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“Well, one of the girls—one of the officers’ wives—said that she had heard from a friend of hers in Sonthofen . . . you know what I mean?”
“I was there earlier today,” Cronley said.
“Constabulary Headquarters,” Ginger went on. “Anyway, the girl in line said she had heard from a friend of hers, whose husband is also a Constab officer, that they were preparing General White’s train . . . You know he has a private train?”
“Colonel Fishburn said he saw them on the general’s private train,” Bonehead furnished.
“You do get around, don’t you, Jimmy? Marjie would be so proud of you!”
“Ginger, do me a favor. Stop talking about the . . . Marjie. It’s painful.”
“Sorry,” she said, and then considered what she had said, and went on, “Jimmy, I didn’t think. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, Ginger. Now what was the rumor in the commissary checkout line?”
“Well, she said her friend told her her husband had told her that they were getting General White’s train ready for a secret—no, she said, ‘unannounced’—for an unannounced visit to the Constab units up here. You know, Hersfeld, Wetzlar, Fulda, Kassel, and of course here. And then another lady said, ‘He’s coming here first. They already flew in the advance party. Just now. Special radios and everything.’”
“Jesus Christ!” Cronley said, shaking his head.
“Jimmy, you’re as bad as Bruce. Please don’t blaspheme. It’s a sin.”
“The OLIN is incredible if not always infallible, Jim,” Tiny said. “I know. I grew up in it.”
“The what?”
“The Officers’ Ladies Intelligence Network.”
“Well, is he, Jimmy? Is General White coming here?” Ginger asked.
“I have no idea, but having people think we’re part of his advance party is even better than having them think we’re a soldier show, which is what I told that Air Force officer.”
“And even better than having them think we’re from the 711th Mobile Kitchen Renovation Company,” Tiny said, chuckling. “Ginger, did I hear you say something about something to cut the dust of the trail?”
“Why don’t we go in the living room?” Ginger suggested.
There were a number of framed photographs on a side table in the living room, including one of the Adams-Moriarty wedding party.
“Tiny,” Cronley said softly, and when Dunwiddie looked at him, pointed at it.
When Dunwiddie took a closer look, Cronley said, “Second from the left. The late Mrs. James D. Cronley.”
“Nice-looking,” Tiny said.
“Yeah,” Cronley said.
“You never showed me a picture of her.”
“I never had one.”
Ginger, as she handed them drinks, saw they were looking at the picture.
“Are you married, Captain Tiny?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What is it they say, ‘Lieutenants should not marry, captains may, and majors must’?”
“My mother told me that,” Tiny said. “As a matter of fact, keeps telling me that.”
