The Night Killer

mean—different drummer, and all that. This guy’s more sophisticated . . . more, well . . . more manly.” Andie turned a deep red. “I don’t mean we’ve . . . Not yet. I just mean he’s just more . . .”
    “Andie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tongue-tied before,” said Diane.
    “That’s how I feel. Tongue-tied. He’s so well traveled, and I’ve hardly been out of Georgia,” said Andie. “I’ve never been out of the country.”
    “Some would say Atlanta qualifies as being out of the country,” said Diane, smiling.
    Andie smiled too. “I just want to make a good impression. With the other guys I’ve dated, it didn’t matter. They would just have to take me as I am.”
    “Wanting people to take you for who you are is not a bad attitude to have,” said Diane.
    “Maybe. I have to say, I’m glad Kendel isn’t here. She’s so much more worldly than I am,” said Andie.
    Diane laughed. “You’re just fine. You get quite a bit of the taste of the world just working here. He obviously thinks you’re very interesting.”
    “He likes to listen. A lot of guys aren’t like that. They are all about themselves. He enjoyed hearing about my webcam project with the schools,” said Andie. “We’re having lunch here in the restaurant today.”
    “Perhaps I can meet him,” said Diane, getting up from the chair.
    She patted Andie on the shoulder and went to her office. She worked on the budget for the upcoming board meeting in a few days. It was after noon when she finished. Andie came in and said she was going to lunch. She nervously smoothed her dress and fluffed her hair.
    “You look great,” said Diane.
    “Thanks, I hope so,” she said, fingering her curls again. “There’s a guy here to see you.”
    “Who is it?” asked Diane.
    “Deputy Travis Conrad,” said Andie. “Shall I tell him you can meet with him?”
    “Yes, definitely,” said Diane. This might work out well , she thought.
    Andie showed Travis into the office. He was in his deputy uniform and carried his hat in his hand. Diane gestured to a leather chair in front of her desk and he sat down, holding his hat in his lap.
    “I don’t know if you’ve heard. We had another killing—just like the Barres.”

Chapter 18
    Diane sat stunned. “Another murder?” she said. “Like the Barres?” She leaned forward in her chair. “You mean . . .”
    “Joe and Ella Watson. Older couple, about the same age as the Barres. They lived alone,” Deputy Conrad said, nodding to her unfinished question. “They were found this morning, sitting in their dining room with their throats cut. It happened sometime last night.”
    “Do you know the time of night?” Diane asked.
    Travis rubbed his hands on his thighs in a nervous gesture. “No. We know very little. That’s why I’m here,” he said.
    “Sheriff Conrad wants my help?” Diane had a hard time believing it.
    “No. Daddy don’t know I’m here. See . . .” He stopped and made a face, as if he had a sudden flash of pain. “I want to solve this,” he said, finally. “I’m talking about me solving it. I told you I want to run for sheriff. If I can solve this, Daddy and everyone else will see I’m the right man for the job. You see?”
    Diane nodded. She could imagine his father still treating him like a kid. Travis had a good- looking, boyish face that he’d probably had since high school. The kind of face that aged slowly. She also imagined that the people in his county thought of him still as Sheriff Conrad’s boy.
    “Trouble is,” Travis continued, “I don’t know how to collect evidence. I know, if we do manage to stumble across the killer, we’ll have to take him to court with evidence to convict him. I know how to interview folks—witnesses, you know. And I know how to collect fingerprints. But I know there’s a lot of stuff I don’t know about, like trace evidence. I also know I can learn and I’m willing, which is a lot more than can be said for some folks who want to be sheriff.”
    “How do you think your father will feel about my helping?” asked Diane.
    “That’s the thing,” said Travis, making a face again. “I don’t plan on telling him.”
    Diane raised her eyebrows, wondering how he was going to pull that off.
    “I know this sounds downright selfish,” he said, “but I was hoping you would help me, but not take credit.”
    “I personally don’t care who gets credit,” said Diane. “I just want the killer caught.