“He won’t hear about it from me.” Wanda Gail looked reassured until Alex added, “I’d advise him against any more vandalism, and I would appreciate not getting another condemning letter in the mail.”
“Letter?”
She appeared not to have any knowledge of the letter that had been waiting for Alex when she had returned from Austin, but Alex felt sure that she must. “I won’t place you in a position of having to lie for your husband, Mrs. Plummet, but I should warn you that Reede has the letter and considers it a police matter. I feel certain he’d make an arrest if I receive another one.”
She hoped the subtle threat would work. By the time she reached her car, however, her mind had already moved forward to her interview with Reede’s alibi.
The two-story frame structure reminded Alex of the Prohibition-era roadhouses she’d seen in gangster movies. It had no signs out front and was invisible from the highway, but there were several commercial rigs in the parking lot, along with a few pickup trucks, and even a recent-model Cadillac.
The stone sidewalk was bordered with valiant, dusty pansies. A series of steps led up to a deep veranda. There was an old-fashioned pull bell next to the front door. Muted honky-tonk music wafted through the walls, but the windows appeared to have been blacked out; she couldn’t see through them.
The door was answered by a bear of a man with a full, salt-and-pepper beard covering the lower two-thirds of a face as florid as a sirloin steak. He was wearing a white tuxedo shirt and black satin bow tie, over a full white apron. He was also wearing a fearsome, intimidating frown.
“I—” Alex began.
“Are you lost?”
“I’m looking for Nora Gail Burton.”
“Whaddaya want with her?”
“I want to talk to her.”
“What about?”
“It’s personal.”
He squinted suspiciously. “You selling something?”
“No.”
“You got an appointment?”
“No.”
“She’s busy.”
He started to close the door, but a man approached it on his way out. He squeezed between them, doffing his bill cap to Alex and muttering thanks to the doorman. Alex took advantage of the interruption and stepped over the threshold into a formally decorated vestibule. “I’d like to see Ms. Burton, please. I promise not to take too much of her time.”
“If you’re looking for work, miss, you’ll need to fill out an application and provide pictures. She doesn’t see a girl until she’s looked over her pictures.”
“I’m not looking for work.”
He considered her for another long moment before coming to a favorable conclusion. “Name?”
“Alexandra Gaither.”
“Wait right here, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t move.”
“I promise.”
He retreated toward the back of the house, moving along the staircase with a grace and lightness of tread unusual for a man his size. His order for her to stay put had been so emphatic that it had nailed her shoes to the floor. She didn’t think anything could prise her away.
Within seconds, however, the music beckoned her toward its source. Low conversation and soft laughter lured her toward the violet brocade drapes that separated the hallway from the room beyond. The edges overlapped so she couldn’t see anything. Raising her hand tentatively, she pushed them apart and peeked through the slit.