Page 69 of Wham Line
“We need to talk,” Bobby said and charged forward.
“Oh, um, no—” Jethro tried.
But Bobby kept moving, and Jethro stumbled back.
Like the other rooms I’d seen in the Rock On Inn, the aesthetic was something like “historically elegant” without anyone getting too nitty-gritty about exactlywhen,historically speaking.A large bed with a rumpled quilt; a needlepoint chair; a lamp with a tasseled shade; a footstool with more tassels; tasseled drapes pulled tight, in spite of the magnificent view the windows must have offered.Light fell from a pair of bedside lamps, leaving most of the room in shadow.Opposite the bed, a heavy-looking wooden door, part of the original structure, was closed—the bathroom, most likely.
“Uh, I was actually about to go out and get a late lunch—” Jethro said.
“No, you weren’t,” I said.“Bobby, get out your truncheon.”(Nope, that sounded way too, um, adult.) “Uh, nightstick.”(Even worse.) I snapped my fingers.“Billy club!”
Bobby gave me a look that wasn’tquitea nonverbal sigh.“Sit down.”
“Yes, God,” I said, dropping onto the needlepoint chair.“Thank you.I’m exhausted.”
The look was longer this time before he said, “Jethro.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know—” Jethro began.
“Sit down,” Bobby said.
No yelling.No arm-waving.Not even the tiniest threat of physical violence.
Jethro sat on the bed.
“Were you flushing your coke?”I asked.
Color rose in Jethro’s cheeks.“What?No!”
“Uh huh,” I said.
“What’s going on?”he asked.He seemed to remember something and said, “You can’t come in here.”
“It’s a little late for that,” I said.
“We want to talk to you about Mal’s murder,” Bobby said.
Jethro shifted on the bed.“What about it?I thought they caught the lady who did it.His ex-wife.Her fingerprints were on the gun and everything.”
“Really?”I said.“Do you seriously want to play it that way?”
“I’m not playing anything!”
“You were pretty eager to be the boy detective earlier.”
(The boy detectivewas my nickname in college.Actually, it wasn’t.Itriedto start the nickname Dash-Man, but it didn’t take off.)
“But there’s nothing to investigate,” Jethro said.“That woman did it.”
“That woman is our friend,” Bobby said.“She didn’t kill Mal.I want to know if you did.”
Jethro gaped at him.(He clearly wasn’t used to the Bobby Mai school of earnest directness.) He made a series of incoherent sounds.He waved his hands.I tried to settle back in the needlepoint chair, but it wasn’t actually all that comfortable.Probably because it had been designed when sitting was still in its early stages; we hadn’t really perfected the art as a species, I mean.(Pre-La-Z-Boy).
“I didn’t kill Mal.Why would I kill him?He was my boss.I don’t have a job anymore.”
“Well, he was a jerk,” I said.
