Cora Walks On

Cora has skipped town.  But only after she made lethal use of a knife, and only by transportation of a stolen Cadillac.  What is she honestly running from?  History or persons that she met in it?  Dyne Gourd has set out to find those answers – but are those really the answers he is after?  “All in the details”, he says.  And maybe it is.  Best to stay on your toes!

What did I listen to… Nothing, actually.  Dead silence in the AM kind of gave way to this one.  Upon review, and upon considering what else I have available here, I realize that I do not portray relationships in a very… Friendly?  Or respectable manner. 

That is hardly in line of my typical ramblings!  20+ chapters usually are about the sappy sobs that result as endurance [ and those respectable] prevails!  I have yet to figure out why my shorts are so… Critical.  I realize they come off that way.  Trust me, most everything I write is in no way this… I can’t think of the right word to put there.  I kind of wonder if it results from the “quick-fast-to-the-point-BAM-getcha!” kinda lining one gets for short stories.  I mainly focus on the good.  The smaller troubles that lead up to a point… I don’t generally make characters so f*ing awful I wish I had killed them off mere paragraphs ago.  Hmm.

Edited to add:  At night, we dream.  It’s healthy to dream.  It’s best that one does dream.  It A) indicates enough sleep, and B) indicates sorting of issues significant to our minds.  Take that last one how you will.  But in the AM I think I am a bit more skeptical and pessimistic of the species than I am at about, say, 6:37 pm.  Dunno what that means my issues are.  Rest assured, I am always sorting.

Hee – I in a way liked that the pivotal Cora was never once actually a ‘presented’ part of this story!  (But it wasn’t about her anyway, now was it?)  And keeping it all confined to one room?  Whew!

*And super mega thanks to Azule Parsnip for catching a bad booboo I’d made in this copy – yikes!  That’s the problem in knowing the secrets, right?  Poor proof-reading, and I skim something very small as “right” when it isn’t supposed to be.  Not at that time- Aiee!

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Cora Walks On

Cora walked away.

Nine years, three months, and seven days. That was all that she could endure.

“If I had asked for the hour and minute, she would have probably found documentation of it,” Neill stated. He wiped his stubby fingers across his lips, glancing at a miserably hot day bearing on outside his cramped office. The gesture of his hand removed a fine bead of sweat, but that dew was quick in reforming. “She probably made notes. That woman loved notes.”

Dyne shifted in the sticky, red patent leather seat. The buttons of old upholstery were uncomfortable enough, but the heat only added to their torturing contact. “Did she take anything with her?”

“What was your name again? Gourd?”

Dyne’s mouth set itself in a small, obliging smile.

“Odd name.”

“Did she take anything?” Gourd again questioned. “Anything that you know of.”

“She took my car. Isn’t that enough? That is why I called you.”

Dyne’s gaze took a quick inventory of the room they were in.

An old red wood desk in danger of crumpling under a burden of papers and files. A yellowed, large box computer monitor sitting crooked on a retro-grade TV-tray table. Four grey filing cabinets, one with an obviously off track drawer and a key broken back in the lock.

“I hired her on nine years ago, you know,” Neill said. “I needed a secretary. Someone good with this-” he flicked his fingers against the side of the aged device, “-computer. She could type like the Devil working up the receipt for a soul.”

Dyne glanced to the notes made in his cheap little paper pad. “Straight out of Thistle Creek High School, yes?”

“I knew her uncle.”

“That was why you hired her?”

Neill paused. He leaned forward. His sweating lip lifted into a smile. “She had nice tits.”

Dyne contained a wince.

“Tits come in handy when you’re plying customers. Ya get me?”

“I do,” Dyne reluctantly admitted.

“Coffee for ___,” Neill imagined the dictation to the invisible secretary. He shrugged one of his wide shoulders. “Worked.”

“It’s a man’s world,” was Dyne’s wry quote. “About the car,” he set the man back on track. “You don’t seem interested in anything else that might be missing. What can you tell me?”

“I tell you, Gourd-“

The man’s diplomatic smile was slipping.

“-I got that car as a payment. Beautiful. Cadillac Deville. 197o rag top.” He sank back into his large chair, his eyes growing distant and fond. “I paid that kid at Horn’s garage to get it perfect. Was 8 cylinders of magic, I tell ya. And the interior? Don’t get me started on it.”

“I won’t.”

“Leather, wood, mood lighting.”

Dyne wished the descriptions would stop. Glancing at his watch, he hoped the sentiment was suggested.

“Cora had my keys that day. I told her to bring it around to the front. Was raining, if you remember. The parking is behind the building. We share with the florist back there.”

“Yes.”

“Cora didn’t have her own car. If she could manage it, she would drive one of Frank’s.”

“Frank Morrison.”

“Yeah. Looked like that old pop-star too.”

“Pop-star?”

“Well, that old hippie crush. Whatever he was. Frank, Frank…” In recollection, the man sighed. He shook his head. “Frank had his girls, you know. Janie down at the deli? Classic scenario, if you ask me. Lot of people go into the diner there for lunch. Sure, Cora did too. Picking up sandwiches for me. She had to have figured something out. All of these years, all the whispering? A whole town in on it? And in a small town like this, Gourd, we all know the stench of someone’s particular laundry.”

With a darting glance side to side, and the chair protesting against any sudden movement, Neill leaned forward and laid his hand to the side of his mouth. He dropped the volume of his voice as if he were being considerate: “Like we all know your old lady beat hell out of you with a golf club and then skipped town with the guy who owned it.”

The diplomatic smile was entirely gone. Dyne watched the man settle back.

He tucked his note-pad away into the breast pocket of his unassuming suit jacket, while at the same time feeling out a pack of cigarettes. Knocking one out of the flimsy paper and plastic, he did not so much ask, “Mind if I smoke?”

“Well… I guess not.” Neill’s eyes followed the motions of a metal lighter, the sound of the lid snapping open, the wheel spinning and the flint sparking the only noises made.

Puffing out a few small clouds of silver, Dyne replaced the items and smiled. “Nasty habit, I’m told.”

“Yeah, you should quit.”

“Of course. Now,” Dyne glossed right over the standard lecture, “Cora came in that morning, same as every day, yes? Did anything unusual happen?”

“No. She made the coffee. Unlocked the offices. I guess. Everything was the same when I got here.”

“So you weren’t here yourself.”

“No, I usually get here thirty minutes after. I like the thermostat to be running.”

