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rituals surrounding her murder had made one or two true-crime writers horribly rich.
    “I dunno why you wanna put this shit in the paper,” Bob told Constance. “People read it, they figger it’d be a kick to copy it. I don’t aim to lose me another goat.”
    “But people have to be informed,” Constance said. “It’s your civic duty, Bob, especially right now, when everybody’s in such an all-fired panic about Leota and the Ellis boy.” She leaned forward, her pencil poised. “What color was your goat?”
    I was heading for a clean glass and more lemonade when I was intercepted by Pauline Perkins, who recently announced that she planned to run for an unprecedented fourth term as mayor. I usually see Pauline pounding the treadmill at Jerri’s Health and Fitness Spa, where we’re both trying to lose weight. Pauline’s more determined than I am. For years, job stress and never having time to eat kept my weight down. Now, I’m less stressed, happier, and ten pounds heavier. I’d say it’s a fair trade.
    Pauline came forward eagerly, swathed in smiles. She had good news, and I was going to hear it whether I wanted to or not.
    “We’ve done it, China, we’ve actually done it!” She clamped a hand on my arm so I couldn’t get away and turned to Helen Jenson, a step behind her. “Haven’t we, Helen?”
    “Absolutely.” Helen agreed, splendid in her royal blue Chamber of Commerce blazer, the gilt president’s patch on her breast pocket gleaming like an heraldic emblem.
    “That’s great,” I said. “What have we done?”
    “Pecan Springs has just been named as a finalist in the City Square Program!” Pauline said. “The site visit team will be in town next week.”
    The City Square Program is one of those state-funded operations that, under the guise of a competition, doles out large sums of money for such significant downtown renovations as erecting a gazebo and building a public potty on the square. Pecan Springs had been turned down twice, much to the personal chagrin of the mayor and City Council. It was my theory that all they had to do was put Pecan Springs on the waiting list and hang out until the powers that be eventually got down to it. Since this was go-around number three, I figured that the town’s number was probably due to come up this year, and all the mayor had to do was hold out her hat for the money. But both Pauline and Helen appeared to be taking the competition seriously.
    Helen fastened gray eyes on me. “We’d like your help, China. Could you host a Dutch-treat lunch for the team a week from Friday?”
    “Sure,” I agreed. I wanted to help. With all its quirks and oddities, and setting aside what had happened to Bob’s favorite goat (which could have happened anywhere), Pecan Springs is a fine little town.
    ‘Thanks,” Helen said, turning to leave “My assistant will call you to confirm.”
    Pauline clamped my arm more tightly so I couldn’t follow Helen. The woman has incredible strength in her fingers, probably from squeezing voters’ hands. “I do hope you realize, China, how terribly important this competition is to Pecan Springs’ economic prosperity. The Council and the Chamber have put in simply untold hours to make sure that our bid isn’t overlooked again. Another defeat would deal an absolutely fatal blow to the town’s hopes.”
    I wanted to tell her that she was dealing an absolutely fatal blow to the circulation in my forearm, but I didn’t. I turned up the corners of my mouth and assured her that I would do my utmost to see that Pecan Springs got the attention it deserved from the site visit committee. I stopped short of promising to vote for her, but she let go anyway.
    “Thank you, China,” Pauline said. There were white marks on my arm from her fingers. “I knew we could count on you. Oh, RuthAnn,” she shrilled, turning from me to her next victim, “have you heard the news?”
    Showing better reflexes, RuthAnn Landsdowne stepped back out