Wendy took it with a grateful smile and glanced down before opening her purse and fitting it in—just barely. Its head and arms were still stubbornly hanging out. “Thanks. I love that cute little smiling face. I can see why they’ve become such a hit with everyone. Anyway, thanks for all the help. I think I can just make it to the river in time,” she said, waving and then dashing out the front door.

  * * *

  Wendy stood in the middle of the favorite of all the tourists on foot—the Bridge of Sighs, which straddled Roth Hill Road in Bluff Park, some two hundred feet above the Water Street dock below. There were a few other people to her right and left, breathing it all in. When any of the scores of tourist ships docked on either Silver Street or Water Street, it was still a big deal to Rosalieans, even after hundreds of years of the city being a wide-open river port that welcomed all comers.

  From Wendy’s distant vantage point, the sleek Viking Cruise ship fit between her thumb and forefinger held some six inches apart. The passengers walking down the ramp to spend the day touring mansions and town houses, sampling the cuisine, and buying souvenirs appeared even smaller—not like ants exactly, but not a great deal bigger. Amazing how such an enormous vessel and its human cargo could be reduced to such diminutive status. It was all essentially a matter of perspective, of course, and Wendy was playing that particular game with gusto.

  She could also make out Rex in his costume, shaking hands and no doubt spouting period dialogue he had created himself to bring the part of riverboat gambler to life for those from Michigan, Connecticut, and other parts of the country not remotely connected to or familiar with the Deep South. Or at least a particular, romanticized version of it that had stood the test of time. Playing such a role, he perfectly symbolized what Rosalie had become since the preservation movement had begun in the ’30s, saving many unique architectural and historical treasures that would have gone the way of the wrecking ball otherwise. It was also Wendy’s perception that nothing was being built to last these days as they were in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Would all these franchised businesses even be around in fifty years or so? She highly doubted it, and that caused her to wince.

  Wendy headed back in her car to the paper when she’d gotten her fill of what the river and its brawny current had brought to town today. Her mind started racing, and at first she thought it was because of the news her father had given her about proposing to Lyndell. After all, she had the telegram lyrics she thought he’d like best practically burning a hole in her purse. But the closer she got to work, the more unsettled she became. Something else was tantalizing her, and she finally realized that it was not about Bax and Lyndell; it had something to do with the murders that had taken place.

  By the time she had settled into her cubicle and clicked on the saved draft of the article she was writing about possible embezzlement at one of the local banks, her mind was anywhere but on her work. She decided that she was a victim of a double whammy; part of her wanted to waltz into Lyndell’s office and tell her what a romantic little interlude was likely coming her way shortly. But that part relented soon enough and mentally slapped her hand.

  “Don’t spoil things,” she heard herself saying inside her head. “You can keep a secret with the best of them.”

  She could also hear her father fussing at her. “That was my moment, daughter a’ mine. You had no business takin’ it away from me.”

  The other part belonged to her relentless sleuthing instinct that simply would not leave her alone until she had figured out whatever was gnawing at her. She began to retrace her steps. When and where had it started on this particular day? She concentrated and pinpointed everything precisely. She had been standing in the middle of the breathtaking Bridge of Sighs not fifteen minutes ago, gazing down at the Water Street dock and observing what a difference perspective made. What a difference distance made. How size was relative, depending upon both distance and perspective. Somehow, she needed to integrate all that and apply it to what was truly motivating her these days—the murders of Aurelia Spangler and Earl Jay Doxey.

  She could hardly stand it because she couldn’t break through to connecting all of those things in the various lobes of her brain—at least for now. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she added it all up. Based on cases she had solved before, such as The Grand Slam Murders and the death of the obnoxious Brent Ogle at the Rosalie Country Club over the past couple of years, she recognized the signs. There was a geyser of resolution building up steam inside her and rising toward the surface, where her brain cells resided. It had started slowly enough, but now it was well on its way, and there was no stopping its eventual explosion into her aha! moment.

  CHAPTER 20

  Vance Quimby was nonplussed at Ross’s surprising and complicated scenario. This was the last straw. “I’m telling you, my sister would never have been engaged in drug trafficking. If I’m not sure of anything else in this insane world, I’m sure of that. You’re just wasting your breath suggesting such a thing. In fact, I’m downright insulted that you’d even go there.”

  Then he quickly scanned the interrogation room and ended up craning his neck at the camera high up in the corner, recording their conversation. “You can keep me here with that thing running twenty-four hours if you want, Detective, but I won’t change my mind. This mule theory of yours that you keep talking about has to be a figment of your imagination, at least as far as my Relly is concerned. It seems to me you’re more interested in blaming my poor sister, the victim, instead of trying to track down the monster who killed her.”

  Ross rested both of his hands on the table and cleared his throat with great authority. “I assure you, sir, that we don’t operate that way here in Rosalie. We’ve pulled in every favor owed to us to try and find out who’s responsible for this. But no one’s talking—either that, or no one actually knows what’s going on or what went on. It’s like some mysterious force has put the kibosh on anything resembling a clue in this town. So that’s why we have to follow every lead with everyone, no matter how unlikely it seems to be.”

