Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"How can you think of stuff like that?"

"I just do. And you do, too. It might take you longer."

"Thank you," Susan dryly replied.

"I don't mean it that way. You're smarter than I am."

"You went to Smith, I didn't."

"That's neither here nor there. Our minds work differently. That's why we're best friends."

"Is that it? I always wondered." Susan's good humor was restored.

"Anyway, she could have so easily done him in and we'd never, ever know. About Mychelle, well, not an elegant murder. Sloppy."

"God, it is ghastly. The murders are so different, in execution, I mean, it's quite possible they were committed by two different people."

Harry replied, "That's logical but I know in my bones that H.H.'s and Mychelle's murders are connected. I've even thought that H.H. might owe money from gambling."

"That's a different kettle of fish and if this is somehow connected to college sports, there will be a lot more dead bodies. Those rings are very well organized. Hundreds of thousands of dollars change hands."

"And the playoffs are right around the corner."

Susan reached in the white bag. "Damn."

"What?"

"I wanted another doughnut."

"I'm sorry. You're always moaning about losing weight. I don't know why. You look just fine."

"You haven't seen me naked lately." Susan laughed.

"No. Should we hit the showers?"

"Hey, golf and tennis season will be here before you know it. Do you want to see me walking through the ladies' locker room, a towel wrapped around me, looking like the great white whale?"

"Susan, you exaggerate."

"A tad." She clasped her hands together. "But now I can't get the thought of another doughnut out of my mind and I have all this correspondence to catch up on." She pointed to a tottering pile on the desk. She thought about sneaking a cigarette to curb her appetite but dismissed that remedy. The doughnut was proving a more powerful temptation.

"Come on. We can pick up more doughnuts. Hey, we could go to Krispy Kreme."

Susan shook her finger at her. "You know how I love those doughnuts. Not fair."

As the humans and animals piled into Susan's station wagon, Mrs. Murphy said, "The secret of success is to watch the doughnut, not the hole."

23

What do you mean she's dead? She can't be dead. She's supposed to be in my office tomorrow at eleven!" Fred Forrest shouted at the sheriff.

His wife, Lorraine, hurried back into the living room. She'd left her husband alone with the sheriff and his deputy but hearing his raised voice she thought he might need her. Fred possessed a terrible temper.

"Fred, honey?"

He turned to her. "Mychelle is dead. They say Mychelle is dead." He was standing in front of his chair, having bolted up the minute he got the bad news.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Forrest." Rick was standing in front of her.

"Sit down, Sheriff. Fred, you should have asked the sheriff and Deputy Cooper to sit down. Please." She motioned to both of them to have a seat. "Now, Fred, you just take a deep breath. Sit down, honey."

He remained on his feet. "I don't believe it."

"I'm afraid it's true." Cooper's voice was steady.

Finally Fred submitted to his wife's tugging and dropped into his chair.

"Would you like me to go, Sheriff?"

"No. Perhaps you'll be able to help us, Mrs. Forrest."

She perched on the edge of the large, cushy chair next to Fred's La-Z-Boy.

"How did she die?" Fred's bottom jaw snapped upward like a turtle's.

"She suffered a stab wound. The coroner's report may reveal more information, though. We try not to jump to conclusions."

"This is terrible. This is the worst thing I've ever heard. A young woman like that. She had everything to live for." His eyes had a wild look.

"You worked closely with her?" Rick asked as Cooper unobtrusively took out her notebook, flipping over the cover.

"I supervised her. She was my best in the field. Soaked it all up. Only had to tell her once." He kept shaking his head. "Who would do a thing like this?"

"That's what we want to know." Rick rubbed his forehead. "Did she have a boyfriend?"

"She didn't say but we didn't talk about personal things, Sheriff. Strictly business. When men and women work together it has to be strictly business."

"I see." Rick avoided glancing at Cooper since they talked about everything and everyone under the sun. "Well, did you ever notice any men meeting her after work?"

"No, sir. That girl did her job, then climbed in her car and drove home. Every single day. Never mixed in pleasure with her job. No, sir."

"Would you characterize Mychelle as a happy person?"

"Well, I guess I would. She didn't complain." This was Fred's version of happiness.

"Did she ever have difficulties with contractors? Architects?"

Fred pinched his lips together. "Any one of them can be a headache on any given day. She was professional. If something was wrong she explained the problem. She knew the county code forwards and backwards. Very professional."

"Did you ever receive complaints about her?"

"Our department gets every whiner in the county. But it wasn't personal, you see. Doesn't matter which building inspector is on the job. Contractor will call back and say, 'Fred Forrest says I don't have proper ingress and egress.' Stuff like that."

"No one ever called and said, 'Mychelle Burns is wrong' or 'She's impolite.' That sort of thing?" Rick queried.

"No."

"What about H. H. Donaldson?"

"No different."

"You didn't like him?"

"No. Man was a pain in the ass. Thought he was an artist. That type. I didn't wish him dead, you understand, but I never liked the guy."

"He never called complaining about Mychelle?"

"No. H.H. just called to complain, period."

"Any other contractor that you would describe as a prima donna?"

"Olin Reid's like that."

"What about a huge operator like Matthew Crickenberger?"

"He's reasonable but, you see, Sheriff, that's pretty much the way it is. The bigger the operator, the better he is. I don't have but so many citations on a Crickenberger job. It's the little guy's trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Do it cheap, you see. Doesn't always have good subcontractors. The best attract the best."

"I see." Rick patted his pack of cigarettes in his chest pocket. He wouldn't light up in Fred's house, but it was reassuring to know his Camels were right there. "Did Mychelle ever come into money?"

Fred's expression was surprised. "Money?"

"An inheritance, perhaps. Maybe she won a lottery ticket, you know, something for a thousand bucks. Anything?"

"No. Never saw her spend much. A sensible girl. Why?"

"Money is often a motive for murder. Perhaps she came into some money. That sort of thing."

Fred shook his head. "No. I would have known. I don't think people can hide money. Even though she didn't bring her personal life to work, I would have noticed new clothes or things."

"Did she gamble?"

Now he was really surprised. "Mychelle?"

"Sure. Gambling's big."

"Only time I ever saw her use the phone was for business. Same with the cell phone. County phone. Gotta have it in the field, you know. No extra calls. No, sir."

Lorraine took advantage of the momentary lull in the conversation to ask Rick and Cooper if they'd like refreshments but they declined.

"Uh, Mr. Forrest-"

"Sheriff, my name is Fred and you know that."

"I do." Rick smiled. "All right, what about sports? Big sports fan?"

"Yes, sir. Loved UVA. Any UVA team. Loved the Pittsburgh Pirates. Could never understand that." A puzzled expression crossed his face.

"Now, Fred, you're a pretty big sports fan yourself."

"I guess I'd have to agree."

"Well, I agree." Lorraine put in her two cents' worth.