urel exhaled in a burst. “Oh, my God, Thatcher.”
He stared at her for several beats. “He was standing no more than a foot away from me. I saw his eyes go dead before he dropped.”
She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I. He wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”
He put his hand on the doorknob and addressed it rather than her. “Sheriff Amos predicted that there was going to be a bloody moonshine war. He said he could use an extra deputy and offered me the job. I turned him down, told him it didn’t have anything to do with me, that it wasn’t my fight, and I wouldn’t be taking sides. That’s the thing that changed tonight.”
He reached into his pocket, took out the now familiar badge, and, looking back at her, pinned it to his lapel.
* * *
Irv was standing in the kitchen, holding the shotgun aimed at the door through which Thatcher had to pass on his way out. When he saw Irv, he stopped. The two squared off, and when Irv spotted the badge, his scowl deepened.
He said, “Badge or not, I could shoot you for trespassing.”
“You could. But just so you know, I’m unarmed. To a jury that might look like murder.”
“I could murder you for messing with my daughter-in-law.”
“I’d be dead. Laurel would be left to suffer a scandal.”
“It’s Laurel now, is it?”
“Yes.” Thatcher walked forward until the barrel of the shotgun was inches from his belly. “It’s Laurel. And hear me, Plummer. If you and your moonshining get her killed, I’m going to kill you.”
He allowed time for the words to sink in, then he stepped around the old man and left through the back door.
Forty-Four
Norma was seated on a stool at her vanity table plucking her eyebrows when Patsy sauntered into the bedroom. “You’re not even dressed yet?”
Norma yanked out the last wayward hair, dropped the tweezers onto the vanity, and swiveled around. “What’s your rush?”
“I’m not in a rush. The man at the bank is, and he keeps bankers’ hours.”
“What is the problem?”
“Something to do with a signatory card. He was expecting us at one o’clock. It’s thirty minutes after.”
“Can’t you handle it alone? I don’t want to get Arthur up just to traipse in and out of the bank.”
Five minutes later, Patsy left the house more noisily than necessary, probably in a spiteful attempt to wake Arthur from his nap. But he slept peacefully in his bassinet. Earlier Norma had placed it near the open living room window that provided a gentle southern breeze.
She was returning to her bedroom when she heard an auto braking out front. Thinking that Patsy must have forgotten something, she muttered, “Not a moment’s peace around here.”
But when she looked out the window, her irritation evolved into apprehension. Bernie Croft was climbing out of an unfamiliar automobile. It wasn’t his long touring car, but a much smaller roadster. For once, his chauffeur, whom she secretly feared, wasn’t with him.
She overlapped the sides of her silky, floral-patterned robe and tied the belt tightly around her waist. It was almost back to what it had been before the baby. Her curvy figure was coveted by women and lusted after by men. Arthur had been worth the temporary bloating, but she was glad to have her notable figure restored.
As Bernie neared the door, she opened it and, with more bravado than she felt, said, “This is a surprise.”
“A good one, I hope.”
“A delightful one.”
She stood aside; he came in.