Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) Read Free Page B

time or a short while, and if he was frozen before or after death. I took a pic of the dude’s face and will send it around to police departments to see if it matches any missing persons they have.”
    We made it back to George’s car without me passing out. “I’ll drop you off at my place,” he said. “You have a wedding shower to get ready for.”
    “So do you,” I said. “Remember, it’s a couple’s shower, so you have to be there. You have to.”
    “I will. I will,” he said, patting my knee. George started the car and added, “Unless of course police business prevents it.”
    “Nice try,” I said. “I need you there.”
    He just smiled.
    We rode in companionable silence to his house, where I’d left Clancy and my car. My last words to George before he drove away were, “Two o’clock at the Dairy. Don’t be late.”
    He smiled that smile again. The one that crinkled his eyes. The one that made me melt. I was resolute however, and repeated my words, “Two o’clock at the Dairy. Don’t be late.” This time I smiled too. I couldn’t help it.
    There were a lot of reasons for the smile—George, my family, the shower, the wedding, and the Dairy itself. It was a traditional gathering place when our family went out for breakfast, and they had a room large enough for us to rent for the shower.
    Clancy greeted me with her leash in her mouth. “Yep, we’re going, girl. And stop complaining. I wasn’t gone that long.”
    I grabbed a few personal belongings from George’s house and stuffed them in a bag. Picking up Clancy’s leash, I opened the back door and walked her toward the garage. My little blue Beetle was parked next to the garage on a stone slab. While Clancy watered a few plants I put my gear in the back seat of the car. The front passenger seat was reserved for her.
    I buckled the doggy seatbelt and filled her in on what had happened. “Yeah, a graffiti drawing—some kind of vase or urn. I wonder what that means. Any ideas?”
    After watching her think for a minute, I said, “I never thought of that. Maybe it’s a gang sign for country folks, or maybe it’s a sign from where the body was murdered.” I listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know we’re not certain it’s murder, but it probably is, or I wouldn’t be so worked up about it. Wonder how I can find out more about those urns.”
    She didn’t have any ideas, but I knew that sometimes she liked to think before she “talked.” A lot of folks didn’t understand my connection with Clancy, but most people in my family understood. And George. George knew and believed me when I told him about my psychic connection with Clancy. He believed me… or at least, he chose to pretend he did. Either way, he was a smart man.
    My home was only a half-mile from George’s, but miles away away financially. His blue-collar neighborhood was the one I had grown up in; in fact, we’d been neighbors all through school. Where I lived now was about two tax brackets above where I’d lived as a kid. I took 18th Street and drove from Spring to Maine. Not far at all—four blocks—but my carriage house stood in the midst of a lot of wealth and power. I certainly didn’t fit in wealth-wise, and it was only because my friends owned the mansion associated with the carriage house that I benefitted from it.
    I had no sooner closed my car door than I heard, “Oh, Sam. Sam. Yoo-hoo.” I knew who it was without even looking. Georgianne Granville, one-half of my landlord couple.
    “Hey, Georgianne. What’s up?” Yeah, I was friendly to her. In fact I really did count her as a friend. In the recent past, however, her “yoo-hoo” would have driven me to hide. She had been on my “dislike” list, but in the past year I’d come to appreciate her nearly as much as I loved her husband.
    “Just wanted to tell you that Gus and I are looking forward to your shower. Do you want to ride with us?”
    “No, thanks,” I answered. “My sister Jen is