here?” Randy asked as he clomped up the front steps of the boardinghouse.
“Too early to go to bed. Just taking in the air,” Chester Landry replied. He lazily fanned himself with a folded newspaper. “You appear to be drunk.”
Randy laughed and plopped down into the chair beside Landry’s. “As a skunk.”
“Fun evening?”
“Fun and frolic, my friend.” He chortled over his alliteration.
Landry shushed him. “Lower your voice. Everyone else has turned in for the night.” Everyone except for him, Randy, and Thatcher Hutton, who’d yet to return to the boardinghouse since they’d bade each other good night at the café.
Landry couldn’t help but wonder if his dinner guest had cut out on him in order to follow the widow home. He made a mental note to pursue that later, but, right now, his focus was more on the indiscreet and talkative Randy Wells.
“Who were you frolicking with?”
Randy leaned across the arm of his chair and crooked his finger. Landry moved closer. Randy said, “The public library hosts a Bible study every Tuesday night for young singles.”
“What’s to whisper about?”
Randy giggled. “What’s to whisper about is what happens after Bible study.”
Landry pretended that was the most delicious piece of information he’d ever heard. “Do tell.”
“Those young ladies who sing in church choirs on Sunday are just dying to be led astray on Tuesday. So me and some other guys—”
“Like who?”
“Davy and Mike O’Connor? Know them?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“You’d know if you did. They’re twins. Anyhow, they’ve joined the Bible study because they work for Deacon Logan, and his wife is practically a missionary. She…” He hiccupped, then waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Tonight, we treated a few of those young ladies to all the sin they could handle.”
“You and these O’Connor brothers?”
“They are my kind of folk. If you know what I mean?” He bobbed his eyebrows.
“Drunk and disorderly?”
Randy roared with laughter.
“Shhh!”
“Oh, sorry.” He pressed his index finger vertically against his lips.
“You know what?” Landry said, as though he’d had a sudden inspiration, when actually he’d been planning this since his talk with Mayor Croft about Randy and his loose tongue. “I could use some diversion. I had a rather dull evening tonight with Mr. Hutton.”
“Tight-lipped, isn’t he? Good at cards, though. Do you think he cheats?”
“If he does, he’s good. I haven’t caught him at it.”
“No, me neither. Lost five bucks to him.”
Landry pushed out of his chair. “Come on.”
Randy stood up swaying. “Where’re we going?”
“For a drive. Did you sinners drink all your hooch?”
“Still have half a jar under the seat of my car.”
“Then let’s go in it.” He threw his arm across Randy’s shoulder. “But I’ll drive.”
Twenty-Seven
Dusk was easing into full-blown darkness when Bill Amos came out of his headquarters and headed toward his car. Thatcher had been waiting for this opportunity to speak to him in private.
“Bill?”
The sheriff turned as Thatcher materialized out of the wide band of shadow under the eaves of the building. “Hey, Thatcher. What’s doing?”
“Got a minute?”
Bill glanced back toward his office, hesitated, then asked, “Have you had supper?”
“No.”
“Me neither, and Mrs. Amos is hosting bridge tonight. Get in.”
Thatcher went around to the passenger side. Once on the road, he asked, “What’s your wife’s name?”
“Daisy. Her bridge club meets one night a month.”
“Does she know how to play poker?”
Bill laughed. “Not with you, she doesn’t.” After a beat, he said, “I’m glad she’s having the group at the house tonight. She doesn’t entertain as often as she used to.”
That had sounded like a loaded statement. Thatcher waited for him to expand.
Bill cleared his throat. “Daisy isn’t always up to socializing. She has…declines. A heart condition.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, you know. Life.” He gave Thatcher a weak smile. “How’s it been treating you lately?”
“Can’t complain. Me and Ulysses have finally resolved our differences. His owner is picking him up later this week.”
“Will he take to another rider?”
“We’ll see.”
Bill chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to be the first to try. Did you fill that last stall?”
“I’ve got a waiting list.”
Bill removed his pocket watch and checked the time. “I have a hankering for a juicy hamburger. Have you been to Lefty’s yet?”
Thatcher shook his head.
“Then you’re past due.” He tucked his watch away and settled into his seat. “Did you wait in the dark to see me so you could ask my wife’s name?”
“Naw.” Thatcher exhaled heavily and propped his elbow on the door ledge. “I was wondering if you had talked to that woman, Dr. Driscoll’s patient who had the breech birth.”