“Bit early to be hitting the vodka.’’ I nodded toward Beatrice. The purple pom-poms on her golf socks bobbed as she zigzagged across the dining room.

Angel shrugged. “To each his own. I don’t judge; I just pour.’’

“A generous shot, too. Doesn’t management get mad if you give people extra booze without getting extra money?’’

She looked around the empty bar, then leaned in close. “Can you keep a secret?’’

“I’m a vault.’’

“I only start her out with half a shot. She ALWAYS asked me for more, even when I poured her a double, so now I pour her less to begin with.’’

“Smart.’’

“I’m a clever girl.’’ She gave me one of her strangely seductive grins. “So, you’re not a golfer, right?’’

“Not even on a dare,’’ I said.

“So how come you’re back here today?’’ Wiping down a sprinkle of sugar crystals on the bar, she came close enough to brush my wrist with hers. “Did you miss me?’’

I whisked my hands into my lap, folding them there. “I’m still looking for my brother-in-law, Kenny. Thought I might find him here this morning. My sister said he likes to play on Mondays.’’

“Haven’t seen him.’’

“Will you tell me if you do?’’

“I said I would.’’

“And you keep your word?’’

“Always.’’

She reached out a hand, grazing her fingers across the top of my left breast. I jumped back so fast I nearly fell off the stool.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.’’ That suggestive smile again. She pointed. “You spilled some sugar all over your shirt there.’’

I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I knew I wasn’t playing. I made a show of consulting my watch. “Look at the time.’’

“Yeah, you better get to work. You do something with animals at the park, right?’’

I surely looked stunned, because she said, “You must have mentioned that.’’ She gestured at my shirt again. “Plus, it says ‘Himmarshee Nature Park,’ right there.’’

I looked down at the logo. “Oh, right. Thanks for the coffee.’’

“Thanks for the tip. Hope to see you again, soon.’’

Angel’s gaze now focused on a spot over my shoulder. I turned, to see the mayor coming in the door from the golf course, trailed by a group of four or five younger men. They were loud: laughing, shaking hands, and slapping backs.

“You owe me another game, you son-of-a-bitch.’’ The mayor wagged an index finger in the tallest man’s face, but his tone was teasing, not angry. “You stole that one like a whore lifting a drunk’s wallet.’’

An older woman on her way to the ladies’ room gave him a disapproving frown. The mayor, bidding the group goodbye, seemed not to notice. His face was red. He mopped his brow with a big white handkerchief. His canary-colored golf shirt showed rings of sweat at the arms and under his saggy pectoral muscles. His jaunty yellow cap was wilted. It was early, but the September sun was already heating up the course.

Angel had filled a glass with iced water, and was moving in the mayor’s direction. She nodded toward the door to the outside patio. He opened it, and they both went out.

She gave him the water, which he drained in one long swig. He held the ice-filled glass to each temple, cooling off. Angel waited, arms crossed over her chest. He put the glass on a table and whispered something in her ear. Angel shook her head, lips pressed into a hard line.

She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her apron, took out two. He rushed to light hers first, and then his. As they shared a smoke, he put a hand on her arm. She looked at it like it was a palmetto bug crawling across her skin. He immediately dropped it, and lowered his eyes to the table. Everything about his posture suggested he wanted something from Angel.

Everything about hers said she wasn’t giving it.

twenty-one

The sound of sustained applause echoed in the empty dining room of the country club. It seemed to be coming from an open door leading to the room where Beatrice Graf was holding her event.

I’d already paid my tab and finished my coffee. The mayor and Angel were still outside. With no other customers at the bar, there was no telling how long they’d talk. I’d try to catch up to each of them later to see what I could learn about Kenny.

In the meantime, I was curious about all the clapping. I peeked from the dining room into the private room, and saw about twenty-five women inside. Mrs. Mayor was right. Almost every guest had a glass of wine or a cocktail at her plate. I ducked into a dining-room booth with an unobstructed view so I could spy in my preferred manner: Unobserved.

I was surprised to see Prudence Law, wearing a nervous smile and a conservatively cut suit. She walked to the lectern at the front of the room, and waited for the applause to spatter to an end. She stood on tiptoe to reach the microphone.

“Thanks for that nice introduction. I asked Mrs. Graf if I could say a few words to let you know how awfully grateful I am for the gift basket, as well as the kind expressions of sympathy so many of you have sent.’’

An acknowledging murmur moved around the tables in the room.

“As a librarian, Camilla was terribly keen on book groups. Several of you mentioned that she was helpful with suggestions for reading material. She’d be pleased to know she’s remembered in that way.’’

The mayor’s wife stepped to the lectern, claiming three-quarters of Prudence’s limelight. “All of us are so sorry for your loss. Your sister was a lovely woman.’

She was singing a different tune today. At Gladys’ diner, I’d heard her skewering the murder victim for her sex clothes and sinful ways.

A woman in a mint-green sweater set hesitantly raised her hand at the front table. Prudence and the mayor’s wife simultaneously nodded their permission to ask a question. The woman looked momentarily confused as to who was in charge, but she plowed ahead anyway.

“Have the police told you anything about who might have killed Camilla?’’

When Beatrice began to speak, the sweater-clad woman raised her hand again, a bit timidly: “I was asking her sister.’’

Mrs. Mayor aimed a glare at the questioner, but quickly covered it with a fake-looking smile. Prudence edged her aside and reclaimed the lectern. “No, they say they’re still investigating. They haven’t provided any specific information, beyond the fact she wasn’t killed where her body was found. They haven’t let me into her home. That leads me to believe they’re still looking for evidence there.’’

The mayor’s wife shouldered Prudence out of the spotlight. She spoke directly into the microphone. “I think we have to assume Camilla knew her killer.’’

Though sidelined, sweet Prudence still managed to put some frost in her voice. “I’m not sure we can ‘assume’ anything at this point. Why do you say that?’’

“Well, surely that clothing was meant for some kind of special occasion. She dressed that way for a reason.’’

Prudence’s eyes were cold enough to make the woman at the front table wrap herself more tightly in that sweater.

“I wasn’t aware my sister was required to check with you regarding what she wore in the privacy of her home. I thought you Americans were all for individual freedom.’’

The look she aimed at the mayor’s wife was so scornful, I’m surprised it didn’t singe the split ends off her bottle-red hair. But instead of becoming argumentative or blustery, as I expected, Beatrice cast her eyes downward to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,’’ she mumbled, seemingly submissive. “I certainly don’t want to offend you, or the memory of your dear sister. Especially not at a time like this.’’

Prudence sniffed, and smoothed at the sides of her dark jacket. The lapels were trimmed in white piping.

“It’s all right,’’ she finally said, sounding like it definitely was not all right. “You can’t help being ignorant.’’

I thought that would get a rise from Mrs. Mayor, but instead she started clapping, and the other women followed her lead. Leaning back toward the microphone, she said. “Thank you so much for coming, Prudence. Anything you need, please call any one of us, right gals?’’