a sharp look, swerving in the process. The driver of an oncoming vehicle tooted a warning. Bill waved an apology as he passed a jalopy of a truck with two young men inside.
“Mrs. Plummer’s delivery boys.”
Thatcher reacted with a start. “Her delivery boys?”
Bill told him about the arrangement Laurel had made with Logan’s Grocery. Although Thatcher turned his head aside and pretended to be absorbed in the passing scenery, he listened with avid interest.
“I hear her pies are selling like hot cakes,” Bill said. “No pun intended.”
“I knew she’d gone into the business. One night last week, I had supper in Martin’s Café. While I was there, she came in to deliver an order.”
“Really? To Clyde?”
“Um-huh.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just that Clyde has always used his own cooks for everything.”
“I guess he prefers her pies to theirs.”
“Guess so. Have you sampled her wares yet?”
Thatcher looked over to see if there was an innuendo behind the question, but Bill had his head turned away, signaling to make a left turn. “I had a slice of pecan pie.”
“Was it good?”
“Damn good.”
Bill had turned onto a road leading away from town. “We’ve got a ways to go before we get to Lefty’s,” he said. “Tell me why you asked about Gabe Driscoll’s patient.”
“I’ve been watching his house every night for a week.”
Bill looked across at him with both consternation and curiosity. “What for?”
Thatcher started by telling him about his dinner out with Chester Landry. “He’s a shoe—”
“I know who he is and what he claims to be.”
“Claims to be?”
“Are y’all pals?”
“Hell, no,” Thatcher said. “I don’t trust that grin of his.”
“So why’d you go to dinner with him?”
“I didn’t have a reason not to.”
Bill gave him a knowing glance. “You want to find out what he’s hiding behind that grin.”
He was right, but Thatcher didn’t want to admit it. “Anyway, that’s why I was in the café when Mrs. Plummer came in. By the time Landry and I had finished our desserts, I’d had about all of his company I could stomach. I opted to walk back to the boardinghouse. But I didn’t go straight there. I circled around to the Driscolls’ place.”
“Again, what for?”
“Shit, I don’t know. But after you and I talked about the doc, the coincidences that took place that night, I couldn’t get it off my mind. I just felt led to go over there, take a look-see. I didn’t really expect to uncover anything, didn’t even know what I was looking for. But I went back the next night, and I’ve been going back.” He paused. “Did you question that woman again?”
“Her name is Norma Blanchard, and, yes, I went straight from our conversation by the creek to talk to her about that night.”
“And?”
“Have you changed your mind about becoming a deputy?”
“No.”
“Then I shouldn’t be discussing an open investigation.”
“You called it open-ended. Doesn’t mean the same as active, does it?”
Bill waved that away with annoyance. “Speak your mind, Thatcher.”
They were in the countryside now. They passed barbed wire–fenced pastures with horses and cattle grazing, farmhouses lit by lamps and lanterns instead of incandescent bulbs, chalky rock formations.
Thatcher took time to choose carefully what he was going to say and how he was going to phrase it. He turned slightly in his seat to better address Bill and gauge his reactions.
“Describe Norma Blanchard.”
“Late twenties, I’d say. Dark hair, parted down the middle, all knotted up in back. Not pretty, but… Just say men would take to her better than women would.”
“She came to the doc’s house last night.”
Bill gnawed on that as Thatcher figured he would. “After office hours?”
“At eleven twenty-eight.”
He shrugged. “Could’ve been an emergency.”
Thatcher said nothing, just looked at him.
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, I don’t, Bill. She was dropped off at the street, and seemed in perfect health, best as I could tell by the way she walked.”
“How’d she walk?”
“Like she owned the place. Knocked on the door the same way. The doc was up, or at least his bedroom light was on. Drapes were drawn but there was light around the edges of them, which was why I hadn’t left yet.
“He came to the door in his pajamas and a bathrobe. It appeared to me that he wasn’t altogether happy to see her. In fact, when she tried to step inside, he blocked her. They didn’t raise their voices, or tussle, but there was a lot of angry gesturing. Eventually, he let her in.”
Bill kept his eyes on the road and didn’t comment, so Thatcher continued. “I don’t