Read Dead Dancing Women for Free Online

easier if you let us do most of the checking around.”
    â€œWell now, Dolly … ,” Chief Barnard began but was stopped when Dolly turned toward him, her face tied in an unpleasant knot.
    â€œChief, I know you’ve got your hands full, what with Charlie going to the hospital and all. I wasn’t trying to make your job harder. It’s just that I know the town and the people. I know the folks out there in the woods, too, near where Emily lives.”
    â€œGiven all of us a lot of tickets,” I said, nodding in agreement with Dolly. “You sure do know us.”
    â€œBe a lot easier for me … ,” she went on, ignoring me.
    â€œThank you, Officer Wakowski. We’d appreciate all the help you can give us,” the officer said, and he smiled a cool smile at her. “Got a shoot-out in Petoskey. Bar fight turned ugly.” He made a face and blew air out through his pursed lips. “Appreciate whatever you find out. No reason we can’t share information.” He shifted around on his feet, ran a hand over his bald head, then relaxed enough to grin at me. “You, too, Ms. Kincaid. Appreciate any help the press can provide.”
    Deputy Dolly nodded and sniffed. She slid down in her chair and twirled her hat between her hands as Officer Brent finished questioning me.
    Before I walked out of the office, I told Chief Barnard that I had to call my story in that afternoon. I asked if Amanda Poet had any idea why her mother, or part of her, should be as far out as my place? I asked him what the next move by the police would be, any leads?
    Chief Barnard spread his hands. “You’ll have to get most of your information from Gaylord, Emily. Sorry, that’s the way it is right now. We’ll be working with ’em but I won’t be able to tell you much. Better you hear it straight from the state boys.”
    I nodded to the wooden state cop, to a disgruntled Dolly, to a red-faced chief of police, and walked out. I knew one place in town that would be buzzing with information; one place where the people wouldn’t be afraid to talk to me; one place where I could get a warm reception along with a cup of thick black coffee: Fuller’s EATS. Before the chief or the state boys learned anything; before a confession could be heard; before the miscreant acknowledged guilt, even to himself; the regulars at Fuller’s EATS would know; would have worked out a tragic childhood, bad parentage, and bad lineage. “ Goes back to ’is great-grandfather, Chilton. I remember the man. Tipped over the Johnson’s outhouse one Halloween and never had the gumption to admit to it. Bad, right from then on. Coward, you might say. Fun is fun, but telling the truth is something else …”
    Fuller’s EATS folks would explain the whole thing to me; tell me what happened and why; and probably what was coming next.
    I might not get anything I could put in my story for Bill Corcoran, but I’d sure get a lot more than the police were giving out.

FIVE
    The dark-paneled vestibule of Fuller’s featured an expanding genealogy chart with new sheets tacked up in tilted prominence, like movie posters. You couldn’t miss the Johnny-come-lately dead relatives with big misshapen gold stars stuck around them, bringing attention to yet another of Eugenia’s ill-fated ancestors. This one was an uncle—a John Holliday. I read it fast because I was keeping a kind of tally in my head: how many of her relatives had been to jail, how many were hung. It was 41 to 9 so far.
    All Eugenia’s relatives got equal space on the wall, but the ones who had been hung got just a little more room. Eugenia said it was only fair since they’d been royally screwed in life.
    â€œHey, Emily, how ya doin’?” Eugenia called as I entered the dark, smoky, low-ceilinged restaurant. She waved her fly swatter in greeting. She stood behind the cash register, keeping an eye