and Cindy’s if she’d let me, when a weatherbeaten man in overalls came around the corner of the house. He had a farmer’s tan— face, neck, and forearms— and wore a straw hat.
“I’m here to fix the shower,” he announced.
I twisted the tap shut and stood up. We both listened to the showerhead drip.
“Be my guest,” I said. I stuck out my hand. I don’t know why. Working class solidarity, maybe. “Bruce Kohler.”
“Dowling.” His thin lips tightened in what might have been meant for a smile.
“Well, I’d better let you get to work.” I picked up the sloshing bucket.
Dowling hefted a heavy wrench in his hand.
“I’ve got a boat,” he volunteered. “If you folks want to go out for blues, let me know and we’ll set it up.”
“Fishing? Thanks, maybe we will.” I nodded and started back toward Cindy.
“Any time you want a bucket of clams,” Dowling called after me, “no problem either. We’re right down the road.”
Cindy and I were thinking about quitting for the day when a car came scrunching up the gravel.
“Damn, more company,” Cindy said. “Want to talk to them while I make a break for that outdoor shower?”
“I don’t think we get a choice,” I said as Sergeant Wiznewski emerged from the unmarked car.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Cindy called out. “How can we help you?”
I was glad she’d spoken up. I might have led with “Go away” or “It wasn’t me.” I wondered if Cindy’s stomach was fluttering inside. Mine was. She seemed cool as a debutante in spite of the dirt that streaked her legs from the knees down and the rivulets of sweat running down her cleavage.
“Afternoon,” Wiznewski corrected. He squinted at the sun rather than checking his watch before he said it. Showoff. “I’d like a word with you, Mr. Kohler, if you can spare the time.”
Moment of truth. He’d figured out the tenuous connection between Clea and me. I couldn’t imagine how. But why else would he want to talk to me? I wanted to puke. Feeling scared while sober sucked. I hoped it didn’t show. I needed to look innocent to Wiznewski and brave to Cindy.
“Sure.” My throat felt choked, but I sounded normal enough. “Uh, where?”
Wiznewski turned his head and squinted at the house. Maybe he needed glasses. I took a mini-break from the situation to wonder if I’d ever seen a cop with glasses.
“Anybody home?” he asked.
“They’re all at the beach,” Cindy said.
She’d forgotten Jimmy. That happened when he disappeared into cyberspace.
“Just one,” I said. “He’s probably got earphones on.”
“Why don’t we sit in my car,” Wiznewski said comfortably, “just to make sure we’re private.”
I bet he’d meant us to talk in the car all along. His turf. And maybe transportation to the slammer if he didn’t like my answers. I swear I hadn’t even jumped a turnstile since I’d gotten sober.
“Wait for me?” I asked Cindy, hoping I sounded calm and not abject.
“I’ll be on the deck.”
“Thank you.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she disappeared. Cindy might seem well balanced to me, but she was still an addict of some kind, like everyone else in the house. She’d make sure she didn’t leave herself too vulnerable in any situation.
“We found a contradiction in your statement, Mr. Kohler,” Wiznewski said. He’d settled into the right front seat, leaning toward me with a meaty arm flung over the back of it so I felt surrounded. The only good thing about this was he had the air conditioning on.
I said nothing because I didn’t know what to say.
“Talk to me, Mr. Kohler.”
“What was the question? Sir,” I added, so he wouldn’t think I was being flippant.
“You told us you’d never met Ms. Hansen before the evening you arrived in Dedhampton. Would you care to amend that statement?”
I couldn’t think.
“Ms. Hansen?” I said stupidly. “I’d never met any of them.”
“The dead woman. Are you stating you didn’t know
“I’m here to fix the shower,” he announced.
I twisted the tap shut and stood up. We both listened to the showerhead drip.
“Be my guest,” I said. I stuck out my hand. I don’t know why. Working class solidarity, maybe. “Bruce Kohler.”
“Dowling.” His thin lips tightened in what might have been meant for a smile.
“Well, I’d better let you get to work.” I picked up the sloshing bucket.
Dowling hefted a heavy wrench in his hand.
“I’ve got a boat,” he volunteered. “If you folks want to go out for blues, let me know and we’ll set it up.”
“Fishing? Thanks, maybe we will.” I nodded and started back toward Cindy.
“Any time you want a bucket of clams,” Dowling called after me, “no problem either. We’re right down the road.”
Cindy and I were thinking about quitting for the day when a car came scrunching up the gravel.
“Damn, more company,” Cindy said. “Want to talk to them while I make a break for that outdoor shower?”
“I don’t think we get a choice,” I said as Sergeant Wiznewski emerged from the unmarked car.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Cindy called out. “How can we help you?”
I was glad she’d spoken up. I might have led with “Go away” or “It wasn’t me.” I wondered if Cindy’s stomach was fluttering inside. Mine was. She seemed cool as a debutante in spite of the dirt that streaked her legs from the knees down and the rivulets of sweat running down her cleavage.
“Afternoon,” Wiznewski corrected. He squinted at the sun rather than checking his watch before he said it. Showoff. “I’d like a word with you, Mr. Kohler, if you can spare the time.”
Moment of truth. He’d figured out the tenuous connection between Clea and me. I couldn’t imagine how. But why else would he want to talk to me? I wanted to puke. Feeling scared while sober sucked. I hoped it didn’t show. I needed to look innocent to Wiznewski and brave to Cindy.
“Sure.” My throat felt choked, but I sounded normal enough. “Uh, where?”
Wiznewski turned his head and squinted at the house. Maybe he needed glasses. I took a mini-break from the situation to wonder if I’d ever seen a cop with glasses.
“Anybody home?” he asked.
“They’re all at the beach,” Cindy said.
She’d forgotten Jimmy. That happened when he disappeared into cyberspace.
“Just one,” I said. “He’s probably got earphones on.”
“Why don’t we sit in my car,” Wiznewski said comfortably, “just to make sure we’re private.”
I bet he’d meant us to talk in the car all along. His turf. And maybe transportation to the slammer if he didn’t like my answers. I swear I hadn’t even jumped a turnstile since I’d gotten sober.
“Wait for me?” I asked Cindy, hoping I sounded calm and not abject.
“I’ll be on the deck.”
“Thank you.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she disappeared. Cindy might seem well balanced to me, but she was still an addict of some kind, like everyone else in the house. She’d make sure she didn’t leave herself too vulnerable in any situation.
“We found a contradiction in your statement, Mr. Kohler,” Wiznewski said. He’d settled into the right front seat, leaning toward me with a meaty arm flung over the back of it so I felt surrounded. The only good thing about this was he had the air conditioning on.
I said nothing because I didn’t know what to say.
“Talk to me, Mr. Kohler.”
“What was the question? Sir,” I added, so he wouldn’t think I was being flippant.
“You told us you’d never met Ms. Hansen before the evening you arrived in Dedhampton. Would you care to amend that statement?”
I couldn’t think.
“Ms. Hansen?” I said stupidly. “I’d never met any of them.”
“The dead woman. Are you stating you didn’t know
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