Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way Read Online Free Page A

something he wanted to tell us at our wedding reception, when we said we were detectives.”
    “Maybe you should talk to him.” Sheriff Woods grumbled. “He seems to think a lot of Sally.”
    “She used to babysit for him, right, Sally?” John touched Sally’s shoulder to get her attention.
    “Sorry, thinking. Yes, I did babysit for the family. Tim’s not back, right? John, why don’t you ask Peter Masters what happened? I need to make some notes.”
    “I’ve known Peter long enough,” Sheriff Woods said. He plugged in an earpiece. “I’ll do it. Use this mike to cue me.”
    Sally’s head was spinning. “I could use a pot of coffee.”
    “Coming up.” They could hear Sheriff Woods direct the desk sergeant to take care of the coffee.
    Sipping on the fresh coffee, Sally and John observed the interview room where Peter held his head in his propped up arms. He didn’t move when Sheriff Woods entered the room.
    “Peter,” Sheriff Woods asked, “Tell me who the dead woman was.”
    Peter carefully placed his hands in his lap. “Should I ask for a lawyer?”
    “You certainly should, if you think you’re going to be arrested.”
    “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “Did you know the woman?”
    Peter nodded. “A trouble maker.” Sheriff Woods waited patiently for Peter to explain. Instead, Peter said, “I need to talk to my wife’s lawyer.”
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    Standing in the viewing room, John’s index finger tapped the two-way mirror. “He thinks his wife killed the dead woman.”
    “And his wife thinks Tim Hanson is the dangerous one.” Sally looked at her watch. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Her second day in her hometown was wearing her out. “Peter’s not going to say anymore today.” Sally said into the microphone to the speaker in Sheriff Woods’ ear, “I need to go home and get my beauty nap.”
    Sheriff Woods nodded.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    John and Sally Nelson’s Home
    Back at their home just off Route 64, Sally approached John on the subject of naps. He hung up their coats, before answering, “I’ve only known you since you became a detective. You seemed to own the energy of a forty-year-old woman.”
    “Well, sixty-seven is not forty. Do you nap, usually?”
    “I did before I met you. I was trying to explain in my clumsy way.”
    “Not clumsy, at all,” Sally yawned. “The couch or the bedroom?”
    “Bedroom. I’ll start the gas fireplace in there.”
    As soon as Sally put her head on the pillow, the world realigned itself. After he laid down next to her, Sally pulled John’s hand up to her face, singing softly, “I’m not sick, I’m just in love.”
    John pulled a red wool blanket from the foot of the bed over both of them. Strange that the gas fire gave off a pine-smelling aroma. In her mid-day dream, Sally recalled the details of first meeting Art Woods as a teenager.
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    May, 1957
    Just seventeen, Sally struggled to keep the nearly filled cart of returned books from knocking into students in the high-school library. She jumped a foot when Art tapped her shoulder. A senior, Art Woods, blessed her with his full smile. His winter tan broadcast he spent considerable time in an exotic spot for spring vacation. Of course, the book was overdue. Art did not want to pay the fine. During the school break, he said he couldn’t return the book. Sally’s face glowed as red as the embroidered cherries on her stupid sweater. “There is a book drop.” She glanced up to meet his beautiful brown eyes.
    Art touched her hand where it rested on the cold cart. “I needed something to read while I was in Jamaica with my folks.”
    His low voice or the warmth of his hand, seduced Sally into the opposite of her intention. “It’s okay,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t be the last woman to forgive Art’s continuing infractions.
    “Yes!” He whispered, pounding the cart in triumph.
    Sally couldn’t stop draw her attention away from him as he left.