Dyne flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the scuffed hardwood floor. “Are you married, Mr. Gregors?”

“Married?” He frowned at the question. “You have records.”

“My record says I’m divorced. It doesn’t mention a golf instructor and an expensive putter.”

“It was a putter?”

“Are you married?”

Neill might have once fidgeted with a ring on his finger. He in a subconscious way reverted back to the old habit, too. He reached one hand to feel out the bare finger before remembering a pawn slip, and answered, “Not exactly. Separated.”

Dyne smiled. “All in the details. And you are certain that your ‘not exactly’ wife wasn’t the one to steal your car.”

The idea of his unappreciated wife in any way appreciating that vehicle made Neill Gregors laugh. His face practically beamed with his criticism. “That cow? Make a smart steal? Hardly! She wants half of my practice, not my car!”

“Some might see the practice as the smart steal.”

“She’s not getting one penny, and she knows it. And what does that have to do with Cora?” He threw himself forward again, his eyes irritably trailing the flecks of ash that once more fluttered down onto the floor. “Cora stole that car. To hell with my wife. You asked me about that morning. She had the air turned on, but when I got here it was hot. Just like it is now. I asked her why it wasn’t working.”

Dyne smoothly plucked out the note-pad. With his thumb he flicked up the cover and several pages. “You demanded to know why it was still hot. The florist,” he glanced up, “In the parking lot behind the building heard you screaming. Windows were open?”

“Gladys gets here the same time I do, sure. She has rough nights.” He indicated a tipping bottle. “Any given morning, a pin dropping would sound like thunder to her.”

“Regardless, you were not using your normal tone of voice.”

“I told Cora to call someone. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Everything matters, Neill,” Dyne assured him. “We’re talking about a woman that is alleged to have stabbed her husband five times, stolen a car, and skipped town.”

“Alleged?”

“Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. You know all about that, don’t you.”

“Heard it was an heirloom butter knife.” Neill shook his head with his knowledge. “That takes force. That takes anger.” His occupational mind butted in: “That would be hard as hell to defend in court.”

Dyne mildly remarked, “I imagine you could do it.”

“I could.”

A few moments passed before Neill’s brow bunched up. The responsible thought was abruptly addressed, “How someone keeps a good, murderous grip on that kind of knife still amazes me.”

“Is that experience talking?”

Neill Gregors cleared his throat. He asked, “Need an ashtray?”

“Yes.”

Without the exact item, Neill was uncertain of how to accommodate. His eyes darted around him, rifling through all in the room, before he finished his coffee and plunked the empty Styrofoam cup in front of the detective. “She said she’d call. I told her Roy was good.”

“Armed robbery.”

“Yeah, well, he knows about air conditioning. DA says he uses his job to case a joint out.” Neill watched the ember scatter down into the cup. “Cora said she’d call him. Never did, as you can tell. She had a file with her that morning. Kept trying to hand it to me.”

“Any particular case that you were handling?”

“Marylynn Pool. I think you were the one to go biting at her back.”

“Beat up wives do get my attention.”

“So she says.” Neill gestured his hand in a general classification, “Innocent until proven, as you say. Her husband has a pretty good case against her.”

A slight lift in Dyne’s brows signaled his doubt of that.

“Cora was hot about that one. She told me I was worse than him if I took the case. A job is a job, I said. And it is. But I think she held it against me.”

“Oh?”

“Frank said she was clumsy. She said Frank was…”

Dyne’s head tilted to the side. He watched the man shuffle a few papers, and then reach to pick up the Styrofoam cup before remembering the cigarette ash in the bottom of it. The hollow sound it made once set back upon the desk broke that silence.

Dyne dropped the cigarette stub into the cup and then settled back in his chair, lifting his leg to prop his ankle upon his opposing knee. The casual stance practically opposed the solemnity of what he next addressed. “Frank hit her?”

“She says,” Neill repeated.

“Mmm. I take it you never saw any evidence of it.”

Neill retained his cool. “I don’t assume anything, Gourd. In this business, you can’t.”

“Well, without assumptions, what did you notice?”

He paused. He said, “Sometimes she came in bruised up a bit. That morning she had a pretty bad eye. Face swollen up under it. Big cut. She had a few of those butterfly bandages on it. Didn’t even wear makeup that day. I said she should have. That, or called in to stay home. Said she shouldn’t come in looking like that.”

“And what did she say?”

“Nothing. Just told me the air wasn’t working.”

The man’s eyes again flitted to the windows and the sun blazing down on the simple street outside. He dragged his wrist across his lips. Eyeing the Styrofoam cup once more, he excused the gesture, “Coffee isn’t the best thing in the morning this time of year.”

“I assume that Cora would have coffee ready for you.”

“Yeah. That maker there in the front office. I don’t know how to use it. Anyway, after that air talk, I came in here. Had a few calls I had to get to. I heard her moving around in there, though. Then it was quiet. When I asked her to go get lunch, I got no answer. That’s when I realized she was gone. I went outside to get the car, meaning to go to the diner myself, and that’s when I realized it was gone.”

“The diner is only a block away,” Dyne pointed out.

“Was raining.”

He looked away with a small smile. He hesitated before almost meanly pointing out, “I don’t recall it raining that day, Neill.”

“Look, she took my car. To hell with the weather. I want to get it back.”

“You are insured, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thoroughly?”

“Sure.”

“Meaning you will be fully compensated.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Cora know that?”

“I guess. She paid the bills.”

Neill grew uncomfortable during the following pause. He set up his defense against a supposed critique. “My wife used to do that for me. Pay the bills. She left, so I had Cora keep up with that here. At least she was never late with it like the Cow was. Always on time. Never asked me questions either. The old lady always had questions.”

“Cora had access to your bank account information, as well as any bills that you paid?”

“Yes.”

“Was that wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? What the hell could she do?”

Dyne’s smile was genuine.

“She did all the work for Frank too. That’s how she got mad, I think. Him off shagging Janie and she was paying the bills he racked up on it.”

“He didn’t think she would notice?”

“Between you and me? Frank didn’t think she would do anything about it. What could she do, huh? She couldn’t go anywhere. She needed him to bring in the money, so she had to stay.”

After another pause and uncomfortable look to the windows, Neill almost timidly asked, “Mind a drink, Gourd?”

“Oh, of course not.”

