Out Of Time by Katy Munger Page A

secretary telling him what to say. You caught him off guard and he couldn’t read you, so he didn’t know what you wanted to hear.”
    “How can you work for him?” I asked. “Scraping dishes down at the K&W would be more fulfilling.” Her friendship with Bobby D. aside, she seemed like a sensible lady.
    “I have a front-row seat,” she explained. “Ham’s getting old and he’s owhad and hut of touch. Blabbing his mouth more and more at the wrong time. Worse, he’s starting to garble his bible verses. One day soon, he’s going to go down big time. I want to be around to see it. I’ve earned it. I can’t wait for the big show.”
    We reached a small office at the end of a long hall. The door was shut. “I hope you get to see that show soon,” I told Donna and we slapped each other a high five good-bye. Sisterhood, ain’t it grand?
    “Come in. It’s unlocked,” a raspy voice called out when I knocked on the frosted-glass window. Brenda Polk’s voice was much more cultivated and controlled than her sister’s.
    She was a raw-boned woman with a determined face. She was on the short side, with a well-developed rib cage and skinny legs. I pegged her for a long-distance runner, both literally and figuratively.
    “I’m Casey Jones,” I told her. “Your family met with me a few days ago.”
    “Sit down,” she said. “I know who you are. Nanny called. There are some things we need to discuss.” She shoved an ashtray my way and lifted a bottle of Pepsi. “Want one?”
    I shook my head. “No thanks, I’m trying to quit.”
    “Cute. I’m not.” She took a swig, then flicked a slim cigarette from a nearby pack while she studied me. I doubted crossing my legs would help warm her up, so I kept still and waited. She lit the cigarette without ever once giving it a glance, telling me she was at least a two-pack-a-day smoker. I reconsidered the long-distance running theory.
    “When Nanny Honeycutt gets her mind set on something,” she finally said, “there’s no stopping her.” She blew out a plume of smoke and watched it rise up to the ceiling. “I made the mistake of telling her about some crackpot caller who claimed to have new evidence that would help Gail. Now Nanny won’t let it drop. I should never have told her. It’s nothing, just a troubled individual with a guilty conscience. But now her hopes are up. I’m sorry I ever opened my mouth.”
    She stared intently at me again and I wondered if my bra strap was showing. For a Southern woman, that was an impeachable offense.
    “Can I ask you something?” she said.
    “Sure.” I’m a sucker for that question.
    “You bleach your hair, right? I mean it’s obvious. It’s almost white.”
    “Sure.” I nodded.
    “But you have at least two inches of black showing at the roots. Right?”
    “Right.”
    “Why?” She seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
    I thought about it. “I bleach my hair because I can. It’s my head and I’ll do what I want to with it.”
    “Okay,” she said. “I’ll buy that.”
    “I let my roots grow out so that people know I have better things to do than sit around and obsess about it. Also, I’m too busy to care.”
    She nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. It’s sort of a subtle screw you. I wonder what John would do if…” Her voice trailed off and she stroked her hairspray-stiffened helmet of short brown hair absently. “Naw. I don’t think so. But it looks good on you.”
    “Thanks.” We stared at each other for a moment. “Ham Mitchell says you think your sister deserves the death penalty,” I said, getting right to the point.
    “Ham’s a complete asshole. And that’s his best quality.”
    “So you don’t want to see your sister die?” I asked.
    “What kind of person do you think I am?” She locked her eyes on mine and I stirred uncomfortably. They were nearly black and hyper-alert. I doubted many people had the guts to get in her way. I had to fight the urge to duck every time she