Pale Gray for Guilt by John D. MacDonald

the channel. I climbed out onto the forward bow shell and leaned back against the port windshield.
    One approach: Go storming into Sunnydale, promising stink and investigations and general turmoil.
    Or: Find some kind of cover story that might open up some mouths. See who can be conned. See who can be turned against whom.
    Or: Go in fast and quietly and come out with one Preston LaFrance and take him to a nice quiet place and open him up.
    Or: What if some mysterious buyer picked up the Bannon property? Then the boys couldn't put the whole two sections together. And that might bring them out of the woodwork.
    The last had the right flavor, if it could be worked. But first there had to be a first thing, and it had to be poor damned Janine. And if I couldn't get to her before the Sherf told her the bad news, I could at (east arrive shortly thereafter.
    So I hopped down and took the wheel and ran at lrlgh cruise to Broward Beach and tied up at the city rnarina. I left Puss at the drugstore counter and shut myself into a booth and made a person-to-person credit card call to Sheriff Bunny Burgoon in Sunnydale. I yapped at him in the excited tones of a writer-wash commercial and told him that CBS news had researched him and discovered he was a truly fine law officer, and had they located Mrs. Bannon yet, and her three kids, and it was a great human interest story and we might do a little feature.
    "Sure," he said. "Just before Christmas and all that. Yeh. Locate her? Well, not exactly yet, but we're doing everything that any human person could expect or ask for, and that's the truth. We got aholt of her folks in Milwaukee, and they're all upset as any human person could imagine, but they haven't heard a word from her, and they don't know any friend of hers of the name of Connie. Now if it was to go on national television, she'd turn up right off, I imagine. The name is Sheriff Hadley-that's an e -y, Burgoon, B-u-r-g-o-o-n. And I've been elected here three times as Sherf of Shawana County and-"
    "Could you read me the note she left her husband?"
    "Did you get the name wrote down with the right spelling?"
    "I did, Sheriff."
    "It's personal-like, but I see no harm in reading it to you, as any human person could tell it's a public service to find that poor lady. Just a minute. Let me see now. Here it is. It goes like this. 'Dear Tush, I'm sorry. This last thing was just the bitter end. Somehow it made me so ashamed. The boys are so upset and confused. I had to handle it alone because you weren't there, and it took the very last bit of strength and courage I had. Don't be angry with me. I'm worn out. I'm going to go stay with Connie for a while. I'm leaving this note and a suitcase with the things you'll probably need with the Sheriff. When you get the details and all straightened out, please phone me. Don't come charging up here, because I might not be ready to see you yet. I have some thinking to do, and then we have a lot of talking to do, about what's going to happen to you and me. Don't worry about me or the boys. We'll be fine. It was all so ugly, the way it happened. I suppose those men tried to be nice, and it wasn't their fault, but it was a terrible thing. Jan."
    "I certainly appreciate your cooperation, Sheriff. We'll be in touch. Yes, sir, we'll stay in close touch with developments."
    I went back to the counter. Puss was sitting on the stool sipping her cola drink, eyes a bit narrow, and on her lips a dangerous little smile. A plump man with a vulgar shirt and a hairline mustache sat two stools away, blushing furiously. He tried to sip his coffee with trembling hand and spilled a dollop of it into his saucer.
    "Darling!" she cried, turning toward me, her voice of such a penetrating clarity it reached all the way back to the remedies for iron-poor blood. "This dear little fat fellow wanted to show me all the sights. What's your name, dear little fat fellow?"
    He clapped two bits onto the counter top. "GeeeSUSS!" he muttered.