they haven't asked.'
'They will,' offered the print reporter, inching back to eavesdrop.
'I know something,' Christy said again.
'That's good, dear,' I said in a sing-song voice. 'I'll be there in a second, so you can tell me all about the nasty caffeine.'
I turned back to the woman in front of me. 'Aside from Tweety-Bird's hallucinations, do you want anything else? And if you're thinking of bribing us, you'd better be packing more than a ten.'
Sarah looked offended. 'A ten ? Somebody tried to buy our souls for a measly ten bucks?'
'Minus his cup of coffee.' I was keeping an eye on Christy. 'Sarah, can you handle this?'
'Sure.' I waved at Art Jenada, who was next in line, and crossed to Christy's table.
She was taking careful sips of what now had to be very safe, very lukewarm, coffee.
Slipping into the chair next to her, I whispered, 'So you know where Kevin is now?' If she did, I'd call Pavlik and tell him. Maybe it would shorten his day so he could get to my place sooner.
'Not right this moment, silly,' she said. 'I'm here, and he isn't.'
OK. 'Then where? And when?'
Christy said, 'A Williams truck passed me on Brookhill Road when I was driving the opposite direction to go see Ronny.'
Opposite direction. The Brookhills County Jail, where Ronny was being held until trial, was west of us. That meant Kevin had to be going east.
'I wonder if he had to run over to the Milwaukee train station.' Williams Props and Staging was handling the set-up for both the Brookhills and big city dedications. Anita probably had sent Kevin scurrying back to make sure her event was going swimmingly.
Meanwhile, ours literally had come crashing down – unbeknownst to Kevin until the train or the news, in whichever order, reached him.
'And you're sure it was Kevin driving?'
'No,' Christy said, placing her cup carefully on the table. 'You really should listen better, Maggy. I said I saw the truck. I have no idea whether Kevin Williams was driving it. I don't think I've ever even met the man.'
Well, that was a big help. 'What time would this have been?'
'About eight or so? Visiting hours start at eight-thirty in the morning on Wednesdays, and I wanted to be first in line.'
I shuddered just imagining the scene: 'Yoo-hoo? I've got dibs on prisoner number 18398476!'
I started to stand, but realized it was a little rude to pump Christy for information and then just bolt. 'So, how was your visit with Ronny?'
At the mention of his name, Christy's almost-chin went up again. 'I'm sorry, Maggy. He asked me not to say anything to you.'
'But telling Sarah was just fine?'
'She's family to Ronny.'
Given how he treated family, I was more than happy to be the odd woman out. Outside their bloodline, that is.
'Christy, I don't want to upset you, but Ronny is—'
She held up her palm to me. 'I don't want to hear anything—'
'I'm telling you this for your own good. And Sarah – Ronny's "family" – will tell you the same. Stay away from him. He's a nutcase loser.'
I'd had my say, but Christy was right about not hearing anything. She'd stuck an index finger in each ear like a four-year-old who didn't want her older sister to burst the Easter Bunny bubble.
Blocking out information you don't want to hear doesn't work. I have recent and relevant personal experience. But neither does trying to penetrate the blockade.
So, I got up.
The coffee line had dwindled, maybe because Sarah had been quietly efficient or maybe because the customers had given up hope and bailed out to find an upper elsewhere.
'Where'd everybody go?' I asked.
Sarah, who was pushing buttons on the cash register, didn't look up. 'The county courthouse. Guess there's some news.'
'Already?' I went to the big track-side window and looked out. Sure enough, only a single uniformed officer remained, standing guard over the deflated cup, now finally cordoned off. The black lettering on the yellow plastic tape strung between the two balloon bouquets didn't read a vigilant
'They will,' offered the print reporter, inching back to eavesdrop.
'I know something,' Christy said again.
'That's good, dear,' I said in a sing-song voice. 'I'll be there in a second, so you can tell me all about the nasty caffeine.'
I turned back to the woman in front of me. 'Aside from Tweety-Bird's hallucinations, do you want anything else? And if you're thinking of bribing us, you'd better be packing more than a ten.'
Sarah looked offended. 'A ten ? Somebody tried to buy our souls for a measly ten bucks?'
'Minus his cup of coffee.' I was keeping an eye on Christy. 'Sarah, can you handle this?'
'Sure.' I waved at Art Jenada, who was next in line, and crossed to Christy's table.
She was taking careful sips of what now had to be very safe, very lukewarm, coffee.
Slipping into the chair next to her, I whispered, 'So you know where Kevin is now?' If she did, I'd call Pavlik and tell him. Maybe it would shorten his day so he could get to my place sooner.
'Not right this moment, silly,' she said. 'I'm here, and he isn't.'
OK. 'Then where? And when?'
Christy said, 'A Williams truck passed me on Brookhill Road when I was driving the opposite direction to go see Ronny.'
Opposite direction. The Brookhills County Jail, where Ronny was being held until trial, was west of us. That meant Kevin had to be going east.
'I wonder if he had to run over to the Milwaukee train station.' Williams Props and Staging was handling the set-up for both the Brookhills and big city dedications. Anita probably had sent Kevin scurrying back to make sure her event was going swimmingly.
Meanwhile, ours literally had come crashing down – unbeknownst to Kevin until the train or the news, in whichever order, reached him.
'And you're sure it was Kevin driving?'
'No,' Christy said, placing her cup carefully on the table. 'You really should listen better, Maggy. I said I saw the truck. I have no idea whether Kevin Williams was driving it. I don't think I've ever even met the man.'
Well, that was a big help. 'What time would this have been?'
'About eight or so? Visiting hours start at eight-thirty in the morning on Wednesdays, and I wanted to be first in line.'
I shuddered just imagining the scene: 'Yoo-hoo? I've got dibs on prisoner number 18398476!'
I started to stand, but realized it was a little rude to pump Christy for information and then just bolt. 'So, how was your visit with Ronny?'
At the mention of his name, Christy's almost-chin went up again. 'I'm sorry, Maggy. He asked me not to say anything to you.'
'But telling Sarah was just fine?'
'She's family to Ronny.'
Given how he treated family, I was more than happy to be the odd woman out. Outside their bloodline, that is.
'Christy, I don't want to upset you, but Ronny is—'
She held up her palm to me. 'I don't want to hear anything—'
'I'm telling you this for your own good. And Sarah – Ronny's "family" – will tell you the same. Stay away from him. He's a nutcase loser.'
I'd had my say, but Christy was right about not hearing anything. She'd stuck an index finger in each ear like a four-year-old who didn't want her older sister to burst the Easter Bunny bubble.
Blocking out information you don't want to hear doesn't work. I have recent and relevant personal experience. But neither does trying to penetrate the blockade.
So, I got up.
The coffee line had dwindled, maybe because Sarah had been quietly efficient or maybe because the customers had given up hope and bailed out to find an upper elsewhere.
'Where'd everybody go?' I asked.
Sarah, who was pushing buttons on the cash register, didn't look up. 'The county courthouse. Guess there's some news.'
'Already?' I went to the big track-side window and looked out. Sure enough, only a single uniformed officer remained, standing guard over the deflated cup, now finally cordoned off. The black lettering on the yellow plastic tape strung between the two balloon bouquets didn't read a vigilant
Similar Books