  Vance offered up a sneer and raised his voice. “It’s all well and good for you to sit there and say that to me as calm as you please, but it doesn’t get us much closer to justice for my sister and me.”

  “We understand your frustration.”

  “Well, understand this, then,” Vance continued, his anger level rising even further. “Stop calling me in here with these unproven, frivolous accusations, or I’ll take you to court for police harassment. I’ve done everything humanly possible to cooperate with you since my poor sister’s death, but I don’t want to hear from you people again unless you have a confession from the murderer.”

  “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” Ross told him. “We won’t keep you any longer. And please know this much—the next time you do hear from us, we will have the case solved.”

  Vance rose from the table and gave Ross one last icy stare. “Believe me, I’ll hold you to that.”

  * * *

  Wendy had just slid into the front seat of her car after delivering the “What You Mean to Me” lyrics to her father at the police station. At least that particular issue had been put to bed satisfactorily.

  “You thought right,” Bax had said to his daughter after reading the poem and beaming at her. “This is the one I’d have chosen, too.”

  At that point, he had told her that he would be dropping by Party Palooza to order the telegram as soon as Lyndell accepted his offer of marriage.

  “And when will you be proposing, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Tonight at the bungalow,” he told her. “It’ll be just the three of us—myself, Lyndell, and the engagement ring. I’d let you take a sneak peek, but I left it at home. Anyway, I trust you’ll be seeing it soon enough when Lyndell shows it to you on her finger at work tomorrow.”

  “And I’m sure you’ve got this, Daddy,” she had said, and then given him a kiss for luck.

  Now it was back to her cubicle to put the finishing touches on the bank embezzlement piece that was due for tomorrow’s edition. She had to buckle down hard to meet the deadline and stop allowing conjecture about the murders to distract her so easily. For once, she followed through, and shortly before five, walked into Lyndell’s office and handed over what she considered to be her latest masterpiece.

  After scanning it quickly, Lyndell looked up from her desk and nodded at Wendy seated on the other side. “Good work. Especially the nepotism angle. That was just begging to be explored.”

  “Putting pressure on family members did the trick,” Wendy added. “It all came out quickly after that. Saving face is a powerful motivation.”

  But something about the peculiar smile on Wendy’s face was getting the better of Lyndell’s curiosity. “All of a sudden, I’m getting the impression you’re holding something back.”

  “Not about my research, no.”

  “Something else, then?”

  But foremost in Wendy’s mind was her father’s request that his upcoming proposal of marriage be his moment and his alone. “No, there’s nothing. I’m just pleased with myself, that’s all.”

  “As you should be. I don’t think I could have a better investigative reporter on staff if I had conducted a national search.” A second or two later, Lyndell gave out with a little gasp. “Why don’t we celebrate your latest piece? Bax and I are having dinner together at the bungalow tonight. Why don’t you and Ross join us? Of course, I guess I better check with your father first.”

  Thinking on her feet, Wendy came up with the perfect reply. “I’m sure we’d love to . . . but I’ve had something in the Crock-Pot all day. It’s Ross’s favorite—pot roast with new potatoes, onions, and carrots. I know some people rave about leftovers, but I don’t think my pot roast is as good warmed up the next day.”

  “Sounds wonderful either day to me. Maybe Bax and I should come over to your place.”

  “Nah,” Wendy said, waving her off. “Let’s just do the private couples thing tonight, shall we?”

  “You just talked me into it,” Lyndell said, winking. “And again, very nice work on the article.”

  * * *

  Wendy looked up from her plate of pot roast, carrots, and potatoes and glanced at the owl clock on her kitchen wall with a smile. “Right about now, Daddy should be proposing to Lyndell.”

  “He was so full of himself today down at the station,” Ross said after a sip of his glass of merlot. “I thought he was gonna explode, he was so excited.” There was a pause, and Ross’s expression grew thoughtful. “I was thinking all day that your daddy expected that the only outcome was that she would say yes to him. You don’t suppose there’s any possibility that she’d turn him down, do you? For some reason, that thought just flashed into my head. Have we all gone psychic since Aurelia Spangler came to town—and then went?”

  Wendy did not answer immediately. After all, she had taken her time accepting Ross’s proposal, even turning him down when he’d first asked. She’d put her career as an investigative journalist ahead of marriage for a while. Luckily for Ross, he had understood her objective and been patient.

  “You know, Lyndell and I have never had one of those girlfriend-type talks about Daddy. She’s just mentioned now and then how much fun they’re having going out and doing things together. I guess I’ve never considered the possibility that she might say no, either.” Wendy shifted her eyes to the side. “Now you’ve got me worried. The thought had never entered my mind.”

  “Didn’t mean to throw cold water on everything, babe,” he said. “We’ll prob’ly be getting a phone call soon from either Lyndell or your father announcing that it’s on anyway.”

  “I hope so. We’ve all had enough drama in our lives lately.” She decided to change the subject. “Did anything come of your interrogation of Vance Quimby today?”

