I could live with that.

Chapter Eleven

I went to Little Rock with Jack the next morning. I couldn't stand another day in the small house doing nothing.

I had to promise Jack I wouldn't do anything too vigorous. I was absolutely all right, and I was chafing a little more each day under the weight of his protectiveness. Since I was just going back to surveillance on Beth Crider, it was easy to swear I'd limit my exertions.

I was beginning to hate Beth Crider.

Jack dug in at his office to begin clearing up backlogged paperwork and returning calls. I organized my campaign and drove to Crider's neighborhood yet again. Maybe we should just buy a house close to her. Maybe when Jack was pushing my wheelchair down the street she might slip up and discard her walker.

Today I'd come prepared. I'd brought a hand vacuum, a load of cleaning materials, and a bucket, plus some Sneaky Pete paraphernalia. I parked in front of a house with a For Sale sign in the yard, about three doors west of Beth Crider's, and I got out.

After I got everything set up, I began to work. In no time at all, sweat was trickling down my face and I was fighting an urge to pull off my socks and shoes. Jack's car had never been cleaned more slowly and thoroughly. When I needed water, I got it at the outside faucet. I was lucky they hadn't had the water turned off, since I had to go back and forth several times refilling the bucket.

I received my reward when Crider came out of her front door, with envelopes in her hand. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was going to put some outgoing letters in her mailbox. In this neighborhood, they were on posts by the ends of the driveways. With my back to her, I watched her progress in the passenger-side rearview mirror, while I polished it with a rag and glass cleaner. I reached inside the car to turn on the movie camera I had set up, loaded and ready. It came inside a stuffed panda. I had the panda propped and positioned to cover just that area, since Beth normally mailed her letters at about this time.

She slid her letters into the box, shut it, and raised her red flag. Then she hesitated, and I could see she was looking at the ground.

"Come on, bitch," I whispered, polishing the rearview mirror yet again. "Fall for it."

She looked back and forth, up and down the street. I was the only person out, and I had my back to her.

Down she squatted, supple as you please, to pick up the ten-dollar bill I'd torn and stuck to a tattered Arkla bill next to the curb. I'd tossed this out the window on my way down the street. I'd hoped it would seem as though the stiff morning breeze had picked up some of the trash from the car, and lodged it in front of her home on the ground.

Beth Crider straightened and walked back to her house, only remembering to resume her halting gait when she was about five feet from the steps. I knew the camera would catch the transition from robust to rehabilitative. Inside, I laughed my ass off.

And Jack's car was clean, too.

He looked up when I came in the office, having his own little transition from businessman and detective to my lover. I had the panda tucked under my arm.

"I did it," I said, knowing I sounded proud but unable to keep it out of my voice.

"Yes!" He was up like a shot and hugged me. "Let's see!"

Together we watched the film of the temptation of Beth Crider.

"So what will happen now?" I asked.

"Now, United Warehouse will approach Beth and ask her to drop her suit. She'll probably accept. United will give her some cash, she'll sign some papers, and that'll be it."

"She won't be prosecuted?"

"Staying out of court saves money and time and publicity."

"But she cheated."

"Saving time and money is more important than vindication, in business. Except in very special circumstances, when public punishment will ward off more troublemakers."

I wasn't as happy any more. "That's not right," I said, not caring if I sounded sullen.

"Don't pout, Lily. You did a good job."

"Pout?"

"Your bottom lip is stuck out and your eyes are squinted. Your hands are in fists and you're swinging your legs. You look like I'd just told you about Santa Claus. That's what I call pouting."

"So, United Warehouse will pay you lots of money?" I said, reforming my mouth and unclenching my fists. I opened my eyes wide.

"They'll pay. You'll get a percentage, like any trainee."

I felt deep relief. Now, I could feel better about having quit my cleaning jobs.

"Let's go eat lunch," Jack said. He turned off his computer after saving what he'd been working on. "We're meeting Roy and Aunt Betty."

I tried to be pleased about having lunch with Jack's friends, but I just didn't know the two older detectives well enough to take a personal pleasure in their company. I'd met them both before, and talked to them on the telephone several times.

As we were led to their table in the Cracker Barrel (a favorite of Roy's) I spied Aunt Betty first. With her fading brown hair, nice business suit, and sensible shoes, Elizabeth Fry certainly did look like everyone's favorite aunt. She had the kind of slightly wrinkled, well-bred, kindly face that inspires universal trust. Betty was one of the best private detectives in the Southeast, Jack had told me.

At the moment, Betty was telling Roy some story that had him smiling. Roy doesn't smile a lot, especially since his heart attack. Though he has a sense of humor, it leans toward the macabre.

When I sat across from him, I could look Roy right in the eyes. He's not tall.

"Hey," I said.

Betty leaned over to pat my hand, and Roy looked stricken. "Hey, baby, you feelin‘ okay?" He reached over with one of his stubby hands and patted the same place Betty had. "Thelma and me, we're sorry." Thelma was Roy's wife, to whom he was devoted.

Of course, Jack had told them about the miscarriage. I should have expected that.

"I'm feeling much better," I said, trying very hard not to sound cold and stiff. I failed, I could see, by the glances Roy and Aunt Betty exchanged. Personal exchanges with near strangers in public places are just not my thing, even though I knew I was being a pill. I made a tremendous effort. "I'm sorry, it's hard to talk about." That was truer than I'd realized, because I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I grabbed up a menu and began trying to focus on it. It persisted in being blurry.

"Lily caught Beth Crider this morning," Jack said. I knew he was diverting them, and from their hasty exclamations I could tell they were glad to be diverted. I recovered, after a minute or two, and was able to look pleasant, if nothing else.

I had my back to the entry, so I couldn't see what made Roy stiffen and look angry a moment or two after we'd ordered. "Crap," he said under his breath, and his eyes flicked to my face, then back over to Jack. "Trouble coming," he said, a little more audibly.

"Who is it?" Jack asked, sounding as though he were afraid he already knew the answer.

"Her," Aunt Betty said, her voice loaded down with significance.

"Why, it's the private detective table, isn't it?" said a voice behind me, a youngish woman's voice with a Southern accent so heavy you could have used it to butter rolls. "My goodness me, and I wasn't invited along. But who have we here, in my old place?" A navy-and-beige pantsuit, well packed, twitched by me, and I looked up to see a pretty woman, maybe a couple of years my senior, standing by the table. She was looking down at me with false delight. The perfect makeup and honey-colored shoulder-length tousled hair were designed to distract attention from a nose that was a little too long and a mouth that was a little too small.