“It has to be modest enough to where you could see your mom while you were in it without turning red,” she had advised. “But it has to kind of growl to your date, ‘Later, baby!’ ”
It was a slow day at the petite shop, Short ’n Sweet (hey, I didn’t name it), and the saleswoman who’d helped me before was glad to see me. I was too embar- rassed to spell out what I wanted, but I tracked it down eventually. It was a sweater dress, soft and beige and shapeless but clingy, with a big cowl collar—and you wore it almost off the shoulders. I had to buy a strap- less bra to go under it, and then big gold earrings, and then some shoes, so I made the saleswoman’s afternoon a happy one. Quite a switch for someone who had worn her college and high school clothes for ten years. I ate lunch in the city and visited my favorite book- store, so I came home to Lawrenceton fairly laden down with good things.
I tuned in to the local radio station as I left the inter- state. It was time for the news. “Police are questioning a suspect in the murder of a Lawrenceton Realtor,” said the newswoman chattily. “Today a prominent local businessman was taken in for questioning regarding the death of Tonia Lee Greenhouse, who was found stran- gled in an empty home last week. Though police would not comment, an unnamed source says police will also question James Hunter in connection with the death of Idella Yates, whose body was found yesterday.”
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I sucked in my breath. Jimmy Hunter. Poor Susu! Poor kids! I wondered what new evidence Lynn had un- covered that had led to Jimmy’s being taken to the po- lice station. I thought perhaps the police had found some of the stolen things in Jimmy’s possession. Or maybe . . . but it was no use speculating. Martin was ten minutes early.
He took in the dress appreciatively.
“I just have to brush my hair,” I said, my hands ex - tended to hold him off.
“Let me,” he suggested, and I could feel a blush that began at my toes.
“We’ll never get there if I do,” I said with a smile, and scampered up the stairs before he could grab me. “One kiss,” he said as I came back down minutes later. He and Madeleine had been regarding one an- other warily.
“One,” I said strictly.
It was very sweet at first, but then it began to steam up.
“My glasses are fogging,” I murmured.
He laughed. “Okay, we’ll go.”
But it wasn’t until a few minutes later that we got into his car. It didn’t take long to get to the Carriage House, which had actually formerly been what its name implied. It was the only fancy restaurant in Lawrenceton, and had very good food and service. It was small, dark, and ex- pensive, with a large added-on room at the back where local groups held dinners. We were shown a corner table and sat side by side on the L-shaped banquette.
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Being so close to Martin was seriously interfering with my paying attention to anything else, but I was determined to get through a normal-date evening with him. We talked about what wine to order, and I se- lected my food; and he talked to the waiter, and the wine arrived.
“Jimmy Hunter’s being questioned about the death of the woman whose body we found,” I told him. “I heard someone was. Do you know the man?” So I told Martin about Jimmy and Susu, and Jimmy’s little quirk.
“He likes to look at houses with female Realtors? That’s pretty—kinky.”
“But he’s never done anything to anybody,” I pointed out fairly. “And frankly, I hope the police have got something more on him than that, as I assume they must, because I find it very hard to believe that Jimmy did it.” I hadn’t known I felt that way until it came out of my mouth. “And they haven’t charged him in Tonia Lee’s murder, or Idella’s, and surely the same person killed them both.”
But Martin hadn’t heard about my finding Idella’s body, and I had to tell him now, his light brown eyes fixed on my face.
“I wish you had called me when you were upset,” he said. I had an uneasy feeling that he might be a little angry with me.
“I thought about you. Of course. It’s just that— really—for all our emotions for each other, we really don’t know each other that well. And you’re the plant manager, you have all kinds of duties and responsibili- ties that I don’t know anything about, Martin. Even on
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Sunday night, I just felt very hesitant about interrupt- ing you.”
I had been able to picture all too clearly his exasper- ated face as he turned away from some important pa- pers to answer a call from his one-night flame. “Listen,” he said intently. “Don’t. We haven’t learned a lot about each other, but this is not just a bed thing. I hope. On my part, anyway, and I think for you, too.” I didn’t know, yet.
