The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery by Patrick F. McManus Page B

dings, and in need of a wash. On the other hand, everything in the interior of her house had been strictly upscale. Something weird was going on with Etta Gorsich.
    “Hey, Etta!” he called back.
    She gave him one of her sexy but amused smiles. “I hope I’m not taking you away from your work.”
    “Actually, you are,” he said. “And I’m profoundly grateful.”
    Etta responded with a throaty laugh. “I’m pleased, then. I’ve never dated a sheriff before. But maybe this isn’t a date. Maybe it’s only a business lunch.”
    “I prefer to think of it as a date,” Tully said. “Crabbs, by the way, is the best restaurant in all of Blight City.”
    Etta smiled. “Sad, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is. Its strongest point is proximity. Crabbs’s motto should be ‘We’re here.’ ”
    “Perfect!” she said. “You should be in advertising, Bo.”
    “You really think so?”
    “No, I think you’re perfect as the sheriff. People love you, particularly the women.”
    Tully took her by the arm and turned her, so he could look her in the eye. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you, Etta?”
    “Your mother? Good heavens, no!”
    “Come clean. I’m a sheriff, you know. I can spot a lie three blocks away.”
    She put on an exaggerated pout. “Well, if your mother is a fascinating woman named Rose, it’s entirely possible I may have met her on some occasion.”
    Tully rolled his eyes. “Just as I thought! My mother is Gossip Central in Blight City and surrounding points. I happen to be the main topic of her gossip. You should never believe a single thing she says.”
    Etta pretended to be extremely serious. “But isn’t it true, Bo, that all the women love you?”
    “Well, that’s true, of course. I mean all the other stuff.”
    “I’ll say only this about my conversations with Rose: the other stuff is extremely interesting!”
    Tully let his chin drop down onto his chest.
    Lester Cline, the manager, showed them to a table. Tully watched as he spread a napkin on Etta’s lap. She ran her eyes down the menu.
    She looked up. “I’d love to go with the beef dip but I’m afraid I’d drip the jus all over me.”
    “You obviously have sophisticated tastes, Etta. I usually order the beef dip myself.” He nodded at the manager.
    “Yes, sir?” Lester said. “The usual?”
    “One for each of us, please.”
    Lester hurried off. Etta leaned across the table toward Tully. “Didn’t you just hear me say I was afraid I’d drip jus all over me?”
    “I did, indeed. Ah, here comes Lester.”
    “Already?”
    Lester came up behind Etta and tied a plastic bib around her neck. It went all the way down her front and covered her lap. For a moment, she seemed shocked. Then she burst out in a raucous laugh, much to Tully’s relief. Lester then tied a bib around Tully’s neck. Etta now laughed so hard she seemed in pain.
    Lester took a pad from his pocket. “And what dressing would you like on your salads?”
    Etta appeared incapable of speech. “Blue cheese on both, Lester,” Tully said.
    •  •  •
    He tried to steer their conversation over lunch in a sensible direction. Etta was eating the beef dip with appropriate gusto and had an attentive expression on her face. Then suddenly she exploded with wild laughter, holding her napkin in front of her face, struggling to maintain a certain propriety.
    “Am I correct to assume you don’t usually wear bibs at your New York restaurants?” Tully asked.
    Etta stretched the napkin like a curtain in front of her face. Her eyes peered over the top, full of tears and pain. She shook her head slowly back and forth—then broke out laughing again.
    By the time the waiter took away their bibs and plates and returned with cups of coffee and a small plate of chocolates, Etta looked as if she were headed out for trick-or-treating. Streaks of mascara ran down both cheeks, but she had finally settled into an enduring calm.
    “I hope you’re sorry,” she