He sat quiet, watching the man yank open a desk drawer. He heard a few clinking items and then studied the label of the bottle brought out and set among the papers. He gave a slight nod of agreement when Neill held up a second glass in question. While the lawyer poured the crystal liquor into the crystal containers, he asked, “Did you know Frank well?”

“No,” Neill admitted. “About as much as anyone else. But if you are asking for Cora’s reasons to get out of town, that would be the big one. You’re fairly new to Thistle Creek, so I don’t imagine you know the local gossip.”

Dyne accepted the glass handed off to him. He took a small sip, silent but attentive.

“Frank came in a couple years after she got outta school. Frank was a hot commodity, but he liked Cora the most. Would take her out a lot. Girl was stupid enough to believe him when he said she was the only one.” He shook his head. “You know the sort of story.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“She got knocked up.”

“She doesn’t have children,” Dyne pointed out.

“No.” Neill blew his breath out. He swiped up his glass, and with one large swallow emptied the contents of it. “Frank didn’t want kids. No one could ever say for sure, but Cora was put in the hospital not much later. She told the nurse when she went in- said that Frank put something in her food. After that, she didn’t say it again, though. Said she just fell.”

“No charges pressed.”

“No. And no one asked any questions. She got married to him that summer.” Leaning forward on one planted elbow, he extended the empty glass with the opinion. “She was scared of him, I think. My wife said she was scared. A guy doing that to you, then showing up at the hospital to act like he was worried? Yeah, that’s something pretty messed up.”

“It doesn’t sound to me like Frank was a commendable character.”

“He was a helluva doctor.”

Dyne looked away and into the glass he held. He swirled the strong scented gin before lifting the glass to his slightly turned lips. “Rich man. There are women that will put up with a lot in exchange for the money.”

He set the glass back upon the desk, and with a slight lift of his chin indicated another pour. Neill obliged.

“Everyone said that’s why she married him,” Neill said. “Parents were dirt poor farmers. Soy beans, or something. She used some ‘E’ word when she talked about it. Trying to make it sound smart, some people said.”

“It almost sounds like people resented her for her status.”

“Remember what I said about him being pretty? You add that money in to it, and remember how catty females can get? You know damn well what I mean. And,” he finished the pour and slapped the cork back into the bottle, “Cora wasn’t a pretty woman.”

Dyne smiled.

“Had a big ass, if you ask me. Big nose.” He winced. “Not a pretty woman.”

“Hmm.”

“Good typist…”

Neill’ s eyes strayed to the windows, though that time they were not considering the weather. They weren’t contemplating the bad air conditioning, or the perspiration showing again on his face. His cheeks were beginning to warm with the alcohol, and so his mood relax. “Ugly woman or not, she was a good one… Frank would tell people that she didn’t do anything right, but she worked well for me.”

Dyne softly encouraged the shift in manner. “What would you say she was like, Neill? She worked for you nine years. I am sure you were able to learn a little something about her marriage. Most cases like that, partners split up due to differences in classification.”

Neill’s eyes slid to meet Dyne’s. “He kept her around because she was easy to prey on. Power. Hell, she was his servant. He had no reason to get rid of her. Not when she couldn’t go anywhere. So he had his girls and his fun. She made his cake, and he ate it.”

“I take it she expressed her marital discontent.”

“No.” He again shifted in his chair. “You asked about her nature. Cora is a sweet kid, really. I never saw her get mad. Never saw her snap at anyone.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t like people that don’t react,” Neill stated. “And that made me uncomfortable about her. Always seemed strange. People that don’t react, something is wrong with them. Means they have something all bottled up inside. If they don’t get it out, they go crazy. They do things you and I… Well, things you write up reports about, and I wind up writing an excuse for.”

Neill sat a moment in thought. He frowned. “You know,” he remembered, “There was something delivered, now that I think about it.”

“Delivered? You were not given the item?”

“No. And I didn’t see any box or envelope in the office either.” He shook his head. “I imagine that it was sent to her. Paul at the post office should have some record of something. Let me call him,” he said, perking up with the clue.

Nodding, Dyne said, “Go right ahead.”

With a jab of his finger, Neill set the telephone line onto the speaker. He punched another button, and explained over the quick, beeping tones, “Have him on speed dial. Gotta keep an eye on my mail, you know?”

Dyne nodded again.

After three rings, the call was answered. “Thistle Creek Postal-“

“Paul,” Neill boomed his grin over the line. “Neill Gregors here.”

“I recognize ya,” Paul chuckled. “What is it today?”

“You remember that package that was dropped off here Tuesday? Came in the morning. Probably special post.”

Dyne’s eyes darted to the telephone, listening to the shuffle of papers and then tapping of plastic.

“Looking on the computer,” Paul slowly narrated his search, “And I’m not seeing any delivery.”

“Nothing?”

“I have something for Monday, but-“

“Could it have been misfiled?” Dyne spoke up. “Documented in the wrong place, or forgotten entirely?”

Neill was straight away amused. He sat well expecting Paul’s reaction to that.

“Misfiled!” the man huffed. “I keep a close eye on my-who is this anyway?”

“Dyne-“

“Gourd,” Neill chuckled.

“Yes, thank you,” he shot the man a near icy look.

“Ohhhh,” the low tone vibrated the speaker and device. “Detective Gourd. You’re looking for Cora, arentcha.”

“I am.”

“She got some kind of delivery here that morning,” Neill explained the situation. “I had hoped you had a record of it.”

“Wasn’t anything that came through here,” Paul replied. “I can call around and try to track it, if you’d like.”

“That would be terrific,” Neill replied. “Call me straight away if you find anything.”

He jabbed the button of disconnect and sat back. After a pause, he scooped up the gin. Splashing another round into the glasses, he said with a frown, “Odd.”

“Yes. Are you sure it was a delivery and not just a visitor? A messenger?”

“I heard her say ‘put it over there’. Glanced up, and saw this guy with a brown box. I didn’t pay any more attention to it.”

“A brown box.”

“Cardboard. About yay big,” he held his hands apart in demonstrating a foot square.

“What can you remember of the delivery man?”

“Nothing. He had on a postal uniform, I guess. And a hat. I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“And then she was gone.”

“That was the last I actually saw her, yeah.”

It was at that time that the pair turned their attention to the front door. The squeak of the suddenly opened hinges and a rustle of movement accompanied a thin, middle aged woman wearing a short blue dress and carrying a white plastic bag. She held it by the loops strung around one finger, in her other hand carrying a large Styrofoam cup.

“Looks like rain coming, boss!” she called over the clatter of the door swinging shut.

