I gave her a palms up. “So when do you suggest the dynamic duo slipped her the stuff ? Because from what you’re telling me, there was never a good window of opportunity.”
“If they didn’t do it, I’ll eat my—” She scanned her outfit in search of edible options. “Well, it’s not going to be my shoes. I don’t relish getting cork stuck between my teeth.” She braced her hands on her hips and trained an accusatory look at me. “Why am I getting the impression that not only are you unconvinced that Bobbi and Dawna killed Krystal, you don’t believe I’m next on their hit list?”
“Because if someone in Texas killed Krystal, which is looking more and more like a good bet, we can wash our hands of the whole affair. No Internet searches. No stalking people. No having to guess who the next victim will be. No having to look over our shoulders. No standoffs. No—”
“But we always do Internet searches. We always stalk people. We—”
“And you won’t get stuck having to hang out with the gang anymore because you won’t need their protection! Won’t that be liber-
ating?”
“Not hang out with the gang?” Her face started wilting like a wax candle in a hot attic. “But I like hanging out with them.” She lowered her gaze, looking crestfallen. “They don’t act snotty to me because I’m the one person in the room who’s different.”
Awww. I was suddenly very proud that my little band of Iowans could show as much respect for a six-foot transsexual as they could for each other. “Of course not. Your gender reassignment surgery doesn’t faze them in the least.”
She flashed a quizzical look. “What does my surgery have to do with anything?”
“I’m agreeing with you, Jack. I think it’s wonderful that the gang doesn’t look down their noses at you because you used to be a guy.”
“That’s not the reason I—” She rolled her eyes. “I’m happy they don’t treat me differently because I’m beautiful! Women can act so snotty when the new kid on the block is a real knockout, but the gang doesn’t seem to mind how much better looking I am than they are. They’re so accepting.” She paused thoughtfully. “Either that or their cataracts are so bad they can’t actually see me.”
I’m not sure why I bothered to compliment Jack when she was so much better at it than I was.
“Say, when we were eating dinner with Woody the other night, did you notice the ring he was wearing?”
“I was a little preoccupied, Emily. Incoming flak by the blonde bombshells? Sustained verbal attack? Artillery fire directed at my jugular?”
“Well, I noticed it at breakfast yesterday morning because Krystal made a big fuss over it.”
“Krystal? Make a fuss? Shocking.”
“It’s brass with a fleur-de-lis motif that shows one of the petals broken off. Woody said it’s been in his family for as long as he can remember. But here’s where it gets weird. The woman who hosted us on our home visit has a needlepoint piece, embroidered by her grandmother, that has the very same motif.”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because the embroidery replicates a design created by a metalsmith who lived in the grandmother’s village. He fabricated all kinds of brass jewelry, but he made only one ring, and it’s on Woody Jolly’s finger.”
“I still don’t understand why that’s weird. Stuff gets auctioned off and bought everywhere in the world now. Craigslist, Amazon, eBay. People can shop internationally from their laptops or iPads.”
“So how did a one-of-a-kind ring that was made prior to World War II become an heirloom in the Jolly family?”