Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) by Jerilyn Dufresne Page B

Except there were no flies in the restaurant.
    Back to the present. “So you going to spend the day at the plant?” I asked.
    “Yes. You can come with me if you want, but I think it will be pretty boring.”
    “That’s okay,” I said. “I noticed a workshop in town I might go to.”
    “You gave up kinda easy,” George looked at me even more suspiciously. “What exactly are you up to?”
    “Seriously. When I was walking last night with Clancy I saw a sign about this workshop and remembered that I’d gotten a flyer about it at work.” I looked him in the eyes as he got up. “I thought that maybe you wouldn’t let me go with you today, so I decided to check out the workshop. Promise.”
    George knew that it was hard for me to lie while making eye contact, so he said, “Okay. But how about I let you know if I need you?”
    “Sure. However, won’t Chief Henderson be helping you?”
    “Probably. He did say he’d let me handle the factory though, because Henderson relatives are everywhere, and it would be easier for me to be objective.”
    “What about Detective Rawlings?” I asked.
    “His mother was a Henderson.” George shrugged his shoulders in a “what can you do” kind of motion.
    I couldn’t help but laugh. It was true. This place was full of relatives of the victim, and we needed to find out if any of them were responsible for Cash Henderson’s death.
    Plus, we had to do it quickly. My wedding was coming up fast.
    George and I showered and then, after a breakfast supervised and served by an ever-perky Nibby, we went our separate ways. Nibby said he’d be happy to keep Clancy for the day, and I gladly agreed. She tried to plant a guilt trip on me, but I resisted.
    George took the car to the factory and I walked to Worsham Hall, just a few blocks away.
    As I arrived at the historic building I joined a line of women waiting to get in. I found a friendly face and said, “I’m surprised there aren’t any men here. Don’t they want to improve their lives?”
    She laughed and we introduced ourselves. She was Coronation Wilson, and was the new assistant to the workshop presenter, Louise Shannon. I told her I had accompanied my fiancé who was in Henderson to investigate a crime. I neglected to mention that I was helping him.
    “Why are you standing in line with the rest of us?” I asked.
    “I’m kind of a spy,” she whispered. “Louise asked me to get the ‘feel’ of the crowd and fill her in.”
    That intrigued me, but not enough to ask her for more information, because the line started moving just then.
    Once the doors opened, everything happened smoothly and quickly. Those with tickets were ushered in directly, and the few of us without tickets stopped at a table.
    “That will be two hundred dollars. Will it be cash or charge?” asked a woman in a tone that indicated she really didn’t care. She held out her hand.
    “Two hundred dollars?” I asked. “The flyer I got at my office said fifty dollars.”
    “If you read the flyer thoroughly you would have noticed it said quite clearly, “Fifty dollars in advance, two hundred at the door.” Neither her voice nor her hand wavered.
    “Oh well, it’s tax deductible,” I muttered under my breath, thinking any workshop that was focused on mental health related to my job. I handed the woman my credit card and when she gave it back to me she included a receipt and a booklet.
    I went inside the large, pleasant meeting room and found a seat at the back. It disappointed me, because I like to sit up front so I don’t miss anything, but all those seats were taken. The only good thing about being in back was that my seat was next to Coronation Wilson, Louise Shannon’s secretary.
    “Hello, again,” I said.
    “Hey,” Coronation responded, with that lyrical lilt Kentuckians have.
    She was writing rather frantically in a notebook on her lap, so I decided to look around. The room was nearly standing room only, and I didn’t see a man anywhere.