“Well?” Reede demanded darkly.
“That funeral parlor man, Mr. Davis, well, sir, he just called, raisin’ Cain on account of her. She’s over there now going through his files and all.”
“What?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what he said, Sheriff Lambert. He’s good and pissed off because—”
“Call him back and tell him I’m on my way.” Reede was already reaching for his coat. If the deputy hadn’t sidestepped quickly, he’d have been run down as Reede rushed through the door.
He was impervious to the inclement weather that had kept schools and most businesses closed. They could handle snow, but an inch-thick sheet of ice covering everything was another matter. Unfortunately, the sheriff’s office never closed.
Mr. Davis met him at the door, anxiously wringing his hands. “I’ve been in business for over thirty years and nothing like this—nothing, Sheriff Lambert—has ever happened to me before. I’ve had caskets disappear. I’ve been robbed. I even had—”
“Where is she?” Reede barked, cutting short the funeral director’s litany.
The man pointed. Reede stamped toward the closed door and wrenched it open. Alex, seated behind a desk, looked up expectantly. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
“Answer my question.” Reede slammed the door and strode into the room. “I’ve got a hysterical undertaker on my hands because of you, lady. How’d you get here, anyway?”
“I drove.”
“You can’t drive in this.”
“I did.”
“What is all this?” With an angry swipe of his hand, he indicated the files strewn across the desk.
“Mr. Davis’s records for the year my mother was killed. He gave me permission to sort through them.”
“You coerced him.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Intimidated him, then. Did he ask to see your search warrant?”
“No.”
“Do you have one?”
“No. But I can get one.”
“Not without probable cause.”
“I want proof positive that Celina Gaither’s body is not interred in that grave at the cemetery.”
“Why didn’t you do something sensible, like get a shovel and start digging?”
That silenced her. It took her a moment to recover. At last she said, “You’re in a surly mood this morning. Rough night?”
“Yeah. I got laid, but it wasn’t very good.”
Her eyes dropped to the littered table. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“What, that I got laid?”
She gazed back up at him. “No, that it wasn’t very good.”