Rough Country

restaurant. The women said that Lifry had worked in her office until about 10 P.M. Saturday night, after the 9 P.M. closing, and they found her body when one of the women went outside to smoke a cigarette.
    “We are processing a good deal of crime scene information and hope we can settle this quickly,” Limbaugh said. “I knew Constance most of my life and everyone who ever met her would tell you that she was a wonderful woman, involved with her community and with the American Heart Association, somebody who worked hard and made jobs for twenty or thirty people. This is a tragedy, and we’ll be busting our butts to bring her killer to justice.”
    He said that Lifry had been strangled with “a cord of some kind, but the killer apparently took it with him.”
    No witnesses to the murder have been found, he said, “But we’re talking to several people, and we’re also processing videotape from Larry’s Exxon across the street.”
    THAT WAS THE HARD INFORMATION : the rest of the article was testimonials and history.
    “That’s all?” Virgil asked. “There was never an arrest?”
    “It’s not in the paper. I never heard that there was.”
    “When was she up here?” Virgil asked. “She stayed at the Eagle Nest, right? Did she go to the Wild Goose? What’d she have to do with Wendy?”
    Zoe shook her head; she’d been twisting her fingers and sidling around him as he read the article, and now she produced some tears and said, “God, I feel awful about this.”
    Virgil softened up a notch: “Zoe . . .”
    “She was here two summers ago, in August. And some other years, I think. She went to the Goose, she met Wendy, they talked,” Zoe said. “There’s this big country-western place near Iowa City, called Spodee-Odee. It’s pretty important, you know, as a showcase. Lots of big bands play there. Willie Nelson used to play there and Jerry Jeff Walker. Those Texas guys.”
    “Okay.”
    “So she . . . I mean, Constance . . . knew the guy who owns the place, whose name is like, Jud. That’s all I remember. But they were supposed to be pretty close, and she told Wendy that if Wendy wanted to do it, she’d, uh, recommend the band to Jud. Actually, she didn’t like the band so much as Wendy. You know, her voice. She was right—the band back then sorta sucked, but they’re a lot better now.”
    “So she was going to get Wendy a gig,” Virgil said.
    “More than a gig. A big deal, really. If you play Spodee-Odee, I guess, it’s like a badge. You’re that good,” Zoe said.
    “Who would have a problem with that?” Virgil asked.
    “With what?”
    “With Wendy getting a gig in Iowa City?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. Why would anybody have a problem with it? It’s a good thing.”
    “But now we have another woman who was going to do a good thing for Wendy, and she’s also murdered,” Virgil said. “Right?”
    “Right,” she said.
    “Was Lifry gay?”
    “I think so,” Zoe said. “I never met her. She was out of my age range. But, that’s what I heard.”
    “From who?”
    “I don’t know. Wendy, maybe,” she said. “Wait: I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. I don’t know who I heard it from, but I remember that I heard it.”
    “Okay. From what you know, then, she was right down the line, like McDill,” Virgil said, ticking the points off on his spread fingers. “Gay, stayed at the Eagle Nest, talked to Wendy about her band, went to the Wild Goose. And was murdered.”
    “Yeah, but . . . not murdered for quite a while after she was here,” Zoe said.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Virgil asked.
    She looked up at him and misted up again: “Because . . . I was afraid that this is all going to blow into the newspapers and television, as some kind of perversion thing, lesbians killing each other, and drag the Eagle Nest down. I was worried about Margery. She’s worked her whole life to build up that place, and if it turns out that killers go there, or killers stalk her customers . . . See?”
    “Not exactly,” Virgil said. “I would have found out sooner or later, and your not telling me delayed things by a couple of days. That’s all it did. Let the trail get a little colder.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
     
     
     
    VIRGIL GOT DAVENPORT, who was out for a nighttime walk with his wife. Virgil told him what had happened, and said, “I’ve got to get down to Iowa City. There’s no airline that will get me there faster than a car