Part 18

Anja Krebber (30/1/2003)

Beth was alone in the kitchen and a sight that would have moved the nether regions of marble statues.

"Eggs still fried over?" she wanted to know and, I couldn't help it, I put my arms around her and whispered a "Yes, darling" into her ear before kissing her soundly on the cheek.

Said cheek turned as rosy as a Hawaiian sundown; shyly she freed herself from my grasp. "Please. Leo. Don't make things difficult."

Things already were as difficult as keeping your hands to yourself in a candy store or a ... but you didn't think things like that in front a lady, and, anyway, I didn't want to drag her farther in than I already had.

"I'll just grab my coat and I'm out of here, Beth, honestly. And I can't thank you enough."

She smiled at me in a way that made my knees conveigh an ardent desire to my brain to quit their job. "The one you had on is not dry yet, but your old Mac is still in the closet upstairs."

My brain was not exactly a well-oiled machine at that point, but one of the cogs moved neatly into place. "Did you clean out the pockets?"

"Of course I did." She was slightly peeved, and I hurried to squeeze in an "Of course" sideways.

Mollified she pointed to the little porcelain dish on the hall table. "It's all in there."

I quickly went over to check. Keys, ball-point, lighter, gum, piece (why, the hell, was that in my coat pocket? I made an on-the-spot resolution about drinking and gun-carrying). That was it. "What happened to the rest?"

Beth looked at me reprovingly. "I threw the trash out."

I blanched whiter than a Mexican adobe wall at high noon. "Trash? Ok, never mind. Where is it?"

Her eyes grew slightly wary. The look you might throw a beggar in front of the lunatic asylum. "Mom took it out before she left. Why?"

Squishing the word 'evidence' through my teeth I moved towards the backdoor in my holy quest for a cheese wrapper.