Dead over heels - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,56

“I put the Andersons on a plane this morning.”

I nodded curtly and kept my eyes straight forward. I couldn’t think of any good reason why I should be the recipient of this information.

“She said to tell you good-bye, that she appreciated you listening.”

I gave him a quelling look, the look I saved for teenage boys cutting up in the library.

It seemed to work pretty well on Dryden, because he sat through the rest of the service in silence, affording me some much-needed peace. I wondered if he would follow me up the aisle to take communion, but he stayed in the pew.

As we pushed the kneeler up after the final “Amen,” Dryden said quietly, “They’re not coming back. After the incident last night, she’s too afraid.”

I nodded acknowledgment. People were chatting all around us, and so far we weren’t attracting too much attention. I tucked my purse under my arm and opened my mouth to say a firm good-bye.

“I kind of like you,” he said suddenly.

I wondered if the steam coming out of my ears was visible. I took a deep breath to suck my temper back in. “I don’t care,” I said in a low, deadly voice, goaded into absolutely sincere rudeness. I was furious, and I was also terrified that any moment a curious churchgoer would wander up to be introduced.

Luckily, the rest of the congregation was in line to shake hands with Aubrey, all anxious to get out into the beautiful weather and go home to prepare Sunday dinner. They were also providing a welcome cover of conversational buzz.

My mother was talking to Patty Cloud. The detestable Patty was looking absolutely appropriate, as always. By a remarkable coincidence Patty had begun attending St. James’s soon after Mother married John Queensland, who was a lifelong communicant. John was having a back-slapping conversation with one of his golfing cronies.

So I was safe for the moment; but any second now, Mother’d look around and then the questions would begin when she called me later, about why I was sharing a pew with one of the objectionable men she’d met at Bess Burns’s house, and what he was saying to me.

“I got the punching bag out of the airplane for you,” was what he was saying.

I gaped at him.

I finally managed to say, “How did you know?”

“I was watching. With binoculars. From the top of that ridge between the airport and the road. An experiment your reporter friend thought of, huh? Incidentally, we think she’s right; that’s probably how Jack Burns landed in your yard. In that little plane, all the pilot had to do was lean over, open the passenger’s door, bank the plane, and out he went.”

“You were watching,” I said, unable to believe my ears. I recalled my long struggle with the bag going down the hill, the grueling process of getting it into the hangar and up into the plane, how I’d sworn and sweated.

“Yep. That was my job, till my bosses decided Jack’s landing in your yard was incidental. After that they withdrew O’Riley and put me watching the Andersons. But I liked watching you better; I never know what you’re going to do. Getting that bag down the hill was pretty hard.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you come help me?”

It was the only thing I could think of to say, and I spun on my heel and stalked off down the aisle, the last to shake Aubrey’s hand. He looked surprised at my expression, which must have been a picture. I said good-bye hastily and hurried out to my car, praying Mother wasn’t waiting for me in the parking lot. I love my mother, but I just wasn’t up to her today.

Somehow Dryden had gotten to his car quicker than I had, and he was pulling out of the parking lot as I unlocked the driver’s door. The car felt oppressively warm and damp inside; I stood by the open door for a minute or two to let the atmosphere clear out.

I needed the time myself. I was stunned and shaken by Dryden’s revelation. The thought of being watched when I thought myself unobserved gave me the cold creeps and a hot anger. Dryden must be good; I could believe I’d never spotted I was being followed, but I could scarcely believe Sally hadn’t suspected.

But then, why on earth would she?

I quickly considered Dryden cast in the role of Angel’s crazy admirer. I had to discard him, though only with great reluctance, after a little