Dyne turned in the seat.

“Afternoon, Neill. Afternoon, Detective,” she said while swishing through the secretary’s room and straight into the office. As Neill pushed himself forward to dig out his wallet, she dug into her apron to fish out a receipt. Eyes on Dyne, she asked, “You boys having a good day so far?”

“Yes, thank you, Nita,” Dyne answered.

“Bet you’re here about Cora, huh,” she winked. She popped her gum. Leaning over the desk, she took the bills handed across it to her. “You tell him about that Dewar guy?”

Neill’s face was momentarily pinched into a question mark. “Dew-oh!” He shifted in the seat while settling himself and his wallet. “Dewar! I forgot about that kid! What,” he winked at her with a sudden grin, “Don’t tell me you and those hens think he had anything to do with this.”

She shrugged a thin shoulder, stuffing the well circulated bills into her pocket. She pointed her finger and long, glitter painted nail at him. “You can’t say he might not have come back for some reason.”

“Dewar?” Dyne spoke up with eyes darting between them. “Who exactly is Dewar?”

Nita dropped down into the second leather chair. She slung one knee over the other, and plucked a pack of cigarettes from her apron. While Dyne politely lit the end for her, she said, “Dewar was a drifter that took a fancy to Miss Cora. Before she got married. Before she even got involved with Frankie.”

“I gather that this was some time ago.”

“Oh, years,” Neill agreed.

“Some weird kid with,” Nita squinted one eye into a smudge of heavy eye-shadow, tapping her forehead, “Problems.”

Dyne’s smile was halfway, his gaze unblinking.

“He worked for Cora’s old man. Those kids ran around even when she was in school.” She turned to look at Neill, who with a nod and sound agreed with her following remark, “Not sure why he left, though.”

“Has he ever come back?” Dyne asked.

“No,” Neill shook his head. He worked at the creaky edge of the Styrofoam box. Popping back the lid, he leaned to take a deep breath of the food inside. “Smells like a good batch!” he praised the chicken.

“Sometimes Cora might talk about Dewar,” Nita continued, despite an amused chuckle at the happy customer, “But we never saw him again. She got mixed up with a few other traveling sort after that too. One guy was just stopping for photographs of the old mill. Boy, was Frank mad when he caught her taking him around town.”

“He had gone to the farm first. Then mentioned that a guide might be nice. Cora’s folks suggested she help him out,” Neill explained, stopping Dyne’s question just as it was forming on his lips. “There wasn’t anything going on.”

“So you say,” Nita disagreed. “The way that man would look at her?” She clucked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “Those two might not have run off to a bed, but they sure were making love.”

“I assume Frank showed his violent nature again,” Dyne remarked.

“Nah. But she was afraid he would. Anyway, the guy left town.” Neill swiped up a chicken leg, and set to the crunching coating. “That next winter, the hotel there on the lake burned down. Was a big deal for the papers. Some local celebrity had gotten pretty messed up. There was a lot of heat about it being an insurance scam-“

“You still didn’t prove to me that it wasn’t,” Nita snorted at him in teasing.

He winked and continued, “-And a reporter came out here to get the story. Drove that pretty Cadillac, hmm?”

Dyne smiled. He settled back into the chair and lit another cigarette. “The car you are now missing?”

Chuckling, Neill wiped at his greasy fingers with a flimsy paper napkin. “That very one.”

Outside the windows, there was a low, distant rumble. A deep whisper of premonition, and the three visitors looked to the glass to see a shadow was washing grey the sun-strewn street.

Nita broke the silence. “Was a nice car,” her voice seemed tranced by the eerie calm of impending weather.

Neill’s eyes remained fixed on the view. “Dall Porter,” he murmered the name.

Dyne’s brow furrowed. He lifted his chin. “Excuse me?” he brought them back around.

“Dall Porter,” Neill rounded with a laugh. He picked up the chicken again, crumbs falling into the Styrofoam with crispy sound themselves. “He worked at some big shot paper hours from here. And sure enough, he goes right after Cora again.”

“He looked kinda familiar,” Nita put in.

“Blonde headed man. Not a big guy, but not too skinny or anything. Real nice fella.” He tossed the bone aside. Falling back in his seat, he again set to his fingernails with the by then badly battered napkin. “He goes checking into that fire and asking questions. Frank had an investment in that place. And he didn’t like the way this guy was hanging around. But considering that people died in there? That reporter was hot under the collar. He thought that those owners should be held responsible.”

“So sad,” Nita again added her part, shaking her head and with a solemn eye meeting Dyne’s darting own. “Two kids at least. Little kids,” she gestured her hand at the height.

“I certainly understand the investigative streak in journalists,” Dyne stated.

Neill wadded the paper up in his hand. “Cora and that guy-same thing all over again. They didn’t do anything, so they said, but something was between them. Frank hunted Dall down one day Cora didn’t get straight home from work. Those two got to beating on each other then.”

Dyne’s brows lifted. “Frank and Dall fought?”

“Cora wouldn’t say over what, but we all had our guesses. Anyway, Dall did a number on him. He said a lot of things, too. About that fire, about Cora, even. Frank pressed charges.”

The smile crept onto Dyne’s lips. “Let me guess. In exchange for defending him, he would give you that car.”

“That’s the ticket. I got it dropped. Never had to see a courtroom.”

Nita fired a cigarette of her own. “We never saw that guy again. But he wrote a pretty nasty story about Frank in that paper. We saw that plenty. Frank wanted to sue, right?”

“He couldn’t do much about it,” Neill agreed. “Sure the guy blasted him, but he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. Slippery bastard.”

“What was determined?” Dyne was curious. “About the fire, that is. Was it ruled an accident?”

Neill nodded. “Frank and the others got a settlement. They used some of it to build that new place.”

Dropping his cigarette into the Styrofoam cup, Dyne set his empty glass upon the desk edge. “Some. Safe to say that settlement was a lot.”

As Neill leaned to refill it, he said, “The families of the deceased got a little bit. Enough to bury them, at least. Cora would shake her head and say there was something wrong about it all, but she never straight out said she suspected her husband of any foul play.”

Hearing the thunder roll once more, Nita turned her wrist to check the time on her watch. Hopping up, she exclaimed, “I need to get back to work! Harry is going to be pissed! See ya tomorrow, Neill!”

“Take care, Nita,” he nodded, grinning as she scurried out. To Dyne he said, “Now that is a good ass.”