He touched my hair. “If you need me, I’ll come. That’s all there is to it. We have time to get to know each other. But if anything bothers you or upsets you, you call me.”
“Okay,” I said finally, with misgivings. Our salads arrived and we began eating, very con- scious of each other.
“Martin, you’ll have to tell me about your com- pany,” I said. “I have only the vaguest idea of what Pan-Am Agra does.”
“We arrange for the exchange of good used farm machinery for the produce from some of the South American countries,” he explained. “Also, we manu- facture some agricultural goods and food using raw materials from North and South America, which is what we do at the plant here. And we own land in South America where we’re trying to use North Amer- ican farming methods to produce better yields. Those are the main things Pan-Am Agra does, though there are a few other things, too.”
“What kind of products does Pan-Am Agra make?” “Some fruit blends, some products containing cof- fee, some fertilizer.”
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“Do you have to travel to South America much?” “When I was at company headquarters in Chicago, I had to go often, at least once every month. Now I won’t fly down as much. But I will have to visit the other plants.”
“Is the government very much involved in what you do?”
“As a regulatory agency, yes, too much so. They’re forever thinking we’re smuggling drugs in or weapons out, knowingly or unknowingly, and our shipments are almost always searched.”
I thought of searching fertilizer, or the raw materials thereof, and wrinkled my nose.
“Exactly,” Martin said.
“So what is a pirate like you doing in an agricultural company?”
“Is that the way you see me? A pirate?” He laughed. “What is a quiet, slightly shy, introverted librarian doing dating a pirate like me? Your life has changed a lot lately, if what you tell me and what other people tell me is true.” I noticed he hadn’t answered my question. “My life has changed a lot,” I said thoughtfully. “I’m changing with it, I guess.” Funny, I’d never thought of myself changing, just my circumstances. “I guess it started—oh, almost two years ago,” I told him, “when Mamie Wright was killed the night it was my turn to address Real Murders.”
The salads left, and the main course came while I was telling Martin about Real Murders and what had happened that spring.
“You’re certainly not going to think I’m quiet after
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hearing all that,” I said ruefully. “You had better tell me about your growing up, Martin.”
“I don’t like to think about it much,” he said after a moment. “My father died in a farm accident when I was six . . . a tractor overturned. My mother remarried when I was ten. He was a hard man. Still is. He didn’t put up with any nonsense, and he had a broad defini- tion of nonsense. I didn’t mind him at first. But I couldn’t stand him after a few years.”
“What about your mom?”
“She was great,” he said instantly, with the warmest smile I’d seen. “You could tell her just about anything. She cooked all the time, did things you just see mothers in old sitcoms doing now. She wore aprons, and she went to church, and she came to every game I played— baseball, basketball, football. She did the same for Bar- bara.”
“You said you grew up in a small town, too?” “Yes. A few miles outside the town, actually. So I wasn’t sorry to get the chance at this job here. I wanted to see what it would be like to be back in a small town again, though Lawrenceton is really on the edge of At- lanta.”
“Your mother isn’t alive anymore?”
“No, Mom died when I was in high school. She had a brain aneurysm, and it happened very—very sud- denly. My stepfather is still alive, still on the farm, but I haven’t seen him since I came home from the war. Barbara goes back to town every now and then, just to show off how far beyond that little place she is now, I think . . . she doesn’t see him, either.”
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“There was a rift?”
“He won’t sell the farm.”
I didn’t think that answered my question. “Mother left the farm to him for his lifetime, and left us a little cash. Of course, she didn’t have much. But we’re supposed to get a third of the proceeds if he ever sells it, or if he dies before selling it, we get the land. We wanted him to sell when she died so we could move into town. But he wouldn’t sell, out of some damn stubbornness. Now the situation for small farms is even worse, as I’m sure you’re aware.” I nodded soberly. “So the farm’s falling down, the barn has a hole in the roof, he hasn’t made money in years, and the whole thing is rotting. He could sell anytime to our nearest neighbor, but out of sheer meanness he won’t.” Martin stabbed his steak with his fork. We ate for a minute in silence. I thought over what he’d said.