“The missus know you’re wearing that outside your bedroom?”
He hooked his thumb in the direction of the sign on the window.
“She’s out of town.”
“So she doesn’t know,” I said flatly, making a real effort to keep laughter from creeping into my voice.
I was surprised that someone willing to wear that shirt didn’t have thicker skin. But Ed rushed to explain.
“No, no. You don’t understand. She’s visiting up in Chicago this week, and I don’t want to lose the Wednesday lunch crowd. So this here shirt is part of an in-store promotion. Just like in the big city.”
“Seeing as how I’m local law enforcement, I’m compelled to ask. What, exactly, is that shirt promoting?”
“Jamaican jerked pork, of course,” Ed said, managing to sound outraged.
Then, not surprisingly, he changed the subject.
“Gonna be mighty hot again. Not the day I’d choose to go scrambling down into a ravine. But worth it, I suppose, if you find something that helps you put a name to those old bones.”
Then he answered the question he must have seen on my face.
“Chad came by last night, late, for gas and some chips. He mentioned you two were heading to Camp Cadiz today. Looking for clues. He told me you all figured the remains for around ten years old. Give or take a couple of years. And asked if I had any ideas about who that poor woman might be. I figure he wanted some place worthwhile to start in case it turns out that isn’t his momma.”
“What’d you tell him?” I asked, knowing that Chad would give me the information, but wanting an opportunity to hear it from Ed firsthand.
Ed shrugged.
“Not much. Except for his momma, no one else from these parts went missing around that time. And, after all these years, I sure couldn’t recall any suspicious strangers passing through….”
But then Ed hesitated. He frowned and gave his head a quick little shake. As if he were chasing off some unwelcome thought. And then he changed the subject.
“You want some cold drinks or snacks to take along with you today?” he said. “Just like that doughnut and your coffee, they’re on the house.”
Without doubt, he was trying to distract me by baiting me into our usual argument. Why? I wondered immediately as suspicion chased away the lightheartedness that the flamingos had inspired.
The muscles across my shoulders and neck tensed and my eyes narrowed. In a flash, I saw Ed as nothing more than a reluctant informant. Not as a friend.
“This is a murder investigation,” I said. “And if you’re withholding information…”
I heard the echo of my own voice and noticed a flicker of shock—of alarm—cross Ed’s face. That was when I realized how angry and frustrated I was, and admitted to myself that I’d carried those emotions into Statler’s with me. They had little to do with Ed, who had always willingly told me anything I wanted to know. They had everything to do with Katie.
No matter who I was upset with, I scolded myself, I’d never before abused my authority or resorted to intimidation and hostile threats to solve a problem. That kind of behavior didn’t suit my personality. And it sure didn’t bolster my reputation as a fair-minded cop and respected hometown girl. Bottom line, it wasn’t very effective policing.
In fact, it was piss-poor policing.
Something that Ed proved almost immediately.
Within a moment of his first reaction, he’d pressed his lips together into a tight, straight line. Now he was looking at me across the counter and shaking his head. But the look in his eyes made it clear that this was less a refusal to talk and more an expression of irritation. And disappointment. As if I had no reason to speak to him that way.
And I didn’t.
I made the effort, moderated my tone.
“Come on, Ed. We’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve always leveled with each other. So if you know anything, I’d really appreciate…”
I allowed my voice to trail off, let my expression convey my apology.
“It was nothing as important as what you and Chad have been asking about,” he said. Then he added, with some heat, “And it doesn’t have anything to do with it, either.”
“Okay,” I said, making it a concession.
He looked away, out through the big plate-glass window, toward the row of gas pumps between the station and the street.
“Chad asking about folks going missing reminded me of someone I saw around these parts a while back. And a promise I made myself. But the person