another. Not that I had a lot of criminal cases, but I do belong to every law association in the county. Schmoozing is the one talent I inherited from my dear sweet daddy.” She gave me a broad wink. “I like to think of using my talent for good rather than evil.”
Her father had been a prominent and, according to her, absolutely corrupt-to-the-marrow Alabama judge. She’d once said that fifty thousand dollars’ worth of psychotherapy, a fraction of the money she inherited from him, was the reason she could laugh about him today.
She folded her hands on her maroon desk blotter. “So, what can I do for you? Got any criminals you want me to persecute?”
“Don’t you mean prosecute?” I said, laughing.
Her eyes twinkled. “Whatever.”
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
“You bet. I’d forgotten how satisfying it is putting away bad guys.”
“I won’t keep you long,” I said, sitting forward in my chair. “I have a favor to ask. How do I fake investigating a homicide?”
She cocked her head, her sculpted eyebrows knit in question. “That sounds downright intriguing.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, I have Gabe’s permission. As a matter of fact, it’s at his request.”
She unfolded her hands. “The plot thickens.”
I quickly filled her in on the whole Constance-Pinky dilemma. “In a nutshell, Gabe wants me to keep her busy and off his back. I think he thinks she’ll eventually just move her attention to something else.”
“He’s probably right. She sounds as nutty as peanut butter pie.”
“Maybe, but it also might be her grief talking. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. If one of my friends died and I even had an inkling that something was amiss, I’d probably throw as big a hissy fit as she’s doing.”
I meant what I said. Though I only knew Constance as a boss and, despite having felt many times the sting of her snobbery, I still felt sympathy for her. She’d never had children and had been widowed for years. I suspected her friends were a big part of her life. Not having children myself, I could definitely relate.
“So, what do you suggest?” I asked Amanda.
“This should be easy. Like most everyone else, her ideas about how a person investigates a homicide are probably from television shows. Her reference would likely be Jessica Fletcher or that show with Dick Van Dyke. You know the routine. First, get a small notebook and one of those little portable tape recorders. You can find them at the drugstore.”
I nodded. “Then what?”
“She said she thinks that one of the aspiring 49ers is the killer?”
“She’s positive.”
“Boy, there’s a picture for you. If I were you, I’d just casually question each one using your position as curator and your background as a historian. Tell them you’re thinking about writing a history of their club.”
“Except that the people I’ll be talking to aren’t actually members of the club yet.”
“Then tell them it’s an article for a history magazine. Make one up. Trust me, they won’t bother to check. Once you get people talking about themselves, they often won’t shut up.” She lifted one eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, we prosecutors count on that. Many a criminal has talked himself or herself directly into jail simply because they admired the musical sound of their own voice.”
“Everything you’ve said was along the lines of what I was thinking about doing.”
“Why the visit then?”
I stood up. “For one thing, I just wanted to say hi and see your new office. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”
“You’re right as rain there. What else?”
I laughed. “It won’t be a lie when I tell Constance that I’m in contact with the district attorney’s office about Pinky’s case.”
“You sly dog,” she said, standing up. “It’s been good seeing you. What’re your plans for the upcoming holidays?”
I grimaced and gave a dramatic shudder. “Mother-in-law coming in on
Her father had been a prominent and, according to her, absolutely corrupt-to-the-marrow Alabama judge. She’d once said that fifty thousand dollars’ worth of psychotherapy, a fraction of the money she inherited from him, was the reason she could laugh about him today.
She folded her hands on her maroon desk blotter. “So, what can I do for you? Got any criminals you want me to persecute?”
“Don’t you mean prosecute?” I said, laughing.
Her eyes twinkled. “Whatever.”
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
“You bet. I’d forgotten how satisfying it is putting away bad guys.”
“I won’t keep you long,” I said, sitting forward in my chair. “I have a favor to ask. How do I fake investigating a homicide?”
She cocked her head, her sculpted eyebrows knit in question. “That sounds downright intriguing.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, I have Gabe’s permission. As a matter of fact, it’s at his request.”
She unfolded her hands. “The plot thickens.”
I quickly filled her in on the whole Constance-Pinky dilemma. “In a nutshell, Gabe wants me to keep her busy and off his back. I think he thinks she’ll eventually just move her attention to something else.”
“He’s probably right. She sounds as nutty as peanut butter pie.”
“Maybe, but it also might be her grief talking. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. If one of my friends died and I even had an inkling that something was amiss, I’d probably throw as big a hissy fit as she’s doing.”
I meant what I said. Though I only knew Constance as a boss and, despite having felt many times the sting of her snobbery, I still felt sympathy for her. She’d never had children and had been widowed for years. I suspected her friends were a big part of her life. Not having children myself, I could definitely relate.
“So, what do you suggest?” I asked Amanda.
“This should be easy. Like most everyone else, her ideas about how a person investigates a homicide are probably from television shows. Her reference would likely be Jessica Fletcher or that show with Dick Van Dyke. You know the routine. First, get a small notebook and one of those little portable tape recorders. You can find them at the drugstore.”
I nodded. “Then what?”
“She said she thinks that one of the aspiring 49ers is the killer?”
“She’s positive.”
“Boy, there’s a picture for you. If I were you, I’d just casually question each one using your position as curator and your background as a historian. Tell them you’re thinking about writing a history of their club.”
“Except that the people I’ll be talking to aren’t actually members of the club yet.”
“Then tell them it’s an article for a history magazine. Make one up. Trust me, they won’t bother to check. Once you get people talking about themselves, they often won’t shut up.” She lifted one eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, we prosecutors count on that. Many a criminal has talked himself or herself directly into jail simply because they admired the musical sound of their own voice.”
“Everything you’ve said was along the lines of what I was thinking about doing.”
“Why the visit then?”
I stood up. “For one thing, I just wanted to say hi and see your new office. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”
“You’re right as rain there. What else?”
I laughed. “It won’t be a lie when I tell Constance that I’m in contact with the district attorney’s office about Pinky’s case.”
“You sly dog,” she said, standing up. “It’s been good seeing you. What’re your plans for the upcoming holidays?”
I grimaced and gave a dramatic shudder. “Mother-in-law coming in on
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