Chapter Eighteen

I took my time eating breakfast for a change. But it had very little to do with allowing myself the pleasure to taste and enjoy each bite. My thoughts were too preoccupied with Joe to enjoy anything.

By the time I left the restaurant, I had nearly an hour on my hands before it would be time to attend Thomas's funeral. It was while I sipped my third and last cup of coffee that I made up my mind how I'd spend the extra time.

I drove to the rear of Joe's property. Before stepping out of the car, my eyes took in my surroundings. The only human in sight was Mr. Anderson. He was in his flower garden with his back to me. The perfect opportunity to quietly leave the car and tiptoe over to the garage. To be more accurate, I moved on my left toes and drug the right foot along.

I didn't care who saw me return to my car after I discovered two empty parking stalls inside the garage. I even pulled the car door shut with a bang. That was done in the event Angel was peering out a window. Let her wonder what I'm doing.

For a few seconds I considered laying on the horn, but decided that might be going too far and drove off quietly. I headed into the business district of town, cruising the main streets in hopes of spotting Francie. No Francie, but there were plenty of parking tickets on windshields along Front Street.

The thought of going into the police station crossed my mind. But that's as far as it went. If Francie was inside the borough building, it might look suspicious for her to lead me outside a second day in a row. Especially since most of the guys in uniform knew who I was and how persistent I could be when I was after a story.

I pulled into the parking lot of the funeral parlor a few minutes before eleven. At first, I thought I should have driven further north to the only other building in town that temporarily housed the dead. Besides my Lincoln, only one other car took up parking space. Then I saw the younger of Allen's two secretaries round the corner of the building and strut up the steps and go inside. At least there was one thing Allen hadn't changed after taking up with that skinny young paralegal of his. Whenever an important client passed away, someone from the office was sent on Allen's behalf to offer condolences. It looked good in case he one day decided to enter the political arena and run for district attorney or county judge. Too bad he had forgotten to stay on the good side of me. I was still alive. I also could mean a political nightmare for him when my newspaper endorsed one of his opponents, should he decide to enter politics. If there wasn't a message from him on my answering machine when I arrived home, another kind of nightmare awaited him in the very near future.

My eyes began lingering on the glove compartment. Waiting for more mourners to arrive would be a perfect time for a smoke. If you were a smoker, it would be, that pesky inner voice reminded. Since you no longer are, wouldn't it be wise to throw away the pack you've kept tucked out of sight all these months?

I felt like screaming no. What if I get stranded somewhere someday and chances for a rescue are next to none? I'd have every right to spend my last moments inhaling the deadly smoke.

The odds of that kind of tragedy ever occurring was not only rare, but a poor excuse for keeping the pack of cigarettes I had hidden. I leaned over to open the compartment to finally discard them when I saw her. Angel Adams was going up the steps of the funeral parlor's entrance. I only got a glimpse of the lean figure dressed in black, but I was certain it was her. But what in creation was she doing here?

Maybe you should go on in and asks her, Miss Pesky returned to encourage. "Just maybe I will," I said as I reached for the door handle.