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Luke didn’t really see the exposé as a failure, though. He’d gotten several free beers and a free porn magazine himself. He hadn’t shown the magazine to his wife, doubted most of the other men had, either.
Now he had a new bomb and he couldn’t wait to drop it. He was sure to get some emotion, some outrage, out of Susan Sparrow about Gunny Saks’s attempted murder. Gunny and Mrs. Sparrow had a history. Gunny had worked for her at the crematorium for a while. He was primed to see the look on her face when he told her the news, not many people had heard about it yet.
Luckily, Luke had a small package that wouldn’t fit in the mailbox, so he had an excuse to go to the front door. He’d checked to make sure it was Mrs. Sparrow’s black Lexus in the driveway, not Landry Sparrow’s white-as-snow Mercedes. Imagine making enough money for a car like that by putting people in an oven.
Putney rang the bell, anticipation running high. Sure enough, Susan Sparrow answered the door in jeans and a T-shirt covered with a big apron. The smell of chocolate chip cookies wafted out of the house.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Sparrow,” Luke said and gave her a small salute.
Susan knew from the gleam in his eyes Putney was bursting to tell her something. She didn’t like him, thought him a vicious little man. She smiled politely. “Thank you for bringing up my mail, Mr. Putney. Excuse me, I have to hurry to take my cookies out of the oven. Good day to you.” She held out her hand.
Luke was fast. “You haven’t heard, Mrs. Sparrow?”
“I really don’t have time to talk right now. May I have my mail, Mr. Putney?”
“Imagine, Mrs. Sparrow, our Gunny was nearly killed, hit on the head by an unknown assailant. That’s what they’re saying at the police station.” He said it again, savoring the words: “Unknown assailant. Yep, poor Gunny’s in surgery, and the word is she might not make it. Last I heard from Sandy at the police station, Chief Masters got a call from an FBI agent, and he was out the door. He found her and got her to the hospital super fast. He’s Gunny’s godfather, you know—or maybe more,” he added, his voice confidential. “Lulie never talks about who Gunny’s dad is.” He was surprised she looked indifferent to his news, and peeved. Where was the outrage?
Susan knew, of course, this was why he’d come to the front door. He’d wanted to see her reaction. And she hadn’t given him one. She saw the frustration on his face and was pleased. She took her mail and the small box from his still outstretched hand. “I will pray for her.” Susan tried to shut the door, but Luke wasn’t about to let her off his line.
“The chief’s at the hospital with Ms. Saks. Sandy said it all has to do with that weird belt buckle they showed on TV yesterday in Willicott. I was working, so I didn’t see the news conference. But my Myra said the belt buckle was this big gold Star of David, though she’s got cataracts, and I can’t swear she saw it right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Putney—”
“Poor Mrs. Chamberlain at the post office—you know, she’s Gunny’s supervisor. Well, she runs the place, truth be told. She’s all upset, of course. Everyone at the post office is upset. Gunny might be simple in the head, but she’s a sweet girl. Mr. Klem said we all need to pitch in to buy some flowers and he hoped it wasn’t for Gunny’s funeral.”
Putney watched Susan Sparrow’s face closely. She didn’t look ready to burst into tears. She looked impatient. With him.
The gall. Here he’d gone out of his way to give her news about someone who’d worked for her, someone she should care about. When she’d married Landry Sparrow, a few of the older biddies had said right away she’d latched onto him for the Sparrow money. Even his Myra had said when the announcement came out, “Imagine, Landry’s nearly old enough to be her father. Well, maybe not quite, but there’s at least fourteen years between them. It won’t work out any different than Prince Charles and that poor Princess Diana. What some girls will do for money.” She’d shaken her head, even looked mournful. Although he’d never say it to her, Luke wished at the time he could have a wife fourteen years younger who looked like Mrs. Sparrow. She was on the petite side, with dark hair and brown eyes and the whitest skin. And she was usually nice to everyone—well, you’d have to learn to be nice, wouldn’t you, if you needed to convince people to cremate their grandmas?
She gave him a serene smile. “Again, thank you, Mr. Putney, for bringing me the package and my mail.”
“Didn’t Gunny work for you for a while?”
He was tenacious, she’d give him that. She wasn’t about to say anything at all to this gossip-mongering buzz saw. They stood staring at each other. Susan smiled again. “Good day, Mr. Putney. Oh my, you made a mistake. This package isn’t for me, it’s for Mrs. Prentiss down the block.” Susan handed him back the small package.
Putney took the package and studied the address. “Ah, you’re right, Mrs. Sparrow. Sorry about that mistake.” She let the door close in his face. Luke hated to leave with an empty tank, but maybe he hadn’t. Had Mrs. Sparrow looked alarmed? Frightened? Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to talk about it? He’d have to think that over, see what her neighbors thought. He walked down the flagstone steps to his white truck. He had a lot more mail to deliver. The day was young, and the afternoon spread out pleasantly before him.
36
* * *
Susan Sparrow heard the sound of quiet breathing behind her as she turned back toward the kitchen. It wasn’t Landry, he was meeting with the Carters at the crematorium. It was Eric. He’d come in through the kitchen, heard her speaking to Putney, and stayed out of sight. If he hadn’t, there’d have been gossip about her and her brother-in-law tearing up the sheets before Mr. Putney finished his route today.
He was grinning. “Now that idiot Putney will tell all the people on the rest of his route you didn’t show any concern at all about what happened to Gunny, and why was that?”
Susan shrugged. “I learned very quickly never to show any reaction to anything Mr. Putney tosses at me.”
“Doesn’t matter
, he’ll make something up. At least you didn’t give him any fodder. Hey, I think the cookies are nearly done. They smell great. Can I have one?”
She laughed as she looked up at her brother-in-law. Eric looked like a bad boy with the beard scruff on his face. Ripped jeans, a black T-shirt showing off his muscles, and scuffed low-heeled black boots finished off the picture. “You’re back early. I thought you were fishing with your buddies until tomorrow.”
He shrugged, turned away, walked to the kitchen. He wanted a beer with his cookie. Susan followed him and watched him open the fridge, twist the cap off a Bud, and take a long drink. He wiped his hand over his mouth, walked to the oven, and breathed in. “I’ve always loved chocolate chip cookies. Mom’s were great. She used them as bribes, mostly.”
“To keep you from breaking heads at a bar?”
“Yeah, maybe that, too. Mainly it was little stuff, like getting me to put the toilet seat down.”
