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“So I draw the short straw because I’m single and childless.”
Decker had leaned forward, stubby hands splayed on his desk. He was a short, stocky man with a Friar Tuck ring of black hair around a bald pate and a face that looked like he was permanently in the middle of a minor cardiac event. He’d been Barbara’s boss for over ten years, and she still wasn’t sure he knew her first name.
“You want me to pay you a compliment, Atkins? Tell you you’re better than Edwards? Our foremost expert in the field.”
“That would be nice, sir.”
Decker had glared at her. “Your flight is booked. Don’t forget your garlic.”
He turned back to his computer, indicating that their conversation was over.
Barbara stood. “Great, sir—should I cook them some dinner?”
“Good that you know your place.”
She had smiled. “Sir…with all due respect, you’re a real asshole sometimes.”
And then she had walked out without looking back. On reflection, her sunny, easy-going nature might also be why she was being shipped out to Alaska.
“So.” Al was staring at her in the rearview mirror. “We don’t get so many tourists stopping in Deadhart. I mean, we get a few of them Goth types; they all like to take a picture of the name, you know? But most don’t stay long. Most head on back to Talkeetna. You plan on doing that?”
He had her sussed, Barbara thought. Never underestimate a cab driver, even out here. They saw all of humanity in the back of their cars. They knew how to read people.
“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll play it by ear.”
Al nodded, cleared his throat. “I just thought…you might be heading that way because of the boy.”
Barbara felt herself tense. The local police department had been instructed to keep news of the death quiet for the first forty-eight hours, until she arrived to make an assessment. It didn’t do to stir up trouble too soon.
“What boy?” Barbara asked carefully.
Her eyes met Al’s in the mirror. The silver cross danced and dangled.
“The one that got killed,” he said.
Okay. So word had already got out, and if Al was chatting to his customers about it, that leak was pretty much a flood. Barbara just needed to know how far it had spread. Could she sandbag it? She debated. Best to be up front. Or at least appear to be.
“You got me.” She sighed. “I’m here about the boy. What have you heard?”
She gave Al a little half-smile. He had been smart. Outwitted her. Now, she was giving him a chance to show how much more he knew.
“Look.” He lowered his voice a little, even though it was only the two of them in the cab. “I know you want to keep it quiet. I’m not a gossip, okay?”
“And I thank you for that, sir.”
“I only mentioned it because my sister, Carol, she lives in Deadhart, see.”
“I see.”
“And she told me about the boy—and that some specialist detective was flying in.”
“Right.”
“You’re obviously from out of town, I don’t take many folks to Deadhart and, no offense, but you look like law.”
Did she? Barbara knew she was no beauty queen. Short with a barrel waist, thick legs and a nose that could sniff out a good steak from fifty paces. Solid. That was how people often described her. Good old solid Barbara. And getting solider by the day since she turned fifty. Age might bring wisdom, but it also brought indigestion and elasticated pants.
“Well, yessir. Well spotted. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone else.”
