sheriff, if you’ll excuse my French. He’s from Northern Virginia and likes to talk down to us country rubes, so the sheriff called him an a-hole, if you know what I mean, and said we had to wait for the FBI computer to give us more background, and that’s where things are now.”
“You mean that he was ready to indict Jack ?” I was appalled.
“Yes, ma’am, but like I told you, he’s new.” Dawson tucked his dog more firmly under his arm. “There were some partial prints on the murder weapon that could be your husband’s, but of course his prints would be there anyway, it belonging to him, and they were smeared like someone had handled them with gloves. Plus, the sheriff said it could have been you just as easy and he never expected to hear such sexism from a college graduate. Boy, that got old Albert pretty hot!” He grinned at the memory.
I thanked him for the update and drove away disturbed. It appeared that the only thing preventing the arrest of at least one of the Rayburns was the antagonism between the Commonwealth’s Attorney and the sheriff, plus the puzzling question of which one to arrest.
Back on the internet, a flame war had broken out. Cincinnatus started it with a flowery eulogy to Winslow and stating his conviction that the Cong has finally got him. Then he remarked darkly that Cecil had been asking questions about the good Colonel before his death and wasn’t that interesting. Wizard, who is driven to challenge anything Cincinnatus says and is a chivalrous soul besides, leapt to my defense, and trashed the Colonel’s memory in the process. From that point, it was “FLAME ON” and purest vitriol.
I spent most of my time studying my notes and Julia’s timeline, and worrying. It was a Monday morning, four days after I had discovered the body in the vineyard, when the front doorbell rang. I knew it had to be a stranger; folks who knew us always come around to the back.
But when I went to the door, I discovered that this was a long-awaited stranger. A young woman stood on the front porch. She was tall, around five foot ten, and interestingly exotic. While her hair was the blue-black of Asia, her nose and cheekbones were adorned with pure Huck Finn freckles. She was dressed in a neat melon-colored pantsuit and carried a well-worn travel bag and a case I recognized as holding a laptop computer. She smiled when she saw me.
“Mrs. Rayburn?” I nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mary Nguyen.”
SIX
I sagged against the door frame, exclaiming, “Mary! Thank God you’ve come!”
The self-possessed young woman merely arched an eyebrow at this mode of address. I composed myself and gestured invitingly, “I mean, do come in.”
As she entered the living room, I went on, “Sorry for the melodrama, but if we can’t figure out who killed Colonel Winslow, I’m afraid the sheriff will arrest me or Jack.”
She seemed puzzled. “Who’s Jack?”
“He’s my husband, my second husband, I mean, and no one who knew Jack could seriously believe he would kill anyone for any reason, especially not for something as silly as this.” Oh dear, I was babbling again.
“Perhaps you could fill me in on the background,” Mary suggested soothingly. “The news reports were sketchy. How did you come to know Colonel Winslow?”
“It was the strangest thing, him appearing out of the blue. Look, there’s coffee, if you’d like some.”
Mary grinned. “I live on the stuff. Lead the way.”
We adjourned to the kitchen, which Julia and I had been using as our investigation headquarters. I poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table.
“Look,” I said, “my friend Julia has been helping me out with this, and she’d never forgive me if I didn’t let her know you were here.”
Sipping her coffee, Mary gestured at the wall phone.
I called Julia and told her, “Guess who’s here! It’s Mary! Mary – “ I put my hand over the mouthpiece and asked, “How do you
“You mean that he was ready to indict Jack ?” I was appalled.
“Yes, ma’am, but like I told you, he’s new.” Dawson tucked his dog more firmly under his arm. “There were some partial prints on the murder weapon that could be your husband’s, but of course his prints would be there anyway, it belonging to him, and they were smeared like someone had handled them with gloves. Plus, the sheriff said it could have been you just as easy and he never expected to hear such sexism from a college graduate. Boy, that got old Albert pretty hot!” He grinned at the memory.
I thanked him for the update and drove away disturbed. It appeared that the only thing preventing the arrest of at least one of the Rayburns was the antagonism between the Commonwealth’s Attorney and the sheriff, plus the puzzling question of which one to arrest.
Back on the internet, a flame war had broken out. Cincinnatus started it with a flowery eulogy to Winslow and stating his conviction that the Cong has finally got him. Then he remarked darkly that Cecil had been asking questions about the good Colonel before his death and wasn’t that interesting. Wizard, who is driven to challenge anything Cincinnatus says and is a chivalrous soul besides, leapt to my defense, and trashed the Colonel’s memory in the process. From that point, it was “FLAME ON” and purest vitriol.
I spent most of my time studying my notes and Julia’s timeline, and worrying. It was a Monday morning, four days after I had discovered the body in the vineyard, when the front doorbell rang. I knew it had to be a stranger; folks who knew us always come around to the back.
But when I went to the door, I discovered that this was a long-awaited stranger. A young woman stood on the front porch. She was tall, around five foot ten, and interestingly exotic. While her hair was the blue-black of Asia, her nose and cheekbones were adorned with pure Huck Finn freckles. She was dressed in a neat melon-colored pantsuit and carried a well-worn travel bag and a case I recognized as holding a laptop computer. She smiled when she saw me.
“Mrs. Rayburn?” I nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mary Nguyen.”
SIX
I sagged against the door frame, exclaiming, “Mary! Thank God you’ve come!”
The self-possessed young woman merely arched an eyebrow at this mode of address. I composed myself and gestured invitingly, “I mean, do come in.”
As she entered the living room, I went on, “Sorry for the melodrama, but if we can’t figure out who killed Colonel Winslow, I’m afraid the sheriff will arrest me or Jack.”
She seemed puzzled. “Who’s Jack?”
“He’s my husband, my second husband, I mean, and no one who knew Jack could seriously believe he would kill anyone for any reason, especially not for something as silly as this.” Oh dear, I was babbling again.
“Perhaps you could fill me in on the background,” Mary suggested soothingly. “The news reports were sketchy. How did you come to know Colonel Winslow?”
“It was the strangest thing, him appearing out of the blue. Look, there’s coffee, if you’d like some.”
Mary grinned. “I live on the stuff. Lead the way.”
We adjourned to the kitchen, which Julia and I had been using as our investigation headquarters. I poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table.
“Look,” I said, “my friend Julia has been helping me out with this, and she’d never forgive me if I didn’t let her know you were here.”
Sipping her coffee, Mary gestured at the wall phone.
I called Julia and told her, “Guess who’s here! It’s Mary! Mary – “ I put my hand over the mouthpiece and asked, “How do you
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