Page 60 of Open Season

SEVENTEEN

Temple Nolan was more than stunned to find out the tag number belonged to Daisy Minor, he was disbelieving. Sykes had clearly said the woman was blonde, and Daisy’s hair was brown. Moreover, he doubted she had ever seen the inside of a nightclub; she was the very stereotype of the community old maid who lived at home her entire life, was beloved by the neighborhood kids because she gave out the best candy at Halloween, and went to church three times a week.

But then a vague memory tickled, a snippet of conversation between two of the city clerks he’d over-heard when he passed them in the hallway, about Daisy turning over a new leaf or getting her petals plucked, something with a horticultural flavor. Maybe Daisy was kicking up her heels a little. It still sounded so out of character for her he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was worth checking out.

He could have asked Nadine, his secretary, if she’d heard any gossip about Daisy, but that icy finger of fear made him more cautious. If Daisy was indeed the woman Sykes had seen, Temple didn’t want Nadine to remember that he had asked questions about her just before her death or disappearance, whatever Sykes arranged. So he told Nadine he was stepping out for a minute, then walked over to the library. He didn’t even have to go inside; he looked through the glass door and saw Daisy seated behind the checkout desk, her head bent over some paperwork—her blond head. Daisy had lightened her hair.

He felt almost sick to his stomach.

He walked back to his office, his head down. When he entered, Nadine said in alarm, “Mayor, are you all right? You look pale.”

“An upset stomach,” he said, telling the truth. “I thought some fresh air might help.”

“Maybe you should go home,” she said, looking worried. Nadine was the maternal type, always baby-sitting her grandchildren, and she tended to dispense more medical advice than the doctors in town.

He had lunch scheduled with the mayor of Scottsboro, so he shook his head. “No, it’s just indigestion. I had a glass of orange juice this morning.”

“That’ll do it,” she said, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a bottle. “Here, have some Maalox.”

Meekly he accepted two tablets and obediently chewed them. “Thanks,” he said, and went back into his office. One of these days Nadine was going to diagnose indigestion in someone who was really having a heart attack, but at least in his case he knew exactly why he had a sour stomach.

He made sure his door was securely shut, then went to his private phone and called Sykes. What had to be done . . . had to be done.

Jack borrowed a pickup truck from one of his officers, pulled off his tie, put on sunglasses and a John Deere cap, and followed the mayor to his lunch with the mayor of Scottsboro. He saw nothing suspicious, but that didn’t make him relax. Where Daisy was concerned, he couldn’t relax. All his instincts, honed razor sharp by years in a dangerous job, were on the alert and scanning for a target.

Daisy, of course, was oblivious of the storm he could sense gathering around her. One of the things he enjoyed most about her was her absolute positiveness; it wasn’t blindness to the bad things that could happen, just an acceptance that not everything was wonderful and a conviction that most things were. Look at her attitude toward Barbara Clud, the gossiping bitch: That was just the way Barbara was, so if you went to that pharmacy, you had to expect her to tell what you bought. Right now, however, he would have felt better if Daisy had a more suspicious view of the world; she might be a little more cautious. At least she was getting a dog for protection. If he couldn’t be there at night, at least she’d have a sharp-toothed alarm system.

After lunch, the mayor went back to Hillsboro. Jack checked in with Eva Fay, then drove to Huntsville and located Todd Lawrence’s antiques store, which was named, simply, Lawrence’s, nothing cutesy. Jack went in still wearing the John Deere cap, which, judging from the cool look given him by an approaching salesman, marked him as the bull in the china shop.

The salesman was middle-aged, average in size, and disturbingly familiar. Jack seldom forgot a face; it came from years of studying everyone around him. This man had been at the Buffalo Club; in fact, if Jack wasn’t mistaken, he had danced with Daisy on that first night. His suspicions kicked into overdrive.

“Is Mr. Lawrence in?”

“I’m sorry, he’s occupied at the moment,” said the salesman in smooth tones. “May I help you with something?”

“No.” Jack took out his ID and flipped it open. “Mr. Lawrence. Now. And you’ll need to sit in, too.”

The salesman took the ID and studied it, then coolly returned it. “Chief of police of the Hillsboro Police Department,” he said sarcastically. “Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as a broken arm, but what the hell, I’ll go with what works.”

An unwilling smile touched the salesman’s mouth. “Tough, too.” He shifted his balance just a little, but the subtle changes in his stance made Jack’s eyes sharpen.

“Salesman, my ass,” he muttered. “This is about Daisy Minor.”

There was another change in expression, a sort of rueful resignation. The salesman sighed and said, “Oh, hell. Todd’s in his office.”

Todd looked up when Jack and the salesman entered the small private office. His eyebrows rose as he recognized Jack, and he gave the other man a swift questioning glance before shifting into pleasant-businessman mode, rising to his feet and extending his hand. “Chief Russo, isn’t it? The cap threw me off for a minute.” He looked quizzically at the green cap with the yellow John Deere logo. “How . . . retro.”

Jack shook his hand and said amiably, “How full of bullshit. Why don’t we all sit down, and you and the martial arts salesman here can tell me how I’m jumping to all the wrong conclusions, that you aren’t sending Daisy around to certain targeted nightclubs and bars, and that Bruce Lee really isn’t shadowing her to—what? Catch her doing something illegal? Not likely.”

“Howard,” said the salesman, grinning. “Not Bruce.”

Todd steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips, watching Jack. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine.” Jack didn’t have time to bullshit around. “Then let’s talk about what possible reason a straight man could have for trying to convince everyone he’s gay, and what would happen if I blew his cover.”

Todd gave a light laugh. “You really are reaching now, Chief.”

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