All Night Long

kind of car?” Luke asked.
    “It was a real nice car. One of those foreign jobs. Guy behind the wheel didn’t see me on account o was around the side of the house. And like I said, I’d parked the truck in back so I didn’t have to carry my tools and equipment too far. Anyhow, I heard the man knock on the front door.”
    “Did Pamela let him in?” Irene asked.
    Tucker bobbed his head. “I could tell she knew him. But she didn’t sound real happy to see him. She wanted to know why he was there. Sounded like she was mad at him.”
    “Did you hear what he said in response?” Irene asked.
    “No. But he seemed real angry. She let him in for a few minutes. Not long. Don’t know what the alked about, but I could a hear him arguing with Miss Webb. I hung around near the utility room door just in case she needed some help getting rid of him. But he finally took off. Drove away real fast. ould tell he was still mad at her.”
    “Did you get a good look at him?” Luke asked.
    “Pretty good.”
    Irene realized she was holding her breath.
    “Did you recognize him?” Luke asked in the same steady, nonthreatening voice.
    “That day was the first time I saw him,” Tucker said.
    Irene swallowed a sigh of disappointment and reminded herself that this was more information tha hey’d had twenty minutes ago.
    “Can you describe him?” Luke asked.
    “Sort of medium height. Soft.”

    “Soft?” she repeated curiously. “Do you mean fat?”
    “Not soft that way. I know some real big guys who aren’t soft.” Tucker’s face pinched into a scowl of deep concentration. “He wasn’t fat, but he looked like you could push him over without too much trouble.” Tucker looked at Luke. “Not hard like you, Mr. Danner.
Soft
.”
    “Okay, soft,” Irene said. “Go on, Tucker. What else can you tell us about him?”
    “Brown hair.” Tucker appeared to search his memory. “Fancy clothes. And like I said, that fancy car.”
    Irene stifled a groan of disappointment. Talk about a generic description, she thought. “Can I assume from the fact that you didn’t recognize him that he was not from around here?”
    “No, he sure wasn’t local. Told you, it was the first time I’d ever seen him.” Tucker took a swallo f the hot tea.
    They sat in silence for a while. Irene felt her excitement slip away. How would they ever identify Pamela’s visitor with such a vague description? she wondered.
    Tucker lowered his mug of tea. “Saw him again, though, not long after that.”
    Irene straightened quickly in her chair. She knew that Luke had also gone on high alert although he did not move so much as a finger.
    “When did you see him again?” Luke asked very casually.
    “The morning after you found her body.”
    Irene clutched her mug in both hands. “What was he doing?”
    Tucker was befuddled by the question. “Don’t know what he was doing, exactly.”
    “Where was he?” Luke asked.
    “Outside the municipal building. He got into that big limo with Senator Webb and that pretty lady the ay the senator’s going to marry.”
    Irene looked at Luke, hardly daring to breathe.

    “Hoyt Egan,” Luke said. “Webb’s aide.”

Twenty-Five
    A short time later, Luke stood with Irene on the back porch of the cabin. They watched Tucker Mills shamble off into the darkness of the trees.
    “Try not to run away with this.” Luke wrapped an arm around Irene’s shoulders. She was coiled spring tight, every muscle rigid. “Egan may have had a very good reason for driving up here to see Pamela.”
    “You heard what Tucker said, they argued.”
    “I heard. But that doesn’t mean that he murdered her.” He paused briefly. “Could mean he knows what was on her mind in the last couple of days of her life, though.”
    “Yes, it does,” Irene said eagerly. “Maybe they were lovers. Maybe she had ended the relationship, and Egan didn’t take it well.”
    “It’s a possibility,” he agreed. “But that’s pure speculation at this point. Furthermore, you’re trying to prove that Pamela’s death was linked to what happened to your folks, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Got to tell you, it’s hard to figure how Egan could fit into any scenario involving the deaths of your parents. He’s in his mid-thirties. Not much older than you. He was probably in college at the time. And he’s not from around here, anyway. Doesn’t seem to be a connection.”
    “No.” Reluctance was a lead weight dragging down the single word.
    He