Max Collins - Girl Most Likely

“Yeah,” Josh said. “They got a cabin. On Timber Lake. Real nice.”

Krista asked, “Would either of you know anything about Astrid that might be helpful?”

Jessy shook her head. “We haven’t stayed in touch, honey.”

“What about something dating back to high school?”

“Well, just the rumor mill. There’s always that!”

“Any specific rumor?”

Her eyes fell to the phone. “If you turn that off, maybe.”

Krista paused the recording. “Off the record.”

“... Well, I’m probably not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t even know if it’s true.”

“That’s what makes it a rumor.”

Jessy leaned very close. “You know, the girls, some of them, always said Mrs. Bragg, the coach’s wife? Well, she’s a coach, too, girls’ basketball. They always said Mrs. Bragg took a real interest in her girls. The girls on her teams and all. A real interest. Follow?”

“I follow.”

Jessy shrugged. “It’s probably just high school b.s. Some girl, maybe, got a bad grade in gym and made up some wild dumb thing to get back at teacher.”

“Such as what?”

She sighed. Drew even closer. Whispered. “Such as somebody saw Mrs. Bragg in the shower, soaping Astrid’s back. And they were naked.”

“Wouldn’t they be?”

“It was way after hours. And Mrs. Bragg was... well, Astrid was soapy all over. I didn’t see it! I don’t believe it. She’s married. She and Coach Bragg, they’re such a cute couple. I don’t buy it.”

Maybe Jessy didn’t buy it, but she sold it pretty good.

“Okay,” Krista said. “Thank you. I’m turning this back on.”

She un-paused the phone, asked them both a few more questions, then told them they could go. They might hear from her later, and if either of them had to go out of town, please let her know. They scooted out the nearest door.

David Landry came over. “Things going all right? Any way I can help?”

“You can sit down here. I have to question you like everybody else, no matter how generous a host you are. Is your wife here?”

He sat in the chair Jessy vacated. “No, I’m sorry. She’ll make herself available to you, obviously. But this was a workday for me, and Dawn had plans to see her mother over in Dubuque. We’ll set something up for you two to talk.”

“Fine. You’re aware we’re recording this.”

“Certainly.”

“Tell me about your post-reunion doings.”

“Surely. I was circulating some, mostly in the Lake View Lounge, but also at several small parties in suites. So I made the rounds. You want the names? Approximate times?”

“That would be helpful.”

He gave her all that.

Krista said, “Astrid apparently left fairly early. But did you see her at the event? Speak to her?”

“I did. We... I guess you know Astrid and I dated for, oh, several months senior year. For her, and for me, admittedly, that was a long run. When we broke up it was emotional and pretty rough. It was... my idea. I was jealous. She was getting friendly with... Josh Webster, I believe.”

“You’re not sure? I think you’d remember.”

He grinned, busted. “Yeah, it was Josh. But they didn’t last as long as Astrid and I did!” He shook his head, his eyelids at half-mast. “This is just so... it’s unspeakably sad. I wish... nothing.”

“What?”

“I wish I had spoken to her last night, more than just to say hello and welcome home and so on. To let her know how much I admired her, and all she’s accomplished.”

“Would you happen to know where you were the second week in August?”

He frowned, blindsided. “Well, that’s a very busy time for us. I was right here. Will I need to prove that?”

“Possibly. Not right now. And you have no trips planned in the coming weeks?”

“No. We have several conventions coming in. I have to be here. Getaways come rarely when you run a vacation wonderland.”

She asked him a few more questions and he remained unfailingly helpful and even charming.

“Okay, David. Thank you. For everything you’ve done for us here today.”

“Happy to help.”

That took care of everyone she wanted to zero in on, so Krista pitched in and interviewed other attendees until, by midevening, all of the locals had been released. The out-of-towners were a different matter, because some checking up would need to be done, particularly on their alibis for the Sue Logan homicide.

Dog tired, she took a break in the Lake View Lounge herself. She was slumped in a booth, sipping ginger ale, when Booker lumbered in. That sharp suit of his looked a little bedraggled.

He plopped down next to her. “Can I be officially off damn duty?”

“Sure. Get yourself a beer.”

“I was thinking more a Jack on the rocks.”

“... Who’s stopping you?”

He went over and got that and returned. They compared notes. Neither felt they had learned much, and she wasn’t ready to share the rumor about Kelly Bragg.

“David Landry,” she said, “has been very helpful.”

“Suspiciously helpful?”

“Maybe. But his alibis for both crimes are likely to hold up.”

“So what?”

She frowned. “So what?”

Booker chuckled. “David Landry has spilled more money than you and me will ever see. You don’t think he could afford to hire somebody killed? Some fancy way that makes it look like some psycho did it? Or somebody with a hell of a grudge, so it doesn’t look like a hit job?”

She was too tired to have an opinion. But she filed that away for when she was rested.

If he’d thought to bring a topcoat, Keith would have hoofed it. From the Drake Hotel to WLG-TV on West Washington was only a half-hour walk, and he might have enjoyed it, if February hadn’t decided to turn cold on him, that lake wind earning its reputation. After all, this was a part of the Loop he knew well.

He and Karen had often spent getaway weekends here, the Drake their lodging of choice. They’d leave Friday, after she got home from teaching, or earlier during her summer vacation, if his work schedule allowed. They would check into the Drake, dine right there at the hotel, then have what married people sometimes refer to as “a romantic evening.” On Saturday she would shop the Miracle Mile while he and his cop pal Barney would take in a ball game at Wrigley Field or at the Cubby Bear bar, after which he and Karen would go to Second City on North Wells and eat somewhere in the neighborhood. On Sunday they would take in a matinee of a play or musical, and have deep dish pizza at Gino’s East before heading home.

They had done that so many times, it was now a sweet, pleasant blur.

But the Drake had not been a good idea. Oh, it was still a lovely old hotel, fairly recently restored. Only this was his first time there without Karen. Warm memories only went so far. Getting to sleep in a hotel room so like those the two of them had often shared, well, that hadn’t been easy.

Last night — this was Monday morning — he had checked in with Krista, calling her cell (no landline anymore at the old homestead), and found her just getting in.

“We’ve talked to everybody,” she said, “except the teachers. And I’ll be doing that tomorrow. They have an in-service day, I’ve been told, so I won’t have to pull anybody out of class, or look them up at home.”

“Small breaks,” he told her, “are still breaks.”

He was in his T-shirt and boxers, propped up on the bed with pillows behind him and a John Wayne western (one of the old Warner’s “B” ones, pre- Stagecoach ) on the TV, muted. He listened to her fill him in on what she’d learned, which chiefly came from those who were already her favorite suspects.