18
Molly stuck her head in the door to Jesse’s office.
“Lady to see you, Jess.”
Jesse nodded. Molly went away and came back in a moment with the mouthy blonde from the Lady Jane. She was wearing sunglasses, a backless yellow halter sundress with large blue flowers, and white sling back shoes with three-inch heels. The dress came to about the middle of her thighs.
“The local yokel,” she said.
“Chief Yokel,” Jesse said.
“You really are the chief of police,” she said.
“I am,” Jesse said.
She came in and sat opposite him. She crossed her legs. The skirt of the sundress slid further back on her tan thighs. She placed her small yellow straw purse in her lap and opened it.
“Mind if I smoke?” she said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
“You mind?”
“Yes.”
She had the silver cigarette case halfway out of her purse.
“You do mind?” she said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
“Jesus Christ!” she said.
She put the case back in her purse.
“I knew you were so prissy,” the blonde said, “I wouldn’t have come to help you.”
Jesse was quiet.
The blonde said, “You got any coffee at least?”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
He got her some.
“Cream and sugar?”
She shook her head. He handed her the cup. She took a sip.
“Well,” she said. “It’s strong.”
Jesse nodded. The blonde sipped coffee, and looked around the room.
“Are you carrying your gun, Chief Yokel?”
“Always armed and ready,” Jesse said.
The blonde seemed somehow to wiggle motionlessly.
“Really?” she said.
Jesse smiled. The blonde smiled back. Her teeth were very white. Dental intervention, Jesse assumed. Bonding or whitening or glazing or whatever the hell.
“My name’s Blondie Martin,” she said.
“Jesse Stone.”
“I know,” Blondie said, “the police chief. You told us on the boat.”
Jesse nodded.
“Have you always been the chief of police?” Blondie said.
“No.”
“So how long have you been Chief Local Yokel?”
“About seven years,” Jesse said.
“What before?”
“I was a cop in Los Angeles,” Jesse said.
“Oh my,” Blondie said, “a not-so-local yokel.”
Jesse didn’t say anything. Blondie crossed her legs the other way. She drank some more coffee, holding the white mug in both hands.
“You married?” she said.
“Sort of,” he said.
“How can you be sort of married?”
“My ex-wife and I are giving it another try,” Jesse said.
“Some people just won’t let go,” she said.
Jesse nodded. She drank the rest of her coffee and stood and poured herself another cup from the Mister Coffee on top of the file cabinet. Standing, she sipped her coffee, and looked sideways at Jesse and smiled.
“Remember I said I’d come to help you?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Are you wondering what help I’m bringing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you are certainly calm about it.”
“I try,” Jesse said.
“What was that sports jacket you were wearing on the boat?”
“Paradise Twi-league,” Jesse said. “Softball.”
“What’s your position?”
“Shortstop.”
“Are you good?”
“Yes.”
“Very good?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you’d be very good,” Blondie said. “If you’re so good, why aren’t you playing someplace instead of being Chief Yokel?”
“Hurt my shoulder,” Jesse said. “Can’t throw much anymore.”
“But you’re still playing.”
“I can throw enough for the Paradise Twi-league,” Jesse said. “Not for the Show.”
“Show?”
“Big leagues,” Jesse said.
“Were you good enough for the, ah, Show, before you got hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Bummer,” Blondie said.
Jesse waited. She drank more coffee. She couldn’t smoke. He wasn’t serving cocktails. Any stimulant in a pinch.
“At least two people on the Lady Jane were lying to you the other day,” Blondie said.
“Happens a lot,” Jesse said.
“Harrison knew those two guys in the pictures you showed us.”
Jesse waited.
“They crewed for him last year. I was on the boat with him a few times last year. I recognized them both.”
“Anyone else that should have recognized them?” Jesse said.
“No, just Harrison and me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me on the boat?”
“Didn’t want Harrison getting mad. I’m a long way from home and he’s my ride back.”
“Where’s home?”
“Palm Beach. Harrison picked me up there and we came on up for Race Week.”
“You with him?” Jesse said.
“Sort of, I guess,” Blondie said. “Got to be with somebody.”