Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder by Bill Hopkins Read Free Book Online Page B

for her to leave before he spoke to Ollie. Without so much as a You’re welcome , she sauntered off. Her manners ranked right down there with Ollie’s. Rosswell would’ve crossed her off his Christmas card list, but he didn’t send Christmas cards.
    A large man stomped through the front door and barreled for the waitress. He spoke to her and, although Rosswell couldn’t hear what he said, the man didn’t sound happy. The waitress replied and the man grabbed her arm. Merc stormed from the kitchen and yelled at the man, “Get the hell out of here. She’s busy.”
    The waitress said, “It’s nothing, Merc. He’s okay.” The man left without another word.
    Rosswell said to Ollie, “What the holy crap was that all about? Is that guy stalking her?”
    Ollie pointed to Rosswell’s cup. “That stuff will kill you.” When Ollie didn’t want to talk about something, he changed the subject. Rosswell knew better than to try working any information out of his snitch. It had to come voluntarily or not at all.
    “Wrong.” Roswell stirred and stirred. “Cancer will get me before this stuff gets a chance.”
    “Judge Carew, you’re mighty cheerful today.” Ollie’s nose twitched. Another mouse-like attribute. “Have you had a bad day?”
    They weren’t within earshot of anyone. “We had a little problem this morning.” The coffee needed more sugar, which Rosswell filched from the adjoining table.
    Ollie’s eyes searched the area around them. Rosswell scanned as well. Nearby, but out of earshot, were ten to twelve other patrons. A real estate agent, whose name—was it Nadine?—escaped Rosswell, talked to a young man and woman that Rosswell supposed might be buying a house from her. Across from her at another table, Gerald Somebody, a farmer, sat chowing down with his pimply son. Some tourists were scattered inside the place. Three giggling teenage girls sat in one corner drinking Cokes.
    Rosswell assured himself that no one was paying any attention to him and Ollie. Apparently, Ollie had decided no one was listening either. The patrons at Merc’s had long ago stopped going goggle-eyed when Ollie and Rosswell sat together. Strange people attract their own kind. That’s probably what the patrons thought when they spied the two of them together.
    Ollie rubbed the tattoo on his head, then wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “You mean losing the bodies out at Foggy Top?”
    Rosswell wondered if he did that head rubbing thing for good luck. Or wisdom. Or maybe his noggin just itched.
    Rosswell stirred the sludge and then took a tiny sip. Pouring in a touch more sugar made it better. A dash of salt made it perfect. He took a big swallow. It burned all the way down. The caffeine and sugar began to work their magic. The buzz he needed revved up his brain.
    “How do you hear about stuff so quick?” he asked Ollie.
    “Why did you want to talk if you didn’t think I knew something?” Ollie countered.
    Rosswell gave Ollie his heartless glower. Sometimes it was hard for Rosswell to look at Ollie. Ugly? The best that Rosswell could say about Ollie was that he resembled a giant, hairless rat. Ollie didn’t succumb to the heartless glower. Rosswell figured his lack of caffeine diminished its effect.
    “Ollie, are you going to tell me or do we have to dance all day?”
    Ollie whispered, “You want to know how I know all that stuff?”
    “Yes,” Rosswell said, also in a whisper. “That’s what I asked you.”
    No one paid them any attention, yet if two grown men kept whispering to each other, they’d eventually raise eyebrows.
    “We have an agreement that I don’t have to divulge my sources.” Rosswell leaned close to Ollie. “Make an exception.”
    Ollie nodded, pointing his head toward the waitress. “Her.”
    Rosswell took a gander over at the mousy woman Ollie pointed out. Mabel Yolanda Smothers. She wouldn’t bother the Miss America people much, what with her bad skin and stringy hair.
    “I think,”