Dyne was looking to the windows himself. After a quiet moment passed, he asked, “You don’t think that reporter came back to get his car, do you?”

Neill shrugged one shoulder. He poured himself another drink of the gin, his eyes darting to the darkening windows himself. “No.”

“For being a ‘good little girl’,” Dyne’s eyes turned to the man, “She certainly had a thing for out of towners, wouldn’t you say?”

Neill did not right away respond. He sat with his brows bunched together, and his lips pulled down into his chin. Spinning the glass before him, he in a low voice remarked, “Something was strange about those guys. Cora didn’t trust people, but she would right away take to them. Not many people know about the last guy.”

Dyne’s laugh was incredulous. He propped one elbow on the arm of the chair and dropped his chin into his palm. “There was another one?”

“Only a few of us saw him. He stood right out to me, though. He was quiet. Wore a nice suit, drove a nice car-but… All of that quiet.” Neill’s serious eyes lifted. “Understand?”

Dyne nodded.

“I saw him around a few place, but he didn’t talk to people. No one knew anything about him either. One of the boys at the garage said he took the car there for gas. When he got out, they saw a gun on him.”

Dyne shifted in his seat. “A gun.”

Neill lightly shrugged one shoulder. “Never saw him use it. Never heard anyone say he had used it. He didn’t speak to Cora right off, either. I was the only one that saw him do that. I was getting into my car as she was going home.” He gestured to the dimming sidewalk outside. “He got out of that car, and spoke to her a few minutes. Then she walked on home. I didn’t see him again after that.”

“How long after was it that she attacked her husband?”

“Couple months.”

Dyne thoughtfully studied the other before proposing, “What if she had contracted someone to kill Frank? What if he was some sort of hired gun?”

Neill laughed. “Well, for one, he wasn’t shot. She stabbed him with a butter knife.”

“Allegedly.”

“Yeah, well who else would have done it? She stole the car and left. Why would she run if she hadn’t done the deed herself? Maybe,” Neill gave only so much, “She discussed it with that guy, but Frank didn’t let her have money. And he would have noticed if she took any out to pay for the kill.”

“Dead, I hardly think he would be reviewing any bank statements,” Dyne made a sly point.

Neill was quiet again. He then admitted, “What bothers me most about that story… Frank would have beat the devil out of her if she were coming at him like that. A butter knife? That would have taken time. But he didn’t fight the way I thought he would have.”

Nodding, Dyne agreed, “It is unusual. It is why I am reluctant to believe she was entirely responsible for the crime. The theft of your car, I’m not positive was her either.”

“Who else would do it!” he snapped. “She had the keys!”

Dyne shook his head. “It doesn’t mean she did it. That box she got,” he remarked, “I wonder what was in it.”

The two were startled at hearing the door slam open again. Neill started at the sound, sloshing part of his drink into his lap. Holding his arm out and batting at his suit, he criticized, “Damnit, boy, act like you were raised civilly!”

“They found your car!” the scrawny youth exclaimed while bounding in and to the desk. He wiped his hands on this grubby jump-suit, though it didn’t do anything but transfer more dirt to his fingers.

“What?” he leapt up from his chair.

Dyne rose as well, watching the animated explanation.

“Not far out, run into a ditch. Keys in the ignition and all. They picked Cora up near it. She was walking.” He ducked his head in realized greeting. “Afternoon, Detective. I figure your boys will be on by to tell you all about it.”

Dyne smiled. “Thank you.”

“We got her pulled out,” the mechanic told the lawyer. “We’re getting her fixed up right now. They found some box in there,” he again addressed the officer.

“Oh?”

“Not sure what it was, they didn’t say or let us see it. I’ll call you when we get your car ready, Mr. Gregors.”

Neill nodded, thanking him, beaming as he saw the other all the way to the front door of the office. Just as he was about to close the door, the mentioned officer stepped in with a quick look around.

“Dyne here?” he asked.

“Back here, Jerry,” Dyne alerted him. “I just overheard the news myself. You found the car?”

“Yeah. We got Cora in lock up right now. She’s pretty shaken up. Won’t talk to us. I figure you’ll need to come down to get a confession out of her.” He handed off a lightly worn cardboard box. “We found that in the backseat. Figured I’d bring it to you to have the first look at.”

Neill craned his neck, leaning his body to see the label. “Not opened. But it looks like that one she had.”

Dyne set it upon the desk, turning it around to read the printed out label.

“Made out to you, Dyne,” the officer said, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he looked on.

Dyne glanced at him before tapping the box. “Well, let’s see what is inside it.” He took the pocket knife the officer instantly dug up and held out. “Thank you.”

Gingerly cutting the tape, he lifted first one flap and then the other. The three of them stood frowning at the contents.

The officer’s wonder was low and almost song-like: “What the hell..?”

Neill snorted. “It’s just a teddy bear?”

Dyne pulled the soft, stuffed animal from the box, studying the smiling face in fur. Shaking it a bit, and hearing nothing rattle or squeak, he cocked his head to the side.

“Now what is this about?” the officer agreed, scratching his chin as he thought it over.

Turning it over in his hands, Dyne caught the manufacturing tag to see the writing on it. Several of the bar code numbers were smudged by friction. “I don’t know. Seems like a normal bear to me.”

They leaned to again look into the box.

The officer snorted out a laugh. “Want me to take it back to the station?”

“No, I’ll do it when I go,” Dyne told him. “You make sure you go over that car again. There might be something else in it.”

“You got it,” the man gave a quick nod and lift of his hand. Settling his hat upon his brow, he set out into the heat again, the door closing heavy behind him.

Neill walked back to his office, saying as he rounded his desk, “From the sound of that, I won’t be getting it any time soon.”

“I apologize.” Dyne dropped the bear back into the box. He turned to face the other. “Just one more question, Mr. Gregors.”

“Sure.”

“Who was it that Frank was in business with?” Dyne walked closer, stopping in the doorway of the rooms. “The hotel, I mean. You said he had a partnership in it.”

Neill shrugged one of his shoulders. He picked up his glass and polished off the gin. “The Bartlows. They were killed in a car accident not too long ago.”

Dyne’s frown flickered onto his face again. “That’s convenient.”

Dropping heavy into his seat, Neill chuckled. “I thought so. Cora never said anything about that either, but I could tell it was on her mind. You know,” he leaned forward with the sudden memory, “Frank and his partner had pretty big policies on each other. Insurance. They were set up to help the business stabilize if anything happened to one of them.”

