The Bookwoman's Last Fling by John Dunning Page A

know you think I’m as crazy as Bax now.”
    â€œDid I say that?”
    â€œYou were thinking it.”
    â€œIt’s not polite to go around telling people what they think, Mr. Willis.”
    â€œAll I’m saying is, I’ve seen Sharon heal horses anybody else would give up on.”
    â€œDo you like her?”
    â€œThat’s a strange question. Why wouldn’t I like her?”
    â€œDoesn’t sound as if you care much for the brothers.”
    â€œSharon is a far different person than those three…”
    â€œThose three what?”
    â€œI was about to say something unwise. It doesn’t matter whether I like them or not.”
    â€œBut you do like Sharon.”
    â€œSure. Everybody does.”
    â€œHow was she with her father?”
    He hesitated, just long enough. “So apparently everybody didn’t love Sharon,” I said.
    â€œYou sure read a lot into small things.”
    â€œI used to do that for a living. Tell me why I’m wrong.”
    I didn’t speak then for the longest time. I walked around the room again but the room was cold: the room couldn’t speak, and even if it could I didn’t think it would tell me any more than I was getting from Willis. He said nothing this time and another full minute passed.
    â€œWhy am I wrong, Mr. Willis?”
    â€œI was just an employee here. I didn’t tell Mr. Geiger what to do.”
    â€œBut he’s gone now. No reason for us not to talk, right? Did he have trouble remembering?…comprehending?”
    â€œOccasionally, yes,” he admitted, surprising me. “Later in life, especially in the last year. But the next day he’d be fine again. When he was okay, he could remember everything that ever happened to him.”
    Suddenly I asked, “Why does Sharon think Mrs. Geiger may have been murdered?”
    â€œIt was Baxter,” he said at once. “That crazy bastard, what can I say about someone like that? We were standing alone in the serving line at her funeral, just him and me, and out of the blue he says, ‘Which one of us do you think killed her?’ I looked over his shoulder and there was Sharon watching us.”
    â€œDid she hear what Baxter said?”
    â€œSure she did, she was right on top of us. She got white as a ghost, then turned and walked away fast.”
    â€œHow old was she then?”
    â€œEleven, I think. How old do you have to be to understand something like that? What she didn’t know then was how crazy her damn-fool brother was. Little girls tend to believe that kind of thing, don’t they, when it’s said by an adult with a straight face?”
    â€œSo in addition to finding out about the books, you want me to track down a killer, twenty years later.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t say that.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I thought you did say that.”
    â€œListen and get this straight. Your job is to find out about those books.”
    â€œThen why bring the question of Candice’s death into it?”
    â€œIt’s gonna come up, that’s all. I want you to be ready for it.”
    â€œReady in what way? What does that mean?”
    â€œReady to deflect it.” He tried to wave me off. “Just move past it. I want you to know that it’s the raving of a lunatic. If Sharon brings it up…”
    â€œBrush it off.”
    â€œExactly. You just pin down those books I’ll be happy.”
    Maybe happiness isn’t to be had, I thought. Maybe the books were sold and resold, sold again and again so long ago that there’s no trail to be found anywhere. And murder, once it’s been put on the table, can’t simply be stuffed in a bottle and forgotten. There were still dozens of questions to be asked, but it was time for a different perspective on it.
    â€œWhere can I find Sharon?”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œI’ll need to talk to her…to all of them at some