out a plastic souvenir ashtray from Mount Rushmore, and tossed it across the desk in her general direction.
Elizabeth eyed the ashtray. “What a gentleman.”
His mouth curved ever so slightly. “You ought to see what they taught me in charm school.”
“Charm?” she scoffed, tapping her ash off on Teddy Roosevelt's head. “I'll bet a dollar you can't even spell it.”
Point to Stuart, Dane conceded, grinding his teeth.
“Tell me what happened out there tonight,” he said softly, welcoming the stirring of anger. Anger was an emotion he could grasp and wield like a sword. It was safe as long as he could control it.
He pulled a pocket cassette recorder out of his top right desk drawer and clicked it on. “For the record,” he explained with a cool smile, tilting his head in mock deference. “This is the statement of Elizabeth Stuart regarding the Jarvis murder.”
He plunked the recorder between them on the desk. Elizabeth regarded it with a suspicious look. She abandoned her cigarette to smolder in the ashtray, curling ribbons of smoke fluttering up from it. “I worked late on the ledgers at the paper office,” she began without prompting or preamble. “They're a mess. I don't reckon old Larrson had balanced those books since Jesus Christ was in knickers. Took off about quarter to eight. That I know 'cause there's a clock in the office. I live out past Still Waters, about a mile or so east.”
“The Drewes place.”
She lifted an angular shoulder in an offhand shrug. “So I'm told.” She hadn't bought it from a Drewes. No Drewes had lived in it for fifty years or more, but their name had stuck, making everyone who had lived there after them a trespasser of sorts.
She gave the sheriff an assessing look, deciding she'd better tell the tale exactly as it had happened. It was one thing to fib a little to Ellstrom; this man was a whole different breed. “I saw some deer standing in the trees along the north side of the road and I stopped to take a couple of pictures. I got too far off the shoulder and my car got hung up.”
She paused, waiting for a sarcastic comment, but none was forthcoming so she pressed on, thankful for small favors.
“I didn't have much choice but to start walking.” In Italian sandals with pencil-slim heels. She was going to have blisters for a week.
“Why did you turn in at Still Waters? The Hauer place is closer to the road.”
“It didn't look like there was anyone home. Besides, if I have my choice between begging a ride in a Lincoln and begging a ride in an Amish buggy, call me strange, but I'm liable to pick the car every time.”
“Had you met Jarvis before?”
She took up her cigarette and pulled at it, sighing out a plume of smoke. “Yeah, I'd met him,” she said with a note of resignation that indicated it hadn't been the most pleasurable experience.
“Did he hit on you?”
Her eyes flashed. “That's none of your business,” she snapped, tapping the ash off her cigarette with a sharp flick of her forefinger.
He smiled unpleasantly, leaning his forearms on the desk. “I beg to differ, Liz. Did he hit on you?”
“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “He did a couple of times. Not that it matters.”
“Maybe it matters a lot.”
“Only if I killed him, which I didn't.”
He gave a shrug. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him and stubbed out her cigarette.
“What did you do when he hit on you?”
“I told him to go eat dirt and howl at the moon.”
“In so many words?”
“No, not in so many words,” she spat out. “I've got more class than that.”
“Class?” Dane sat back and lifted one straight brow. “I'll bet a dollar you can't find it in the dictionary.”
Elizabeth scowled at him. “You've got a real way about you, Sheriff. How'd you get elected anyway? By threatening the voters with thumbscrews and rubber hoses?”
He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “On my looks and my sterling character.”
“Sterling?” She gave an
Elizabeth eyed the ashtray. “What a gentleman.”
His mouth curved ever so slightly. “You ought to see what they taught me in charm school.”
“Charm?” she scoffed, tapping her ash off on Teddy Roosevelt's head. “I'll bet a dollar you can't even spell it.”
Point to Stuart, Dane conceded, grinding his teeth.
“Tell me what happened out there tonight,” he said softly, welcoming the stirring of anger. Anger was an emotion he could grasp and wield like a sword. It was safe as long as he could control it.
He pulled a pocket cassette recorder out of his top right desk drawer and clicked it on. “For the record,” he explained with a cool smile, tilting his head in mock deference. “This is the statement of Elizabeth Stuart regarding the Jarvis murder.”
He plunked the recorder between them on the desk. Elizabeth regarded it with a suspicious look. She abandoned her cigarette to smolder in the ashtray, curling ribbons of smoke fluttering up from it. “I worked late on the ledgers at the paper office,” she began without prompting or preamble. “They're a mess. I don't reckon old Larrson had balanced those books since Jesus Christ was in knickers. Took off about quarter to eight. That I know 'cause there's a clock in the office. I live out past Still Waters, about a mile or so east.”
“The Drewes place.”
She lifted an angular shoulder in an offhand shrug. “So I'm told.” She hadn't bought it from a Drewes. No Drewes had lived in it for fifty years or more, but their name had stuck, making everyone who had lived there after them a trespasser of sorts.
She gave the sheriff an assessing look, deciding she'd better tell the tale exactly as it had happened. It was one thing to fib a little to Ellstrom; this man was a whole different breed. “I saw some deer standing in the trees along the north side of the road and I stopped to take a couple of pictures. I got too far off the shoulder and my car got hung up.”
She paused, waiting for a sarcastic comment, but none was forthcoming so she pressed on, thankful for small favors.
“I didn't have much choice but to start walking.” In Italian sandals with pencil-slim heels. She was going to have blisters for a week.
“Why did you turn in at Still Waters? The Hauer place is closer to the road.”
“It didn't look like there was anyone home. Besides, if I have my choice between begging a ride in a Lincoln and begging a ride in an Amish buggy, call me strange, but I'm liable to pick the car every time.”
“Had you met Jarvis before?”
She took up her cigarette and pulled at it, sighing out a plume of smoke. “Yeah, I'd met him,” she said with a note of resignation that indicated it hadn't been the most pleasurable experience.
“Did he hit on you?”
Her eyes flashed. “That's none of your business,” she snapped, tapping the ash off her cigarette with a sharp flick of her forefinger.
He smiled unpleasantly, leaning his forearms on the desk. “I beg to differ, Liz. Did he hit on you?”
“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “He did a couple of times. Not that it matters.”
“Maybe it matters a lot.”
“Only if I killed him, which I didn't.”
He gave a shrug. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him and stubbed out her cigarette.
“What did you do when he hit on you?”
“I told him to go eat dirt and howl at the moon.”
“In so many words?”
“No, not in so many words,” she spat out. “I've got more class than that.”
“Class?” Dane sat back and lifted one straight brow. “I'll bet a dollar you can't find it in the dictionary.”
Elizabeth scowled at him. “You've got a real way about you, Sheriff. How'd you get elected anyway? By threatening the voters with thumbscrews and rubber hoses?”
He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “On my looks and my sterling character.”
“Sterling?” She gave an
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