Dyne was intrigued. “I imagine he had a similar policy for his wife.”

“Sure,” Neill confirmed. “You got here what, two years ago, Gourd?”

“Yes.”

“Was about that time that the accident happened. Before, I suppose, as you are not familiar with it.” Neill rather smirked it, “Course, you had your hands full with your old lady.”

Dyne smiled, looking away to the floor a moment. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he turned his gaze to the windows. Leaning against the door sash, he said, “She didn’t like the area. Moved back.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Oh, I’ve been all over,” Dyne gave no clear answer. “I’d heard plenty about that hotel, though.”

Neill’s eyes focused on the telephone when it rang. Stretching his arm to reach it, he cupped up the receiver and pinned it between his shoulder and ear. “Neill Gregors, this… Well, it’s good to hear back from you, Paul.”

Dyne’s brows lifted as the man looked to him while speaking.

“Yeah, he’s still here. Find something for me?” He paused. “No one saw a delivery truck?” He twisted one side of his mouth as he listened to the response. “Mmhmm… Right. Well, thanks again. I’ll talk to you later.”

He dropped the phone into the cradle, and told Dyne as he did, “Said there was no record of it, but it was a white postal truck people saw pull up. Blended right in.” He shook his head. “Why deliver a teddy bear like that? Why didn’t she open that box, and why leave it in my car?”

“All good questions,” Dyne laughed. He returned to the box, picking up the bear and holding it before him, smiling at it. “Something was put in it, is my guess.”

“Oh?”

Dyne returned to the office and sat down in the chair. He asked, “Do you have anything sharp? Maybe some scissors?”

After digging through a drawer, Neill located a pair and handed them off with the question, “Shouldn’t you be doing this at the station?”

Dyne made no response to that.

Neill leaned, nearly lifting out of the seat in an attempt to see the separating of the soft fur. He watched a few tufts of white filling as Dyne’s fingers plucked them out of the opening. He sat back with a stare when he saw something silver slip out as well. “What… The devil is that?”

Dyne set the bear on the edge of the desk. He turned the long, pen-like instrument in his fingers, the light flashing across the silver line of it. “The reason why Frank Morrison didn’t get the upper hand that evening… Hmm. It’s been used.”

Giving up on trying to hide his curiosity, Neill pushed himself up and forward to study the device. “Injectable.” He shook his head. “Why would she use that and then stab him?”

“I don’t think that she used it,” Dyne stated. He frowned, meeting Neill’s gaze. “She stabbed him before this box came to the office, remember. It wasn’t until it came that she took off.”

“Without even knowing what was in there, though.”

“Addressed to me? She probably had some fear that what was in it could be used to frame her.” Dyne shook his head. He rose, picking up the bear as he did. “I think it’s safe to say Cora didn’t do this. Probably got scared and ran. Who might be popping these hotel owners off? I would first say Frank for the insurance, but now that he’s gone, who is left?”

Neill shrugged in wordless wonder of his own.

“With Frank and the others dead, that hotel goes to Cora. Unless there is another partner, yes?” Dyne considered it.

Neill nodded. “Unless there is someone else. Frank had other people that worked with him on it. Money matters, things like that, but I couldn’t tell you who they were. Or where they are. So I couldn’t be sure Cora would get anything at all.”

Dyne stood studying Neill a moment longer. “Hmm,” it was a soft sound of consideration. “Well, I’m sure the boys at the garage will have the car primped up in no time.”

“Sure,” Neill chuckled, settling back into the leather once more. One brow dove towards the other. “About Cora-“

“I’m sure if she wants you as a defense lawyers, she’ll contact you,” Dyne stopped him. “It is kind of you to offer such assistance to her.”

“Discount,” Neill coolly corrected.

“Right…” Dyne picked up the box, dropped the bear and needle into the bottom of it, and turned to go.

Neill watched him all the way to the front door, and only when he heard it close heavy in the frame did he shake his head. He blew his breath out. He was happy to find the bottle still near his elbow, and so poured himself another drink that he gratefully downed. “Gourd,” he muttered into the glass. “Ugh.”

It was nearly three o’clock when his telephone rang again, and with a caller and conversation unrelated to his work. Terrance Farmerson was anxious to spread the story he had heard, and Neil Gregors was the first one he thought to share it with.

“Did you hear?” he began, eagerly launching in the moment Neill’s greeting was out of his mouth. “They got that Cora down there at the jail, and say she didn’t do it!”

“How did she not do it?” Neill laughed at the notion. “They found that knife and the prints on it.”

“Technically,” Terrance enjoyed using that rebuttal, “He was already poisoned. Someone else had done the job of killing him, she just-helped it along, I guess you could say. She said he wasn’t feeling well, and came at her, accusing her of trying to poison him.”

“Did she?” Neill would not rule that possibility out.

“No. She had just gotten in from the office, yeah? They got into one of their fights then. He was smacking her around but good. She grabbed the only thing she was nearest to in the kitchen. Knife on the counter from a sandwich he had made. Mustard on it. She wasn’t close enough to the sharp ones in the block.”

Scratching his chin, Neill listened with a slight crease between his brows. “That will give Donnie down there at the morgue a bit of fun sorting. Mustard in a wound.”

“She got away from him then. Said she didn’t know how she held onto it, or anything, but she was fighting for her life. He fell down in there, and she left him on the floor where Gourd and his boys found him that next morning. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, she said she got a telephone call right after it happened, someone asking if she had found the present they left for her. Gourd had Geena run the lines, and sure enough, a call went through to the house at that time, just a few minutes, and on a pay phone near your place.”

Neill felt himself draw up a little bit. His eyes darted to the sidewalk, looking for any overlooked and nearly extinct telephone boxes. Spotting one hung on the battered wall of a closed theater across the street, he admitted, “I didn’t know that thing still worked.”

“It was after hours, so downtown was all closed up,” Terrance sighed. “Gourd wasn’t happy about that. Said the odds of anyone seeing this caller were pretty slim. Most people are at home, you know?”

“I know.”

“Anyway, Cora is scared. She’s afraid to leave the house, and afraid that if she calls the police, they’ll blame it all on her. So she decides to act normal. She goes to work that next morning. She tried to think of something to do, and said she was going to ask you for advise. But then some box came and when she saw the label on it, she grabbed it and ran. She didn’t know what was in it, but she thought it was the poison – and someone was sending it to you to make sure the police got it. Yours was the only car she had to use.”

