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“Sorry I missed that. Any idea where he be?” Big Joey asked, as my escorts ambled off.
    â€œMy guess is Boone will steer clear of friends in case he gets caught. He wouldn’t want to drag us into any trouble with the police,” I said. “Maybe he’ll look me up once my
I hate Walker Boone
campaign gets going.”
    â€œThat idea’s never going to happen with that dopey look on your face, babe.”
    â€œI’m trying for revenge mixed with loathing.”
    â€œTry harder.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard.”
    â€œYou chill, the boys and I got this.”
    â€œExcept you really don’t,” I tried to reason. “Look, we have to work together. You can get into places I can’t, and I can get to places you can’t. Besides, I got another interest in this. I need the money. Conway Adkins was right in the middle of redecorating and he promised to consign his furniture with me. I had buyers lined up for his cherry dining room set and living room couch, cash in hand, ready to go, and then Conway goes and gets himself polished off.”
    â€œThoughtless.”
    â€œI want to solve this case to get the crime scene tape off Conway’s house so I can get my furniture and buy a car of my very own.”
    Big Joey let out a deep sigh.
    â€œHey, I’m a terrific driver.”
    This brought a smile, confirming my entertainment status. “Bus be good.”
    â€œI like cup holders.”
    â€œLater, babe.”
    BW and I headed for home: the Prissy Fox, a far trot from the land of brotherly love. Depending on the bus driver and if I happened to have a sandwich bribe from Zunzi’s, I could sometimes pass BW off as a furry child with leash and hitch a ride. Most of the time puppo was a big no-no. See, this was exactly why I needed a car, a nondiscriminatory mode of transportation.
    Duh, I had a car! I had Boone’s car! I didn’t take it last night because the press would follow in hot pursuit. But now that that particular ship had sailed, there was no reason to hide. I might have a hole in my porch roof, but I also had a ’57 Chevy convertible at my disposal. Seemed like a pretty fair trade since Boone had myscooter.

Chapter Three

    â€œT HIS was a really good idea,” I said to BW as I pulled the Chevy to a stop, letting a band of tourists cross State Street to get to Oglethorpe Square. Adam Levine sang to me from the radio and a hot twenty-something guy gave me a wink. A sassy poodle on a pink leash shook her pompom tail at BW and added a
hey, big
boy
yap. “You got to admit,” I said to BW. “This kind of stuff never happened to us on a bus.”
    Tail wagging, BW sat up a little straighter, not taking his eyes off the poodle. “Don’t get any ideas, big boy.”
    BW leaned farther over the edge of the door, tongue hanging out, salivating, lust in his eyes. Men—two-legged or four, they were all the same when it came to shaking pompoms. I continued down Abercorn and tossed my head, letting my hair float out into the breeze, followed by wolfwhistles from the two guys overhead working on the phone lines. All this was because I had the right car? It sure wasn’t from my two-toned roots.
    I pulled my last Snickers from my purse—one that I’d been saving for a special occasion—and very carefully, so as not to get any chocolate on the white upholstery, split it with BW. I guided the Chevy around back of Cherry House and bid the lovely Adam farewell till next time. Keeping the car idling, I opened the garage door, lugged a ladder off to the side, and dragged an old grill out of the way to make room for the newest occupant.
    I unsnapped the boot used to cover the convertible top when it was down, then carefully raised it and locked it in place. I slowly maneuvered my—least for a bit it was mine—sexmobile inside and killed the engine.
    My last car of two-plus years ago was a cute little used