All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker Page A

of Peete’s talent shows up in the dugout.”
    “What’s his specialty?”
    “He’s a knife man.”
    I shook my head. I’d almost prefer a gun man. Then I’d be on the
same level. A knife man preferred everything close and personal. That didn’t
bode well for Clara Milbanks. Or for me.
    Leroy gave me a serious look. “Wade, as your friend, I have to
tell you to watch yourself. If Peete has it out for someone, chances are he’ll
get’em. You get in the way, well….” He shrugged.

Chapter Ten
     
    Later that evening, I took Leroy up on his
gin rummy offer. I showed up at his house, bottle of wine in hand. Rosemary had
made a nice, home-cooked meal of roast beef and carrots. I don’t mind cooking
and do more than I eat out, but there’s something about a woman’s touch in the
kitchen that a bachelor like me just doesn’t have.
    The evening was fine, and I even enjoyed Leroy’s two kids, Leroy
III and Rebecca. I went home and spent lots of waking time staring at the
ceiling as lit by the streetlamp knifing through my Venetian blind.
    The next morning, after a breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee, I
found myself back in my office interviewing possible secretaries. I was itching
to get back out on the pavement and do something, but a couple of things
stopped me. The first was Stella, my sister. She had agreed to spearhead the
search for a new secretary by lining up a few women for me to interview. Not
sure where she got them, but most of them were not what I was looking for.
Sure, they typed well enough, but all were slower than Martha from the day
before.
    The more pressing matter was I didn’t know what to do next. I
basically kept staring through the women I was supposedly interviewing until I
heard a commotion in the main office. The blonde sitting opposite me, the last
one on the list I had, turned around as the door to my inner office opened. Martha
Weber stood there, hips cocked. She held up her hand and rubbed her thumb and
forefinger together.
    “I left yesterday, Wade, and you didn’t pay me the balance you
owe me.” Her eyes flicked to the blonde, then back to me. “Five dollars?”
    The blonde turned back and gave me a what-the-hell look. I smiled
and held up my hand, hoping to stave off any comment. “Just a minute.” I
reached around to my wallet.
    The blonde asked, “You already hired a secretary? Why am I even
here?”
    “No, I haven’t hired anyone yet,” I mumbled, unfolding my wallet
and stealing a glance inside. With the advance Smith had given me yesterday,
the cash I had on hand was substantially greater than it had been yesterday. I
partially hid the wallet behind my desk since I didn’t want Martha or the
blonde—what was her name?—to see the extra cash.
    Pulling out a fiver, I stood and held it out between two fingers.
Martha walked over and took it from me. She gave me a little smile and
something akin to a wink.
    “Thanks for helping out yesterday.”
    “You’re welcome,” Martha said. “Any closer to making a hire?”
    I scowled. “Not really.”
    She looked mildly hurt. The blonde batted her eyelashes, trying
to improve her chances. “Well, then, I hope you come to a decision soon. I have
other offers, you know, but your job looks like more fun.”
    Looking at her face, something tugged at me, but I couldn’t put
it in place. I was a little peeved that she had burst into my office like that,
but then a thought occurred to me. A big goofy grin spread across my face.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “For what?” Martha asked.
    “For reminding me what a PI can do.”
     
    Thirty minutes later, I sat in my car, newspaper in hand, and
fortified with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee. I had parked
half a block down from the agriculture office. Martha’s barging into my office
bullying me for her payment had given me an idea: I could strong-arm Teague
into rescinding the slaughter order.
    By the time lunch rolled around, I had read through the entire
paper,