Potshot

"Actually I'm in the market for information," I said.

They looked at my card.

He said, "A private detective?"

She said, "I said to myself when you walked in that door, there's something unusual about that man."

"You're both on the money," I said. "I'm looking into the murder of a man named Steve Buckman."

"Somebody hired you?" J. George said.

"Fortunately, yes," I said. "Can either of you help me at all?"

"Do you have a gun?" the blonde asked. Somehow she made it sound as if she were asking something intimate.

I smiled at her. The big smile, the kind that would make her mature thighs ripple.

"Are you Mrs. Taylor?" I said.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and this is my husband, George."

J. George nodded like a guy accepting an award. Either he had more stamina than he showed, or she fooled around. I glanced at her again. She had her lips open slightly. She touched the bottom one with the tip of her tongue. Probably both.

"I can't think of anything we could tell you about Steve," Taylor said.

"You knew him," I said.

"Oh sure thing," J. George said. "My business you get to know pretty much everybody in town."

"Our business, dear."

J. George laughed. Jolly.

"Bebe doesn't let you get away with anything," he said.

"I can see that," I said.

Flattering Bebe held promise. "What kind of a guy was Buckman?"

"Steve was a peach," Bebe said. "Wasn't he, George?"

"A peach of a guy," J. George said. "Organized the kids around here into a Pop Warner league."

"I didn't know the town had enough kids for that," I said.

"Six-man football," J. George said.

"Did you ever play football, Mr. Spenser?" Bebe asked.

"Long time ago, Mrs. Taylor-you know, leather helmets and high-tops."

"What position did you play?"

"Strong safety," I said.

"I'm not surprised," she said, and ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip.

My guess was she didn't know strong safety from traffic safety, but she recognized the word strong. I was glad I hadn't played weak side linebacker.

"So Buckman was active in the community," I said, just to be saying something.

Bebe smiled, as if she knew a joke she wasn't sharing.

"Great guy," J. George said. "It's a real tragedy what happened."

"What did happen?" I said.

"Well," J. George said, "you know, he got shot."

"Yes."

"Well that's all we know."

"No idea who shot him?"

"No," J. George said quickly, "of course not."

"He have any enemies?" I said.

"No," J. George said. "None. Not that I know of."

"How'd he get along with the Dell?" I said.

"Dell? I'm sure I don't know," J. George said.

"I heard they extort money from town businesses and Steve wouldn't pay."

"I don't know anything about that," J. George said.

He was getting less jolly with every question.

"They ask you to donate?" I said.

"No," J. George said. `Absolutely not."

I looked at Bebe. She was watching the two of us, her mouth ajar, her lower lip tucked slightly under, the tip of her tongue resting on it.

"You know anything about that?" I said to her.

She seemed startled.

"About…?"

"The Dell," I said.

"No. The Dell? No, I don't know anything about that."

"I'm telling you," J. George said. "Steve Buckman didn't have an enemy in the world."

"He had one," I said.

"He did?"

"George," Bebe said. "Somebody shot him."

"Oh, yes, sure thing. I'm starting to slow down, I guess."

Again I saw Bebe smile at her private joke.

"How was the marriage?" I said.

"Far's I know solid as a rock," J. George said. "You know about his marriage, Bebe. You're friendly with Lou."

He was getting jolly again. Old J. George, looked fat and jolly. Probably light on his feet. Probably a ton of laughs at Rotary Club. Probably steal your children in a real estate deal.

"Lou?" I said.

"Lou Buckman," J. George said. "His wife. Didn't she hire you?"

I smiled. Enigmatic.

"They get along?" I said to Bebe.

"Like George and I," she said.

"That well," I said.

"Oh sure," J. George said. "Been together for, well never mind." He laughed. "Don't want to give our age away. We got married when she was nineteen."

"Wow," I said. "Twenty years."

Bebe smiled almost genuinely.

"How gallant," she said. "Why are you asking about Lou?"

"Just doing the drill," I said. "A spouse dies, the surviving spouse is automatically suspect."

"Cherchez la femme," Bebe said, and pleased with herself.

"Oui," I said.

"You going to be in town long, Mr. Spenser?" J. George said.

"Awhile," I said. "Could you tell me any people that Buckman was close to in town? People I might talk with?"

"Bebe could do that for you. She really knew him better than I did."

I'll bet she did.

"Want to give him a list, Bebe?" J. George said. "Just so you are, you know, circumspect and… I wouldn't want people we know to be pestered."

"I'll try not to pester," I said.

"I don't know why you need this stuff," J. George said. "It was some thug from the Dell, anyway."

"No doubt," I said. "But which one? I'm just looking for information."

Bebe got out a sheet of paper and thought and wrote and thought and wrote. J. George and I sat silently while she wrote, both of us watching her as if it were interesting. When she was through she handed it to me.

"I'm sure it's not everybody," she said. "But it's who I could think of."

"Thank you," I said.

"Anything I can do," she said.

I nodded. The words had an ulterior ring to them, as if they meant more than they seemed to.

"Well anything you need. Bebe and I know pretty much everything goes on around here."

"Except who shot Steve Buckman," I said.

"Except that," J. George said.

He stood. He was taller than I'd thought. Maybe because he was wearing tan snakeskin cowboy boots. Authentic. I stood and shook hands with him. Bebe stood when I did.

"Sit still, George," she said. "I'll walk him to the door."

She did. When I stepped out onto the covered porch, the heat rammed into me like a physical thing. Bebe stepped out with me.

"Do you get used to the heat?" I said.

"I like heat," she said.

She moistened her lower lip. I could feel one of those comely mature thighs against my own.

"Besides," I said, "it's a dry heat."

"Everyone says that, don't they?"

"Everyone," I said.

"Where are you staying?" she said.

"Jack Rabbit I

She put her hand out. I took it.

"Nice to have met you, Mr. Spenser," she said.

"You too," I said.

"If I think of anything, perhaps I'll call you," she said.