool to Immy the rest of the evening.
Immy pretended to read her PI books, but she couldn’t get Baxter’s boots out of her head. She had only gotten a glimpse as he pulled them on, but she thought the heel of the left one might have a squiggly chip off the edge. One that might match the picture she had seen on television and in the papers of the print in the sausage that had killed Hugh. She needed a better look at the bottom of Baxter’s boots. She hoped maybe she could do it without his taking them off next time. She was beginning to think she had no skills in the
femme fatale
area. She hadn’t wormed a single piece of dirt out of him.
* * *
“TIME FOR CHURCH, IMOGENE,” called Hortense. “Get up, Drew, time for breakfast and church.”
Drew bounced out of the toddler bed she slept in next to Immy’s twin and started tugging on the hems of the dresses in her closet, not able to reach the hangers high above her head. Drew loved Sunday because she could wear her fanciest dresses without argument from anyone, along with her shiny, patent leather shoes. Immy opened one eye.
“This one, Mommy. No, this one. Wait, this one.” Drew settled on a yellow extravaganza with a jingle bell sewn into one of the many crinolines under the lacy, beribboned skirt.
Immy opened her other eye. “OK. I’ll get it down in just a minute.”
“No, Mommy, now!”
“OK, OK.” Immy sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She had felt Baxter’s warm, hard hands on her body all night, even in her dreams. She had had a moment of regretful letdown that she was in her own bed when Mother called her. That wouldn’t do. Shaking thoughts of Baxter out of her head, she got Drew’s dress from the hanger, slipped it over her daughter’s tousled head, and fastened the buttons in the back.
“Go tell Geemaw I’m not going to church today. I have something to do. Tell her to brush your hair.”
Two minutes later Mother was at the bedroom door. “What do you have to do today that is more important than your immortal soul, little missy?”
Immy paused, one leg into her jeans, and scrambled for a satisfactory response. She had an idea she should do something about Baxter’s boot but hadn’t decided precisely what it was. Her job would make a good excuse. “I have to study some more for my new job this week. I haven’t had much time for it with all these interruptions.” A plan was forming.
“Humph.” Mother was the only person Immy knew who could actually say humph and convey an exact meaning with her utterance. She could also say pshaw. No doubt, Mother was a marvel. “Next time, Imogene, don’t dress Drew for church until after she’s had her cereal and juice, please. Drew, come pick another frock.”
Until they left for church, a short walk of three blocks, Immy leafed through
Criminal Pursuits
and pretended to read random passages as she pondered what to do. She probably didn’t fool Mother, but Mother couldn’t argue with Immy needing to prepare for her job. Aside from the excellent information on disguises, however, Immy hadn’t run across anything that looked useful. She wouldn’t need a disguise for what she had planned this morning. The police must be told about Baxter’s boot. Maybe it would match the footprint and maybe not, but they needed to find out what she knew. She didn’t want to phone in another anonymous tip. She thought she had better give them this critical, sensitive information in person.
She walked to the station, glad her route didn’t take her past the Holiness Baptist Church. She did pass within a block of it, though, and she knew the windows must be open because the strains of “Jesus Calls Us O’er the Tumult” floated to her on the gentle morning breeze.
She could hear Mother’s strong soprano voice over all the others. Immy pictured her mother singing with an angel’s expression on her face. Hortense could cuss up a storm and fiercely defy Christian ethics when it suited her, especially in defense of her family, but she was strict about attendance in church on Sundays. Maybe, Immy sometimes thought, it was a balance thing. Going to church made up for sinning during the week, and the louder you sang, the more you could cuss.
No one was at the front desk when Immy entered the station. She was glad she didn’t have to have a stare-down with Tabitha today. Ralph’s voice called from somewhere back in the building. “Be right out.”
When he entered the lobby he told her to come back to his office. “I’m the only one here today.”
“You have an office?” Ralph didn’t seem important enough for his own office, but Immy guessed he had to do paperwork somewhere.
The Moron’s Compleat PI Guidebook
said that police work consisted of as much paperwork as street work. That must be where Ralph did his.
He ushered her into a narrow room mostly filled with boxes. A small desk was pushed against one wall with a chair for Ralph behind it and one for Immy in front. The space didn’t seem big enough to hold Ralph, let alone both of them.
“This is your office?” asked Immy.
Ralph looked a little sheepish. “It used to be a closet.”
Immy eyed the stacks of cardboard boxes lining two of the walls. “Looks like it still is.”
“What do you need, Immy?”
“I just want to see how the investigation is going. You know, Uncle Huey’s murder.”
“You came over on Sunday morning to see how the investigation is going?”
“Well, to see if you have any new suspects.”
“We have some.”
“You can’t tell me who they are?” Immy batted her eyelashes a little.
“Are your eyes OK?”
Immy quit the batting. “Yes, my eyes are fine.”
“I can’t tell you who we suspect. Privileged information, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I was wondering about the footprint. That’s not privileged. It was on TV. It must have gotten leaked to the press.”
“Chief released that to the press to help find the killer.”
Immy took a breath. She didn’t want to outright accuse Baxter. “You remember the subject of yesterday?”
“Huh?”
“You know, when you came over.”
“I came over to tell you not to hang around with Baxter Killroy.”
“Yes, that subject.”
“I’m right, you know. You shouldn’t.”
Ralph wasn’t getting this. A buzz sounded, and Ralph said, “That’s the front door. Be right back.” He paused in the doorway. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Of course not.” As soon as he was out of sight, she grabbed a pencil and notepad from his desk and penned a note: Check boots of Baxter Killroy. Compare to footprint. Hugh Duckworthy Case.
If she had thought this out more thoroughly, she would have cut the letters out of a magazine. Lacking that, she block printed them as anonymously as she could. She managed to make three of the letters with her left hand. Immy left the note on the seat of his chair and walked out of the closet. She had trouble thinking of it as an office.
Ralph was talking to one of the Yarborough twins about a neighbor’s rooster keeping him up all night. She waved and left as Ralph’s mouth dropped open. “But…”
The door closed on his sputtering, and she walked toward home. Before she reached the corner, though, Ralph came out of the station with the Yarborough twin, and they both got into the old cruiser.
“Shoot,” said Immy to herself. “They must be going to see about the rooster.” But when Ralph returned he would discover her note. He couldn’t fail to understand the clue, could he? She could deny she left it if she needed to. She didn’t want to have Baxter mad at her. Something told her that would not be a good thing.
* * *
IMMY WAS INNOCENTLY, SHE HOPED, watching television when Hortense and Drew returned from church.
“Are you through studying for your imminent employment, Imogene?” asked Hortense.
“All studied out, Mother.” Immy gave a sigh to illustrate her state of weariness. She rubbed her eyes for good measure.
Hortense didn’t look convinced.
“Play with me, Mommy?” asked Drew. So Immy sat on the floor for a rousing game of Old Maid. Unfortunately, one Plumber and one Pilot were missing, so they had to be matched to each other. Immy never remembered which ones were missing, but Drew always did, which meant Drew usually won.