“And Gourd believes this?” Neill snorted out his question. “Not saying I necessarily don’t, but who the devil would kill Frank Morrison like that, and want the blame on her? Why not just shoot the guy?”

“Dunno,” Terrance agreed. “Gourd asked that himself. Bernie suggested someone could get rid of them both doing that, right? They’re looking into it. Cora has to stay there a little longer. He said they’re going to find out what they can about the guy that called her. But there won’t be much, I don’t think.”

Neil knew what was going to be supposed next.

“We think Frank finally pissed somebody off,” Terrance stated. “I bet they won’t find this guy. And I bet it had something to do with that hotel and all that money.”

“Maybe,” Neill levelly replied.

“Gonna miss that guy.”

Perplexed, Neill asked, “Miss who?”

“Dyne. He’s transferring out. You didn’t hear that?”

“He hasn’t been here that long,” Neill remarked. “Why is he going?”

“Better pay, he says. And he doesn’t like being in that house where his old lady wailed on him. He said he wants to finish up this case before he goes. Safe to say he’s done all he can.”

“I can understand that.”

“I gotta get off the phone. That storm is rolling in pretty strong, and I don’t like to the on the phone during storms, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Neill.”

“Bye, Terrance.”

Setting the receiver back in the dents of it, Neill’s eyes stayed on the silent phone he had held. He looked to the darkening street and the wind beginning to pull at the bushes and trees around shop fronts and lining the sidewalks and fences.

The storm broke just as Neill was shutting off lights, preparing to go home. The telephone rang again, and he pulled his hand back from the door knob, sighing. Swiping the sounding device up from the secretary’s desk, he at the same time checked the incoming name. “You find something for me, Paul?”

“Just wondering if you found out about that box,” Paul replied. “I’m guessing someone told you by now they found Cora. Sure you heard the story she has too.”

“Sure,” Neill said. “Can’t say if I believe it or not, but with a good attorney, she could beat any charges. Not that I think Gourd will be sticking her with any. He’s moving on, Terrance said.”

Paul chuckled. “Weird guy, that Gourd fellow. He looks kinda familiar. Course, I thought the same thing about a few other people we had come into town, right?”

Neill slowly sat down upon the edge of the desk. He at that time remembered something discussed during the day, and it at that time also seemed more rational than before. “That Dewar kid… What do you remember about him, Paul?”

“Not much. He kept to himself when he was here. I couldn’t put a face with that name if you asked me.”

“What about that travel photographer? And the newspaper guy?”

“Donnie no one really saw either. As for Dall, you knew him more than anyone else, didn’t you? Getting him out of that jam and all?” Paul then admitted, “Course, not that you really saw much of him face to face. Wasn’t much need for that, considering how it was handled.”

Neill’s eyes lowered and wandered in thought. “Gourd came here not much later.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, I should let you go,” Paul suggested an end to the call. “Get you on your way before this storm breaks.”

Neill nodded, about to say goodbye, though he swore instead. The last lights on snapped out. With a hissing clack the phone went dead in his ear. “Damn cordless,” he slapped it back into the base.

The door opened again. Neill sat frozen on his perch, one hand on the useless telephone, the other hung midair in surprise.

Dyne winked at him. He with his heel shut the door behind him, his hands busy with the task of pulling on close fitting gloves. “I was waiting for that,” he referenced the darkness.

“What the devil are you doing?” Neill questioned.

“Didn’t think anyone would find out your share?” Dyne smiled while adjusting the fit.

Neill’s eyes grew larger, watching one of those hands slip into the dark coat Dyne wore. He blinked against the lightening flash that shot like a shiver down the barrel of a gun. “A… A little,” his answer was hoarse.

“Should have handled your own money, Neill. Made it easier to track you down.”

“Yes…” Neill wiped at his suddenly perspiring face.

Pulling back the slide, Dyne shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Gregors. You had to have known someone was coming up behind you. Maybe not the people you thought.” He winked. “Or the kind of ‘law’ that might go easier on you. How much was it you got out of that deal with Frank? You got rid of the Bartlows nice and neat. Which of the scum you’ve defended did you learn that trick from?”

Neill hands felt along the desk around him, his eyes darting around the pitch featured room in an attempt to find either escape or a weapon. “What the hell does this have to do with-with anything? What the hell are you doing here? Why pretend to be-be some cop?”

“Oh, I am a cop,” he lightly shrugged one shoulder. “Pay sucks, the work is unappreciated, but it gets me closer to places and people.”

“This isn’t about Cora at all, is it?”

“No.”

“Now listen here,” Neill rose while hastily lifting his hand, “I had nothing to do with that fire, Dyne! Whoever got screwed in that deal, it wasn’t my doing! Frank made deals with other people, but that was his doing, not mine!”

“I’m not here to hear your case, Neill-“

“I didn’t do anything there, that was all Frank! That was all his idea, Dyne, it was his!”

“Like I said, I don’t care to hear your story,” the detective frowned at him. “I wouldn’t have even bothered speaking to you, but I am curious about one thing.”

Neill was not sure if he were relieved or strained by the delay. “What?”

“What were you going to do to Cora?”

Neill winced.

“She was kind of in the way at the end, right? I know it wasn’t you that poisoned Frank, but what were you going to do to see to it she didn’t get any of that hotel?”

The thunder rumbling outside vibrated the windows in the frames. The wind was pushing shrubs against the glass and walls, and rustling leaves with wild branches. Neither one of the people inside seemed aware of that storm though.

Neill stood looking at the man across from him. There was the answer to give in a court room. And then there was the answer to give to the executioner. “I hadn’t figured it out yet,” he said, voice low and even. “To be honest, I expected him to do the job for me. Then I figured you would. Prison time and all.”

Dyne nodded.

“I didn’t want to hurt that kid,” Neill quietly added, lightly shaking his head. “She’d had a bad enough go as it was. I would probably have just tried to talk her into a divorce.”

Lifting his chin, Dyne repeated, “Divorce?”

Snorting out a breath, and with a sidelong glance, Neill admitted, “Easy way would be to finish Frank’s work and pin it on him. Everyone knew what he did to her, and there would be no one to say he hadn’t gone too far. Whoever Frank pissed off with this,” he met Dyne’s gaze again, “I had nothing to do with it.”

“You had plenty to do with the rest of it, though,” Dyne replied. “This isn’t something you can talk your way out of.”

