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tightened. “Yes, I know, but things have been quiet all summer, China. All I’ve done is shuffle paper and keep the staff morale up. And whether you like Coleman or not, he was a big player in this town. I can’t just walk out on—”
    “Of course you can,” I said reasonably. “Appoint a backup who can take over if you haven’t collared the killer by Sunday afternoon. And don’t forget the party on Saturday night.”
    “A backup?” He snorted. “Like who, for instance? You know the situation in that department. With Bubba gone, there’s not a trained homicide man in the lot. That’s one of the problems with this dinky little police force. They need new blood. They need somebody who can—” He stopped, pulling his black brows together. “What party?”
    “The dinner your parents are giving for us at the Pack Saddle Inn. Your mother has reserved tables for thirty, hired a mariachi band, and conned her bridge club into making crepe-paper palm trees. Shall I tell her that the groom may be off playing Columbo?”
    He growled something indistinguishable.
    “Okay, I apologize. That was tacky,” I said. “Well, if there’s nobody on the force who can help, how about asking Bubba to back you up? He may be mad at the City council, but he’s not mad at you.” Bubba Harris, who had been Pecan Springs’s police chief for nearly thirty years, had quit in a huff over the sensitivity training the Council mandated for the police force.
    McQuaid shook his head. “Bubba and his wife got a new RV and went to California to see their grandkids.”
    “Then ask Blackie. He’s the county sheriff.”
    Another shake. “Pecan Springs isn’t Blackie’s turf. Anyway, he’s in the wedding, too. He’s my best man.”
    “Yes, but he’s not going on our honeymoon.” I scowled. “Well, I suppose you can always call in the Rangers.” The Texas Rangers are available to lend a hand when the local police don’t have the resources to handle a case.
    McQuaid looked at me. “What would you think about possibly postponing—”
    It was a very, very good thing that Pauline Perkins chose that moment to knock at the kitchen door. Otherwise, there might not have been a wedding. Pauline, who works as hard for Pecan Springs as if she were working for real money, is the town’s four-term mayor. She was still wearing her mayor’s uniform, a tailored navy suit with a yellow jewel-neck blouse, pearl choker and earrings, and sensible navy shoes. She also wears about thirty extra pounds, including a spare chin and a pair of love handles. In spite of this tendency to chubbiness, she is usually briskly confident and brimming with mayoral authority and civic pride.
    Not tonight, however. Tonight, she looked as if she’d just lost the primary.
    “Is Mike here?” she asked. “I need to see him about a ...” She swallowed and tried again. “A personal matter.”
    I generally think it’s a good idea to stay on cordial terms with your boss. As mayor and head of the City Council, Pauline is McQuaid’s boss. And I like her, although she’s sometimes a teapot tyrant. “Of course, Pauline,” I said warmly. “Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
    While McQuaid greeted her, I poured coffee. “I’ll leave you two,” I said, picking up my kitchen shears and a basket and heading for the door. “I want to cut the basil while it’s still light enough to see.”
    Pauline put out her hand. It was trembling. “No, stay, China, please. You’re awfully good at solving ... well, problems. Maybe you can help.”
    McQuaid nodded and I sat down. But while Pauline obviously had something urgent on her mind, we had to wait while she fumbled incoherently through several false starts, trying to decide what part and how much of it she was going to tell.
    Finally, McQuaid leaned forward and said, “Does this have anything to do with what happened this morning, Pauline?”
    Pauline set her cup down hard enough to slosh coffee into the saucer. “Well,