Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

I continued turning the paperweight and waited. She grabbed it from my hands and set it on the other side of the desk. I folded my hands and looked at her with amusement.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “He greeted you by name and he brought you a doughnut?”

“Yes.” She pulled open her middle drawer and threw the mirror in.

“What kind of doughnut?”

“You know, he has this irritating look, like you’re a sow he’s sizing up for Easter dinner, and it was chocolate. With sprinkles.” She glared at me.

“Oh, well, sprinkles. That clears it up for me. Sounds like you have a strong case for police harassment. Want the name of my lawyer?”

“It’s a really smirky look,” she said crossly.

I cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned.

“That’s the look,” she said, smiling reluctantly. “You two ought to start a vaudeville act.”

“Yeah, right. The cop and the cowgirl.”

“Sounds like a bad Clint Eastwood movie,” Angie agreed, laughing. “Okay, I give up. What is it you want?” She zipped her paisley makeup bag closed.

“Do you have access to DMV records?”

“Sure, we do DMV checks when we hire people for the city.”

“Could you run one for me?”

“Does this have anything to do with those murders at the museum?” She looked at me suspiciously.

I avoided her scrutiny and concentrated on the framed Disney poster behind her showing Mickey’s physical changes over the last fifty years. It reminded me of the school pictures of me that Daddy displayed in chronological order on the wall of his bedroom. Mickey seemed fatter in his later years. Part of the good life, I suppose. I guess no one stays the same forever; not even Mickey Mouse.

“No way,” she said firmly.

“Why not?” I whined in the way you can only with an old girlfriend.

“That is an ongoing investigation with the police department. You’re treading on thin ice, my friend. Your police chief brought me a doughnut today. I don’t want tomorrow’s present to be handcuffs.”

“All right, Ms. Chicken,” I said, sighing. “It was just a thought. I really don’t want you to get in any trouble. I’ll find another way to track this person down.”

She peered at me anxiously through her large glasses. “Are you sure you’re not in over your head? Why not just let the police handle it?”

I didn’t elaborate about how involved I’d become in the investigation or why. The less she knew, the better, especially since Ortiz was wise to our connection.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Most of the time anyway. I think.”

She stood up, smoothed down her taupe wool skirt and pulled her purse out of a lower desk drawer. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. You’re self-assured in such an uncertain sort of way. I’d ask you if you were free for dinner but, believe it or not, I have a date. Come by sometime when you don’t want anything but food, okay?”

“Sure.” I laughed and stood up. “Do you want me to tell Ortiz to quit bugging you?”

“I don’t think you need to bother,” she said wryly. “He probably knows exactly where you are right now, so it accomplished his purpose.”

Angie’s mention of dinner made me realize the small plate of food I’d nibbled on at Mrs. Chenier’s house had been hours ago. Since Jack’s death, meals were something that presented a daily irritation. For fifteen years I’d cooked a big dinner every night for him, whatever ranch hands were around and whichever of Wade and Sandra’s children happened to like what I was serving. Jack always teased the kids on the days we had stuffed pork chops, his favorite, by blocking the door, saying there was only enough for him. They’d crawl all over him, wrestling him to the ground, giggling like little monkeys when he tickled them.

Now, with no one to cook for, I usually made do with pot pies or fast food. Sitting at a stoplight downtown, trying to decide which brand of grease I was in the mood for, I remembered Carl’s half-joking invitation. Taking a chance, I headed for the Tribune five blocks away. Marla’s funeral left me feeling melancholy and I hoped Carl wouldn’t take offense at a last-minute request for company.

The receptionist, a chubby, jagged-haired brunette with deep dimples, waved me back toward the editorial department without a pause in her animated conversation with a skinny kid in shorts so baggy the crotch swung around his knees. Not many people were at their desks this late in the afternoon, though there was a flurry of activity over at the sports desk where, thanks to satellite TV, a sporting event of some sort could always be found.

“Hey, Benni, want a piece?” A man with a face the color of a banana moonpie and nerdy black eyeglasses held up a gooey slice of pizza.

“No, thanks anyway,” I said. “I’m going to see if Carl wants to get some dinner.”

“Make that cheap son-of-a-gun pay,” he replied.

“I intend to,” I answered with a laugh.

I rapped on the glass window of Carl’s office, where he was talking on the phone. His face lit up when he saw me and he gestured for me to come in. It felt good to have someone glad to see me. Though I’d never thought of Carl in that way, I wondered if maybe I needed to open my mind, stop assuming that everything or everyone always remained static. If nothing else, the last nine months should have taught me that nothing is such a sure thing that it can’t change.

“Be with you in a minute,” he said to me. He punched the hold button and dialed an extension.

“Dad, Mayor Holland on line three.”

“What brings you here?” Carl came around the desk and enveloped me in a hug. Holding me a shade longer than usual, he chuckled when I gently squirmed out of it. Maybe I wasn’t that ready yet. “You look like a stewardess for United Airlines.”

“I’m hungry,” I said. “And I think the