Neill might have moved to protest. Maybe he would have made a final plea, but there wasn’t any chance for it. The next clap of thunder masked the sound the gun made. He dropped back heavy on the desk before tumbling from the edge of it and onto the floor.

Dyne stepped over him and to the door, tucking the weapon away as he did.

“Well,” the secretary said while rearranging paper clips in a plastic tray set upon that desk, months after the blood had been wiped away, “Everyone figured that whoever Frank had gotten mixed up with got mad at them all for the hotel scam, and had them both killed! So Cora was let go. She left town, and I don’t blame her one bit.”

The man sitting in the small office lobby nodded when she looked up and to him. “What happened to the hotel?” he asked.

“Well,” she continued, “Neill’s wife sold her share of the hotel to some people out of town. We think it was Those People, don’t you know. She took over the office herself. You know that though, seeing as you are here. She actually was his partner before they disagreed on what type of cases to take, so she knows what she’s doing. I got Cora’s old job, which sure beats dishing dessert at the diner!”

“Is the detective available to talk to?”

She laughed. “Dall,” she teased him, “You aren’t trying to write mean stories about Thistle Creek again, are you?”

“Of course not, Nita,” he chuckled at the intuitive implication. “I am only curious. Karma working is always interesting. I’m not going to write about this. I wouldn’t know what would be safe to say.”

“Well, Detective Gourd transferred to some big city a few months later. After he did all he could to find the killer. Eventually everyone told him to let it go, there wasn’t any finding the guy. I wonder if he talked to his wife again,” she mused, brows lifted. “They said she didn’t like this town, and that was why she left.”

“And beat him up with a putter.”

She winked. “You are asking around about a story, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “Just curious,” he repeated. “I just want to know what people remember about the case and the people involved. The hotel was of interest before, if you recall.”

“Sure. If you want to know more, I’d suggest you talk to Martha.” She paused before wondering, “That isn’t why you are here, is it?”

“No,” he shook his head, frown fleeting in correction. “I’m only here about the car.”

Nita laughed. “I guess you would be!”

Martha Gregors pushed open the door at the time, and glancing between the two smiled to recognize the man seated in the waiting area. “Just let me get settled,” she said, “And we’ll get that paperwork squared away! Nita?”

“Yes?”

“Run on down to the diner, would you? Harry promised me a danish this morning, and he’d better have it! He should have one for you too!”

“Coffee?” Nita suggested an addition.

“Ugh,” Martha’s eyes darted to the silent machine, “That thing never works. Coffee would be great.”

“Sure thing,” Nita grinned, hopping up from the seat. Swiping her purse from the desktop, she pulled open the door. “If I don’t see you again, it was good to talk to you, Dall!” she chirped at him him. She gave him a wave and bright smile and exited the building.

Only then did Dall rise. He smoothed out the cut of his jacket and followed Martha into the back office. He stood patiently aside as she went around the desk, pulling open a drawer to locate a file folder in it.

“How’s business?” he asked.

“Wonderful,” she glanced up with the assurance. “Despite what my late husband thought about defending the innocent. There is money in the dishonest, but there is integrity in true justice,” Martha stated.

Dall smiled.

“I may not be swimming in it, but I am making a living,” she said, smiling as she did.

Closing the drawer to, she set a file before him, the edges still crisp and unbeaten, the year, model, and make of the car written in clean letters on the tab. Dall looked down before stepping closer to open the front flap. While he surveyed the papers revealed, she explained them, “As agreed. Sale of the car. As is.”

He glanced up with a smile.

Seating herself in the large leather chair, Martha settled back with a knowingly amused expression. “The blonde never suits you,” she commented upon it.

“It’s easy for people to remember,” he coolly replied. “That’s much better than their knowing my face, hmm?”

“The blonde, the names, the temper, the car,” she picked them out. “Strong features to attract the memory to the wrong details of your characters.

“About like this old car,” he took the sternly designed fountain pen she held out to him, leaning to sign a line singled out by a slashing X. “Painted up and perfected, no one remembers it was Cora’s father that first owned it.”

“I do wonder how you got it from him,” Martha admitted. “He was quite fond of it.”

“Two years working for him and he couldn’t pay me,” Dall parted with the information. “I had room and board, but at the end, he said he could not give me any money for my work. Only the means to find my way to someone that could.”

“I imagine things would have been very different if that hadn’t have happened.”

“Very different,” was his quite consent.

“And how is Cora?”

“Doing well,” he answered. “Getting out of this town and away from Frank did her a world of good. It will take her time to adjust, I am sure, but freedom is sometimes a frightening prospect. Especially to someone that has lived for so long with no real comprehension of it.”

“I suppose money isn’t a problem,” she winked the reference. “Suddenly taking care of someone else can be a bit of a shock to some wallets.”

He smiled, straightening with a wink of his own. “Reporters make decent money if the story is right.”

She chuckled. She sat forward to take the pen handed back to her. Closing the folder, she asked with lifted brows, “The Powers That Be are still happy, I hope?”

“Of course. They appreciated your cooperation.”

Martha nodded. “And I theirs. I hadn’t seen it all working out so nicely when I approached them, but I had not quite realized who would be handling the problem. Was it easy to come back here like that? You always came to see Cora before, but that last time… Married and all? Was Mrs. Gourd part of it?”

Shrugging, Dall told her, “No. I like to keep things as legitimate as they can be. Works out better in the end. ‘Mrs. Gourd’ was an easy accessory, really. All I had to do was find a fast, hot-headed girl interested in nothing more than herself, and I was guaranteed she would find a way to move on. I didn’t count on the golf club,” he admitted, rubbing his neck with a smile and glance to the nearby windows. “But a little pain can be necessary.”

Martha laughed. “Is there anything I can do for you, Dewar? Anything at all?”

“No, ma’am,” he shook his head. He took the two keys on a thin ring that had been extended to him with the inquiry.

“You have your sweetheart and your old car to drive her around in,” she agreed. “I suppose that is all one would need. But,” she quietly insisted, “If there is anything I can do, you do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Likewise. Thank you, Martha.”

“Thank you. I hope to see you again sometime.”

He nodded without answer to that, turning away to the front office and the main door there.

Martha dropped her chin into her hand, smiling while watching him go. She turned her eyes to the window, watching him stride to the polished car parked spectacular on the curb, all calm confidence that could be portrayed in any step.

“Would I even recognize you if I did,” she with amusement speculated. “Or even honestly know why you might be reappearing.”