A Justified Murder (Medlar Mystery #2)(49)

But of course she did. “You can’t hide from me. What is it that I remember?”

“It’s uh... The, uh...”

She loudly put down her fork, then clasped her hands as she waited for him to complete a sentence.

“The dogs.”

“Dogs?” Kate’s eyes widened as she realized what he meant. “Dog racing?”

“Yes. Greyhounds.” He lifted his head to look at her.

“My father used to read dog racing forms to me? And my mother lied about what they were?”

“Looks like it.”

She picked up her fork and went back to her scallops. “That’s a Florida sport, isn’t it?”

He knew where she was going with her question. Maybe her father did return to Florida. Maybe he’d had an affair that lasted past what could be called “brief.” Maybe—

“Your father and mine were friends. Sheriff Flynn was friends with them both. Your dad could have placed bets through them. He didn’t have to be here.”

When Kate’s eyes cleared of some of the worry, he was pleased. All in all, he’d had enough talk of what may or may not have happened so long ago.

“What are you planning to wear to the memorial service tomorrow?” As he’d hoped, the question about fashion made her smile.

“I have a black silk blouse and a black straight skirt. But maybe all black is overdoing it. What about you? Sure you don’t want to sing?”

“Very sure. How about dessert? Something with chocolate? Or they have vanilla ice cream with those tiny flecks in it.”

“From a vanilla bean. I shouldn’t.”

“We’ll order one and I’ll eat most of it. Besides, tomorrow afternoon we can go to the gym. I’ll work the calories off of you.”

“That’s not going to counterbalance—” She halted. “Oh, who cares? Yes! I’d very much like to have dessert. After what I’ve heard, I’d like to slide into a tub full of chocolate mousse and eat my way out of it. Maybe it would help me forget.”

The image was so vivid—so luscious—that Jack almost couldn’t speak. “Could I help? Please?” he whispered.

Kate laughed. “Absolutely not.”

Looking like a sad clown, Jack signaled the waitress and ordered.

Just as they’d predicted, the church was packed with people for the memorial service. Every person who’d had anything to do with Janet Beeson was there to show their innocence.

“I guess we’re standing,” Kate said as she looked at the crowd. People were spilling out the doors.

Sara nodded toward the front. A short section of the third pew on the far right, next to a side door, had been cordoned off with yellow tape. “I think that might be for us.”

“Even after we made it clear that we weren’t going to be involved?” Jack said.

“No one ever accused Sheriff Flynn of being a good listener or obedient,” Sara said. “Come on, follow me and I’ll find out.”

There were times when being small was an advantage and making her way through crowds was one of them. Sara twisted and turned, slipping through mere inches of space between people. Behind her, Kate and Jack did their best to follow.

Sure enough, Sheriff Flynn was standing by the door, waiting for them. “’Bout time you got here. I have some news.” He motioned for them to sit down in the cordoned-off area.

The space was small and they were jammed together. Jack, then Kate and Sara, with Sheriff Flynn on the end. Everyone in the church seemed to be talking and the organist started playing. To hear each other, they had to lean in close, like a huddle of sports players.

Sheriff Flynn began. “First off, time of death was between seven and nine a.m. When Dora got there at one, Janet had only been dead a few hours.” He paused to let this information sink in. “Yesterday a man came to me. He’s the source of info to that reporter who’s been hanging around town and asking millions of questions. That guy even wheedled the pastor into telling him who was going to talk today, then he went to them. I hear he’s good at getting secrets out of people. I was told that he wrote their speeches for them, then rehearsed them.” When they showed no surprise, the sheriff gritted his teeth. “I knew it! You know about him. You—”

“Who is the source of information?” Sara snapped.

With a glare at her, he continued. “His name is Chester Dakon, Chet for short. He’s retired now but he used to be the chief of police for Atlanta. When he was young, he was one of the cops on the White Lily Kidnapping case.” The sheriff grimaced. “Looks like you know about that too. That reporter talks too much! I should arrest him for having a big mouth.”

Sara leaned back in her seat. She wasn’t going to listen if he didn’t get on with the story.

Flynn knew when he’d lost. “Anyway, Chet never forgot the case. In fact, he became so obsessed with it that it became known as Dakon’s Lily. He had a special file cabinet in his office just for whatever he could find. He never came close to solving it, but then about a month ago this newspaper guy went to Dakon and said some woman in Florida knew who the White Lily Kidnapper was. That woman was Janet Beeson.” Their expressions made the sheriff tighten his lips. “You know about that too!”

Kate, always the diplomat, said, “Yes, we listened to Mr. Gage. I’m sure he’d love to fill you in on all the details.”