dislike me, not my money and power.”
“Off the record, just between the two of us?” She eyed him hostilely.
“Off the record, tell me exactly what you think.”
“I think you are an annoying, know-it-all, arrogant bastard.”
Griff chuckled. “And, off the record, Nicole Baxter, you’re a self-righteous, irritating, wish-you-were-a-man bitch.”
She simply stared at him for a full minute, then smiled. Her smile took him by surprise. There was something damned appealing about her when she smiled, something blatantly feminine.
“When Barbara Jean is ready to work with a sketch artist—” Nic said.
“I’ll call you.”
“Before or after you hire your own sketch artist?”
“After,” he admitted. “Of course, if you were willing to share with me the way I share with you, it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“You know it’s against the rules.”
“And you never break the rules?”
“No. Never.”
Griff leaned down so that they were eye to eye and whispered, “Never say never, honey.”
Pinkie had rented a late model Chevrolet, something inconspicuous so that hopefully no one would remember either him or his car. And he’d dressed in a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt, and a quilted jacket he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He hoped he looked like an average Joe.
He needed to learn the reason why there had been no recent updates in the local or national news about the vicious attack on Gale Ann Cain; so he had decided the best thing he could do was find out for himself by coming to Williamstown. Incognito.
Where better to pick up local gossip than the town’s Waffle House? When he’d parked outside, he’d seen a police car and hesitated coming inside. But after reminding himself that he had nothing to fear from the local lawmen, he entered the greasy spoon as if he were just a regular guy passing through town. As luck would have it, he managed to find a booth directly behind the two patrolmen who were eating a late dinner.
A tall, skinny waitress with chopped-off blond hair, streaked with purple and pink, refilled the two cops’ coffee cups, then stopped at his table.
“Want coffee?” She eyed his overturned cup.
He quickly righted the cup, smiled at her, and said, “Yes, please.”
After filling the cup to the rim, she said, “Do you know what you want?”
“Uh…” He glanced around and saw the menu was on the table. “What would you recommend?” He smiled at the girl whose name tag read Tammy.
“Depends. Do you want breakfast, a sandwich, or a regular dinner?”
“Breakfast. Maybe bacon and eggs.”
“Sure thing. Toast, too? Wheat or white?”
“White.”
“Scrambled eggs?”
He nodded.
When she left to place his order, he added creamer and sugar to the dark coffee as he listened to the roaring hum of human voices mingling with the clatter of dishes and meal preparation. No doubt the food here would be horrible, nowhere close to his usual standards, but if he could pick up even a tidbit of local gossip about the recent murder, it would be well worth him having to go slumming.
The two policemen were discussing basketball, something Pinkie knew absolutely nothing about. He had always hated sports. Physical Education had been his least favorite subject in Hobart Military School.
The waitress returned to the booth where the policemen sat, two dinner plates in her hands. She placed the hot meals in front of the cops, but instead of leaving, she lingered, apparently flirting with the one she called Mike.
“So, has it been a quiet night?” she asked.
“Yeah, pretty quiet,” Mike replied.
“Folks aren’t getting out much since that Cain woman was attacked,” the other cop said.
Smiling to himself, Pinkie picked up the coffee mug.
“Wasn’t that just awful?” Tammy said. “You know, a Licensed Practical Nurse from over at Williamstown General was in here yesterday, and she said she heard the guy chopped off Gale Ann Cain’s feet. Is that true?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Mike said. “That’s stuff we aren’t supposed to discuss with civilians.”
“I understand. I just think it’s odd that since Chief Mahoney made a statement a couple of days ago, there hasn’t been another word about it on the local TV or in the paper. If that nurse hadn’t told us any different, we wouldn’t know the Cain woman was still alive.”
Pinkie’s hand shook so badly that coffee sloshed out of the cup and onto his fingers. He set the cup down and wiped his hand off with a paper napkin, all the while hoping no one had noticed.
“Not anymore, she isn’t,” Mike said.
“She died?” The waitress gasped.
“Hush up, Mike. You shouldn’t be telling Tammy anything about the case.”
“It’s not a secret,” Mike said. “The chief will be making an announcement sometime tonight.”
Pinkie’s heart stopped for a split second. Gale Ann Cain had lived? How was that possible? She should have bled to death rather quickly. Unless the person who had found her had gotten to her damn fast and somehow managed to keep her alive.
But what difference did any of that make now? The woman was dead.
Pinkie picked up his cup and took a sip of the bitter coffee.
“I hope she was able to give the police a description of the guy before she died,” Tammy said.
Mike lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “Keep this strictly to yourself, Tammy.” The waitress nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation. “The Cain woman wasn’t able to ID her attacker, but they say her sister saw him and might be able to give the FBI a description.”
Pinkie strangled on the god-awful coffee. Of all the local gossip he had hoped to overhear, he’d never expected this tidbit of information. The sister? Pinkie’s mind whirled, trying to make sense of what he’d just overheard. Then it hit him. Had the sister been the woman in the wheelchair, the woman who had caught a glimpse of him as he left Gale Ann’s apartment building?
Chapter 6
Sonya Todd had been born and raised in Tupelo, Mississippi, so it was only natural that once she received a degree from the University of Mississippi, she would return home. It was what everyone had expected, including Sonya. But what should have been a quick and easy route from college graduation to a teaching position at her old alma mater, Tupelo High School, had instead been a long, disappointing ten-year struggle to achieve an impossible dream. She often wondered how different her life might have turned out if she hadn’t won the title of Miss Magnolia. Would she have forsaken her dream of becoming a teacher to pursue a career as a concert violinist?
What was that old saying about hindsight being twenty-twenty? All the “if onlys” in the world wouldn’t change a damn thing. She would never be twenty-two again. Never know that feeling of being on top of the world. But at this stage of her life, she felt lucky to have been given a second chance and she appreciated what she had now.
Being the band director at Tupelo High for the past two years, Sonya went to work each day with a positive attitude and a grateful heart. She was finally back home where she belonged, living only a couple of miles from her parents and in the same county as her two older brothers, their wives, and children. And for the first