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 Bull? Molly queried.
 They call me Bull Dog around here. Guess I kind of re­
semble one with this big, square head and wide shoulders.
He gave Molly a severe look.  Plus, I hang on to cases like a
pit bull hangs on to a rabbit. My rate of solved cases is the
highest in the state. He rubbed his prickly scalp.  Of course,
I usually have more time to bag the guilty party. Heart of
Dixie closes on Sunday and unless I have a reason to do so,
I can hardly ask dozens of dealers to hang out in Nashville
so that I can rule them out as suspects one by one.
 Seriously, my mother and I can help you. Molly tried
not to make her voice sound too eager.  But first I ll need
to know how Tom died.
The detective removed the pencil from his jacket and
renewed his agitated clicking. He seemed to be debating
over whether to share information with Molly or march her
straight to the nearest exit. Finally, he sighed.  This infor­
mation won t be easy to keep under wraps. Once Uncle
Geordie gets wind of what happened, the whole city will
find out. More clicking.  My brother did a complete tox
screen on Mr. Barnett. Let s just say that a harmful drug was
mixed into his margarita. And from what we ve learned of
his recent behavior, we have no reason to believe this was a
suicide. We haven t ruled that out as a possibility, but it s
unlikely at this juncture.
Molly immediately thought about the apothecary chests
in Tom s booth. Several of the larger chests as well as one
or two of the traveling physician s kits used during the Civil
War contained dangerous drugs. She shared her thoughts
with the detective. He listened closely and occasionally
nodded, his eyes betraying a small measure of respect.
 We ve examined his inventory and yes, the harmful drug
could have come from one of his items, but that doesn t help
A Deadly Dealer 87
us much. The questions are, who stole the drugs from one of
those chests or canes or whatever, and why? Detective But­
ler rose and opened the door.  I see your mama waiting
down the hall. He looked down at the case file in his hands.
 Thank you for coming in, Miss Appleby. I ve got your mo­
bile number and you ve got mine. I don t mind you keeping
your ears open for me, but be smart about how you handle
yourself. Remember, someone inside that show may be a
killer.
 I ll be careful, Molly promised and then hurried down
the hall to where her mother waited, tapping her large, nar­
row foot with impatience.
Charity dropped the Applebys off in front of the hotel
and drove off to park the car. Once they were inside the
mammoth lobby, Clara dragged herself off to see how Dar­
lene was faring while Molly called to check in with Carl.
Digging her cell phone out of her leather tote bag, she
decided to call Mark first and update him on the dramatic
turn her Nashville assignment had taken. After being
nearly swallowed whole by one of the plush armchairs in
the lobby, Molly dialed his home number only to reach his
answering machine. She then tried his cell, but also re­
ceived only voice mail. Finally, she called the main num­
ber of the Collector s Weekly offices.
Though no receptionist would be on duty on a Saturday
afternoon, several staff members were likely to be hard at
work on the next edition s layout or trying to make article
deadlines. During the weekend, the unspoken rule the staff
members lived by was to ignore the ringing phone, but if
Clayton, the head of the ad department were around, he
wouldn t be able to resist answering. Clayton, the self-
dubbed  Queen of Classifieds, lived for gossip, and he
was a master at gleaning the most intimate information
from any number of hapless callers.
88 J. B. Stanley
Luckily for Molly, Clayton was working and after half a
dozen rings, he picked up the main line.  Molly, my love!
he crooned into the mouthpiece.  How are things in Dolly
Parton Land?
Knowing that she would make Clayton s day, Molly
gave him a quick rundown of how her trip had gone
steadily downhill since salesman Al had sat down next to
her on the plane on Friday.
 Poor, poor Tom! Clayton wailed after she told him
about the tragic morning.  He was such a dear man. So
gentle, so easygoing, and he always bought half-page ads.
 Maybe he should have stuck with the quarter-page
size, Molly commented and then told Clayton about
Tom s negligence in regards to giving his ex-wife money.
 I never knew such excitement was to be found at Heart
of Dixie. Clayton sighed.  I never get to go anywhere.
Here I slave, day after day, and am forced to live vicari­
ously through you.
 Please, Clayton. You re the epicenter, the very heart of
Collector s Weekly. The whole paper revolves around you.
Why, she teased,  I think it would simply shut down if you
ever quit.
 Oh, stop! I can t take the flattery! he squealed hap­
pily.  Now, tell me all about the gay lords staying at Gay­
lord s Opryland.
 I m sure there are a few, but no one is good enough for
you, Clayton.
 Thank you, precious, but not to worry! I met a real
prince last night at the wine bar on Franklin Street.
 Oh? Molly said, feeling groggy in the soft lap of the
expansive chair.
 Ye-es. I overhead him say that he worked for a folk art
dealer and so I sashayed a little closer. Clayton paused for
effect.  And then I mentioned where I worked and he turned
to look at me and sweet baby Jesus! He was so beautiful a
bronze, black-haired, thirtysomething Alexander the Great
A Deadly Dealer 89
who is interested in art and antiques. You know, he trilled,
 I think his boss is actually at your show!
Molly glanced at her watch. It was time to wrap it up
with Clayton.  That s great. Are you two going to go out?
 I guess, Clayton replied with a sulk in his voice.  If I
can get past his preference for both guys and dolls.
 If anyone can sway the boy, it s you. Now, if you don t
mind me changing the subject . . . have you seen Mark
around there today?
 Indeed I have. He has some top secret meeting with
Sinister Swanson.
This was news to Molly.  Be a dear and patch me through
to his office, would you?
 Anything for you. . . as long as you promise to call me
when there are juicy developments in your latest murder
case. Toodles!
Clayton punched in a few numbers and successfully
transferred her to Mark s office line. Molly drummed her
fingers against her thigh as it rang, once, twice, and then
three times with no answered. She began to grow frustrated.
At last, on the fifth ring, Mark picked up rather breathlessly.
 What are you doing at the office today? Molly asked
with more abruptness than she had planned.
 Well hello to you, too, Mark responded huffily in lieu
of his usual mixture of calm gentleness.  I was just on my
way out the door.
This was not how Molly had intended for their conver­
sation to begin, yet instead of apologizing, she acted like a
petulant child.  Look, I ve had a pretty tough morning. I
could use a kind ear right now if you re not too busy. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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