The Axeman's Jazz

vitality of a discarded condom. And thoughts of food only made you hungrier. So things were what was left. Meaning the case.
    Which was starting to be a sore subject because Skip was so angry at herself. What had seemed so obvious yesterday now seemed as phony as your comer S&L. What had seemed utterly damning evidence now seemed fraudulent. What had seemed a diabolically clever move on Di’s part—calling the cops about the typewriter—now had another possible explanation. She had almost completely switched over to the theory that Di was being set up.
    There were a few delicate little questions she needed to ask, but now that Di knew she was a cop, she didn’t think she’d get any answers. The microscopic inquiries would seem so threatening Di would clam up and call a lawyer. But sitting there sipping her long-running and ever-warming Diet Coke, she conceived a brilliant plan. Well, perhaps not brilliant, but she gave herself points for creativity.
    It was simple. First of all, Di obviously had a crush on Steve. And Steve, often to her regret and inconvenience, had out-of-control detective fantasies. Why not put both these situations to perfect use? Why not, in fact, have Steve go in as her proxy? Ask the questions she couldn’t?
    Maybe it’s sensory deprivation. Maybe I’m just desperate to talk to him.
    She tried, but she couldn’t talk herself out of it. She phoned and asked him to meet her at the bar, and when he walked in wearing khaki shorts and a magenta T-shirt, her stomach flopped over the way it had when Bo Chantlan had shot a rubber band at her at Sunday school in the fifth grade. How did she stand it when he wasn’t here? How the hell had her vacation gotten so screwed up?
    “Hi, handsome.”
    “From you that’s a compliment.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I get the feeling you really don’t say that to all the guys.”
    “Yeah, you right, as we say down here.”
    “I know I’m right. Compliments aren’t your strong suit.”
    Weren’t they? But she couldn’t let herself get distracted now. “Steve, I need your help.”
    “Anything.”
    She explained what she wanted.
    To her surprise, he balked. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
    “What! You usually have to be physically restrained from playing detective.”
    “I love the way you restrain me.”
    “Next time I’m using handcuffs.” Flirting sure beat the hell out of staring into space. She pulled herself together. “Wait a minute. What’s wrong? I thought you were going to jump at this.”
    “That woman gives me the willies.”
    “Oh, come on. If I can sit here all day looking at her door, you can take a half-hour of astro-chat.”
    “I didn’t really tell you the whole story. She got pretty physical.”
    Skip settled back in a pout. “Oh, great.”
    “Hey. You’re jealous.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She meant it. And she was shocked at the realization. She was actually very secure about Steve, really believed he loved her. When had that happened?
    Anyway, jealousy wasn’t the reason she was pouting. It was because this news bolstered her theory all the more. “Look,” she said, “the way you told the story before, it looked as if she was using you as an alibi. But this way’s different—if she really thought she was going to seduce you after the meeting, she wasn’t going to have time to kill anybody.”
    “You said yourself maybe she kills when she’s sexually frustrated.”
    “Yes, but I never had a lot of faith in it. Tell me the truth. Do you honestly see Di as a killer?” This was unfair because he didn’t know about her rap sheet.
    He thought about it. “On the surface she seems too flaky, but a lot of flakes can get it together when they need to.”
    “Oh, hell. Well, let me appeal to your sense of justice. I think she’s innocent. I think someone’s trying to set her up, that someone being a murderer who’s already killed three people.”
    “All right, all right.”
    “You’ll do it?”
    “Yes, but here’s what I’ll expect in return….” When he had told her, and she had fought down the urge to simper like the Ole Miss girl she was, they went over his cover story.
    Di looked great when she came out on the balcony. She was wearing shorts that showed off smooth thighs, slim ankles, gorgeous legs. The combination of dark, dark hair and white, white skin gave her an indescribably delicate look, like a porcelain figure, endlessly fascinating in its fragility.