  “I wish. He threatened to get a lawyer if we continued to bring him in and run our theories past him, and he might even have a case for harassment at that. The CID has been spinning its wheels for a while. With Earl Jay Doxey gone, we have no informant to go to anymore. Nothing from our undercover guys, either. It’s entirely possible that whoever did this has skipped town, been paid off, or both. I have such a bad feeling that both cases will go cold. I have to tell you—that’s the worst feeling in the world for a police officer.”

  “I feel exactly the opposite,” Wendy said, dashing his pessimism immediately. Then she trotted out the strange insights she’d stumbled upon that afternoon on the Bridge of Sighs. “You know how I am about puzzle solving. Suddenly, it will all come together for me by some process I’ll never be able to explain fully. Let’s just be thankful it’s there for the taking.”

  Ross repeated some of the more intriguing words she’d just emphasized to him more than once. “Perspective . . . distance. . . size. I’m not quite getting it.”

  “I’m not, either. Yet. But I know it’s on the way. Trust me.”

  “So, are you gonna wake me up in the middle of the night with the detailed solution? Is that what I’m in for?”

  Wendy laughed. “Don’t put it past me.”

  “I would never underestimate anyone who can make pot roast like this and also solve puzzling crimes,” he said, spearing another bite with gusto. “I believe I’ve married the most talented woman in the world.”

  “And I’ve married the Prince of Patience.”

  * * *

  Bax sat stunned on the living room sofa in his full-dress uniform. Finally, he managed a weak, “I . . . don’t understand, sweetheart.”

  Lyndell did not let go of his hand, which she had been holding tightly all through his eloquent proposal and presentation of the ring. “You have to know by now that I love you, Bax. That hasn’t changed.”

  He hardly seemed convinced and even turned away from her for a few seconds. “But something has changed for you to turn me down the way you did just now. It didn’t feel like your heart was really in your refusal, if you want my opinion. Whatever the reason, I have to say that I really didn’t see this coming. ”

  She straightened her posture a bit but still held on to him as she spoke. “Nothing has changed between the two of us. But I haven’t told you certain things about myself in the time we’ve spent together. There’s a reason I’ve reached the age of forty-seven without getting married. I’ve had other chances to, you know. But it all goes back to my parents and their messy divorce when I was eleven years old. It seems like they were never happy and fought all the time when I was growing up. Finally, they stopped making life miserable for each other and split up. I lived with Mom from then on. She didn’t seem to be any happier, though, and I felt cheated out of what all my friends had when I visited them for sleepovers—both parents there for them and getting along with each other.”

  “That must have been rough on you,” Bax said, his voice as soft as he could make it.

  “It was. So by the time I got to college, I decided I was going to concentrate on a career and not put myself at the kind of risk my mother experienced. It’s not that I don’t care a lot about you, Bax, because you know I do. It’s just that—well, I’ll go ahead and admit it. I’m afraid of the institution of marriage. I’m afraid it will ruin what we have. Of course, I realize I could be completely out of touch with reality here. So, go ahead and set me straight if you can.”

  There was a look of something resembling relief on his face. Then smugness replaced it quickly. “Well, I think I’m up to the challenge. The deal is that you’re just not gonna go there. A piece of paper and a ceremony can ruin what we have? No, no, no. I understand what you’re saying and why you have your concerns, but we don’t have to be your parents. We aren’t your parents. You can just go ahead and be brave and make your own decisions not because of what happened to them, but in spite of them. If you and I love each other, then that’s all that matters. You should give yourself credit for your insights on your parents, but they shouldn’t dictate what you do now with what really matters in your life.”

  Bax continued to feel the tightness of her grip. He decided that it was a good and hopeful sign, that it meant she was trying her best to hold on, and he was not about to let her go without a fight. “I’ll go ahead and tell you that I’ve had my reservations to work through, too. More than a dozen years ago, I lost my Valerie, as you know, and I threw myself into my work, just as you did in yours for different reasons. That, and helping my Wendy heal, if I possibly could. Now I find myself with feelings I haven’t had since Valerie and I were so happily married all those years. It’s like I’ve been reborn, and you’re looking at the brand-new version of me.”

  There was an element of surprise in Lyndell’s voice. “I didn’t know you could be such an inspirational speaker. That was . . . lovely. I feel like I should be volunteering for something noble like the Peace Corps.”

  He was positively beaming at her remark. “Good for me, and good for you. But the truth is, I make that kind of speech all the time down at the station. It comes with the territory when you’re the chief of police and have to make assignments for all your officers and keep them motivated to catch the bad guys. For some strange reason, we never run out of those, unfortunately.”

  Lyndell’s laugh was bright and prolonged with a satisfying release to it. “It’s the power of suggestion, then. You almost make me want to become a police officer.”

  “And you make me want to become a newspaper editor with some of those editorials you write. But I’ll settle for the two of us becoming husband and wife.”

  Now she was pressing up against him even harder. It was impossible for her to get any closer. “I suppose you know you’re making it very difficult for me to turn you down right now,” she said.

  “That was the plan. I intend to win you over.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.” He paused and stared her down with great affection. “And those are the words I intend to get out of you, Lyndell Slover. So, upon further review, what do you say now?”