fine," she said, opening the door. "You two moving in any time soon?"
She laughed. "Nice to know you're so concerned about my love life. How about you?"
"Excuse me?"
"The lovely Miss Quinn of the Chronicle . You still going to let the town lawyer have full dibs on her?"
"Mister Mark Spencer? I don't think I have a say in it. It's Paula's choice."
Diane sat down behind the steering wheel. "If you say so. But I think it's your decision as well, and by not doing anything, well, you've already made your choice. Correct?"
I gently closed the door on her, my last words: "Forget my love life and go find a killer."
I'm not sure if she heard me, but at least she was smiling as she drove away. Then she halted in the street, backed up, and lowered her window. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Remember what I said. Leave it be."
I nodded. "I remember."
"Good."
And when the cruiser was out of sight, I said in a low voice, "I remember, but I didn't promise anything, Diane. Not a damn thing."
I was heading back to my Explorer when I saw the two boys in the front yard of a house just two down from Jon's place. They were working on the lawn, moving about rakes that were about as tall as they were. They looked up at me and I saw that they were brothers, maybe a couple of years apart, wearing baggy jeans and thin down vests. The smaller of the two had a runny nose.
"Hey, there," I said.
"Unh-hunh," the older one said. "You guys good with those rakes?"
The older one kept quiet but his brother said, "Dad says we spend more time playin' with the leaves then rakin' 'em."
"Tell you what," I said, taking my wallet out. "You know Mister Ericson's house, up there?"
Now it was the older brother's turn. "The guy who got killed."
"Right, the guy who got killed," I said. "How much to rake his yard?"
The younger one said, "You mean, in money?"
"That's right."
The two brothers looked at each other and not wanting Mom or Dad to come out and give me hell about talking to their boys without permission, I took out two ten-dollar bills. I passed one to each of them. "Here," I said. "Do a good job, okay?"
They both looked surprised and didn't say anything, but I was glad when I got to my Explorer: They were both racing up the sidewalk, dragging their rakes behind them, as they went to Jon's yard.
At home I made a fire in the fireplace --- a strange phrase, I know, since it's the only place one should really make a fire --- and checked the phone messages. Nothing new. I hesitated for a moment, thinking it would be nice to hear Jon's voice again, coming out of the speaker, but I thought that was just a bit too ghoulish. I was tired and achy and hungry, and made a ham and cheese and mushroom omelet for lunch, and ate it while sitting on the couch, balancing the plate on my knees, while I spent a quiet afternoon watching a documentary on the History Channel about Allied bombing tactics during World War II. The History Channel has been one of my great joys and frustrations for television viewing, for it's a great place to escape the mindless chatter on the bulk of my other cable channels, but it's also a great place to lose chunks of valuable time.
But today, losing time was a good thing, for it allowed me not to think about how I had dealt with Diane, my oldest friend in Tyler. For when she had asked me if I had anything more to offer, I knew I should have said something about what Jon had mentioned weeks ago. Three people. Jon had gone to three people, looking for more information on that farm site in Tyler that supposedly had contained a Viking settlement before being plowed under. I didn't know their names, but I knew their occupations ---anthropology professor, American Indian activist, and retired Tyler museum curator --- and I also knew one other thing. After having talked to one of these three people, Jon had soon found the artifacts, and had soon been murdered.
A hell of a coincidence.
And as I got over to the kitchen to wash the
She laughed. "Nice to know you're so concerned about my love life. How about you?"
"Excuse me?"
"The lovely Miss Quinn of the Chronicle . You still going to let the town lawyer have full dibs on her?"
"Mister Mark Spencer? I don't think I have a say in it. It's Paula's choice."
Diane sat down behind the steering wheel. "If you say so. But I think it's your decision as well, and by not doing anything, well, you've already made your choice. Correct?"
I gently closed the door on her, my last words: "Forget my love life and go find a killer."
I'm not sure if she heard me, but at least she was smiling as she drove away. Then she halted in the street, backed up, and lowered her window. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Remember what I said. Leave it be."
I nodded. "I remember."
"Good."
And when the cruiser was out of sight, I said in a low voice, "I remember, but I didn't promise anything, Diane. Not a damn thing."
I was heading back to my Explorer when I saw the two boys in the front yard of a house just two down from Jon's place. They were working on the lawn, moving about rakes that were about as tall as they were. They looked up at me and I saw that they were brothers, maybe a couple of years apart, wearing baggy jeans and thin down vests. The smaller of the two had a runny nose.
"Hey, there," I said.
"Unh-hunh," the older one said. "You guys good with those rakes?"
The older one kept quiet but his brother said, "Dad says we spend more time playin' with the leaves then rakin' 'em."
"Tell you what," I said, taking my wallet out. "You know Mister Ericson's house, up there?"
Now it was the older brother's turn. "The guy who got killed."
"Right, the guy who got killed," I said. "How much to rake his yard?"
The younger one said, "You mean, in money?"
"That's right."
The two brothers looked at each other and not wanting Mom or Dad to come out and give me hell about talking to their boys without permission, I took out two ten-dollar bills. I passed one to each of them. "Here," I said. "Do a good job, okay?"
They both looked surprised and didn't say anything, but I was glad when I got to my Explorer: They were both racing up the sidewalk, dragging their rakes behind them, as they went to Jon's yard.
At home I made a fire in the fireplace --- a strange phrase, I know, since it's the only place one should really make a fire --- and checked the phone messages. Nothing new. I hesitated for a moment, thinking it would be nice to hear Jon's voice again, coming out of the speaker, but I thought that was just a bit too ghoulish. I was tired and achy and hungry, and made a ham and cheese and mushroom omelet for lunch, and ate it while sitting on the couch, balancing the plate on my knees, while I spent a quiet afternoon watching a documentary on the History Channel about Allied bombing tactics during World War II. The History Channel has been one of my great joys and frustrations for television viewing, for it's a great place to escape the mindless chatter on the bulk of my other cable channels, but it's also a great place to lose chunks of valuable time.
But today, losing time was a good thing, for it allowed me not to think about how I had dealt with Diane, my oldest friend in Tyler. For when she had asked me if I had anything more to offer, I knew I should have said something about what Jon had mentioned weeks ago. Three people. Jon had gone to three people, looking for more information on that farm site in Tyler that supposedly had contained a Viking settlement before being plowed under. I didn't know their names, but I knew their occupations ---anthropology professor, American Indian activist, and retired Tyler museum curator --- and I also knew one other thing. After having talked to one of these three people, Jon had soon found the artifacts, and had soon been murdered.
A hell of a coincidence.
And as I got over to the kitchen to wash the
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