5432852385743

etter. Doug Reems, the Jodie constable, had poor eyesight, wore a brace on one leg, and was even
older than Deke. Nor did Deke ask why I hadn’t called the state police from Dallas. If he had, I would
have told him I believed Clayton was serious about killing Sadie if he saw a single flashing light. It
was true, but not the real reason. I wanted to take care of the son of a bitch myself.
I was very angry.
“What time does he expect you, George?”
“No later than seven-thirty.”
“And it’s now . . . quarter of, by my watch. Which gives us a smidge of time. The street behind Bee
Tree is Apple-something. I disremember just what. That’s where you’ll be?”
“Right. The house behind hers.”
“I can meet you there in five minutes.”
“Sure, if you drive like a lunatic. Make it ten. And bring a prop, something he can see from the
living room window if he looks out. I don’t know, maybe—”
“Will a casserole dish do?”
“Fine. See you there in ten.”
Before I could hang up, he said, “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.”
His reply was close to a dog’s growl. “Good.”
6
The street behind Doris Dunning’s house had been Wyemore Lane. The street behind Sadie’s was
Apple Blossom Way. 202 Wyemore had been for sale. 140 Apple Blossom Way had no FOR SALE
sign on the lawn, but it was dark and the lawn was shaggy, dotted with dandelions. I parked in front
and looked at my watch. Six-fifty.
Two minutes later, Deke pulled his Ranch Wagon up behind my Chevy and got out. He was
wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a string tie. In his hands he was holding a casserole dish with a flower
on the side. It had a glass lid, and looked to contain three or four quarts of chop suey.
“Deke, I can’t thank you en—”
“I don’t deserve thanks, I deserve a swift kick in the pants. The day I saw him, he was coming out
of the Western Auto just as I was going in. It had to’ve been Clayton. It was a windy day. A gust blew
his hair back and I saw those hollows at his temples for just a second. But the hair . . . long and not
the same color . . . he was dressed in cowboy clothes . . . shit-fire.” He shook his head. “I’m getting
old. If Sadie’s hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Are you feeling all right? No chest pains, or anything like that?”
He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Are we going to stand here discussing my health, or are we
going to try to get Sadie out of the trouble she’s in?”
“We’re going to do more than try. Go around the block to her house. While you’re doing that, I’ll
cut through this backyard, then push through the hedge and into Sadie’s.” I was thinking about the
Dunning house on Kossuth Street, of course, but even as I said it, I remembered that there was a
hedge at the foot of Sadie’s tiny backyard. I’d seen it many times. “You knock and say something
cheery. Loud enough for me to hear. By then I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“What if the back door’s locked?”
“She keeps a key under the step.”
“Okay.” Deke thought for a moment, frowning, then raised his head. “I’ll say ‘Avon calling, special