Do Unto Others

“Uh-Out,” I answered. What was I supposed to say? Sleuthing?

Interrogating suspects? “Well, I want you to know what I’ve had to go through to protect your good name,” Candace said archly. I raised a hand to fend off the oncoming torrent. “Where are Sister and Mark?”

“They’ve run to the grocery store,” she paused. “The police called Mark to confirm you were here last night. I came here ’cause I got tired of hunting you down and-I needed to see you, after this morning’s shock.” I swallowed. She needed me? I deflected a blush by asking a question. “What happened at the station?” “You’ll be delighted to know I wasn’t body-searched,” Candace huffed, “although I wouldn’t put it past Billy Ray. Honestly. I told them what little I knew, and that nasty Billy Ray kept trying to hint that you’d killed Miss Harcher. I repeatedly-mind you, repeatedly-told him that was utterly ridiculous, but he didn’t get the hint. What a moron! Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if his family tree didn’t fork.” “He’s still trying to implicate me?” I wanted details. Candace threw her hands up in the air. “Tried, but I set him straight. I gave him a piece of my mind and then some.” “Thanks, Candace,” I said, happy that she was on my side.

She smiled then and I felt a bit awkward. I didn’t want to encourage her. After all, she’s my assistant and we have to keep our relationship professional, not personal. “I don’t understand any of this,” Mama said, looking to Candace. Candace heaved air, horrified at what she’d said in front of my mother. “Now, Mrs. Poteet, don’t you worry about Jordy, I’m going to take care of everything. The police are just misguided. It’ll all get settled.” She patted Mama’s hand.

“Would you like some lunch?” Mama shook her head. “No. I want a nap.”

Candace volunteered to take Mama upstairs and get her settled, so I made turkey sandwiches, with lots of mayonnaise, tomato, and lettuce on wheat bread. I dumped a small bag of corn chips on each plate and popped two cold cans of Dr Pepper. I put the plates on the table and sat down with my lunch and my ruminations. Holding true to the rule that I get little peace in my home, Candace rejoined me before I was half through. “Now, Jordy,” she said, pulling up a chair, “I want the truth. Where have you been?” She dug into her sandwich and, after the first bite, smiled. I guess I’m not a bad cook for a bachelor. I told her about my interviews with Tamma Hufnagel, Bob Don Goertz, and Matt Blalock. Candace was quite prepared to be my Watson. “Aha! That Tamma Hufnagel. Probably a crazed killer. You always have to look out for the quiet ones,” she asserted. “She acts timid, but I think there’s a toughness underneath. Maybe she’s too quiet.” “My point exactly. Or there’s Bob Don. I’d never buy a car from that crook.” “You’d never buy American, Candace, and he doesn’t sell imports.” “Well, if I get the sudden urge for a Chrysler, I’m going to Honest Ed’s in Bavary,”