N Is for Noose

came in that night about eight-thirty and left just before closing. You can talk to her yourself if you want."
    "Is she the black girl?"
    "Nuhn-uhn. That's Barrett, Rafer LaMott's daughter. Nancy doubles as a cashier. Brown hair, forties. I'm sure you've seen her in there because she's seen you."
    "What else did she say? Was he alone or with someone?"
    "I asked that myself and she says he was alone, at least as far as she could see. Said he had a cheeseburger and fries, drank some coffee, played some tunes on the jukebox, paid his ticket, and left about nine-thirty, just as she was closing out the register. Like I said, it might not mean anything, but she said she'd never known him to come in at that hour. You know the night he was found, he was out on 395, but he was heading toward the mountains instead of home to his place."
    "I remember that," I said. "The coroner mentioned his having eaten a meal. According to Selma, he was in for the night. He didn't even leave a note. By the time she got back from church, he was DOA at the local emergency room. Maybe he got a phone call and went to meet someone."
    "Or maybe he just got hungry, hon. Selma 's the type who'd make him eat veggies and brown rice. He could have sneaked out for something decent." She laughed at herself. "I always said the food out there would kill you. I'll bet his arteries seized up from all the fat he took in."
    "At least we know where he was in the hour just before he died."
    "Well, that's hardly news. Nancy says the coroner covered the same ground. Anyways, I told you it wouldn't count for much. I guess that about says it for my detective career."
    "You never know. Oh, one more thing as long as I have you on the line. You ever hear rumors about Tom and any other woman?"
    She barked out a laugh. "Tom? You gotta be kidding. He was stuffy about sex. Lot of guys, you can tell just by looking they got a problem around dominance. Ass grabbers and pinchers, fellows telling dirty jokes and gawking at your boobs. They wouldn't mind a quick bounce on the front seat of their pickups, but believe me, romance is the fartherest thing from their minds. Tom was always pleasant. I've never known him to flirt and I never heard him make any kind of off-color remark. What makes you ask?"
    "I thought he might have been at the Rainbow for a rendezvous."
    "Oh, a rahndez-vous. That's rich. Listen, if you're fooling around in this town, you'd best meet somewhere else unless you want everyone to know. Why take the risk? If his sister'd showed up, she'd have spotted him first thing. Cecilia's not that fond of Selma, but she'd have told on him anyway. That's how people around here operate. Anything you find out is fair game."
    "I take it word's gone out about me."
    "You bet."
    "What's the consensus? Anybody seem upset?"
    "Oh, grumbles here and there. You're picking up notice, but nothing serious that I've heard. Town this size, everybody has an opinion about somethingespecially fresh blood like yours. Some of the guys were wondering if you're married. I guess they noticed no wedding ring."
    "Actually, I took my ring off to have the diamond reset."
    "Bullshit."
    "No, really. My husband's huge. He's always pumped up on steroids so he's touchy as all get out. He'd tear the head off anyone who ever laid a hand on me."
    She laughed. "I bet you've never been married a day in your life."
    " Alice, you would be surprised."
    As predicted, the weather was turning nasty as the front moved in. The morning had been clear, the temperatures in the fifties, but by early afternoon, a thick mass of clouds had accumulated to the north. The sky changed from blue to a uniform white, then to a misty-looking dark gray, which made the day seem as gloomy as a solar eclipse. All the mountain peaks had been erased and the air became dense with a fine, biting spray.
    Here's what I did with my afternoon. I drove into town and went to the copy shop, where I made copies of my typewritten report and several cropped five-by-seven photocopy enlargements made of the head shot of Tom Newquist. I dropped the original photograph and the original of my report in Selma 's mailbox, drove six blocks over, and left the flashlight inside the storm door on James Tennyson's front porch. And I still had hours to kill before I could decently retire.
    In the meantime, I was bored and I wanted to get warm. Nota Lake didn't have a movie theater. Nota Lake didn't have a public library or a bowling alley that I could spot. I