Page 70 of Head Room

“Not Hiram Poppinger, not considering what he told Elizabeth about Jardos using the airport being dangerous,” Diana said.“And it didn’t seem like he was talking about safety records.”

“Definitely not,” I confirmed.

“But that doesn’t tell us anything,” Jennifer complained.“It’s not like Jardos was killed or snatched out of Denver airport or any airport.”

“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t tell us anything,” I objected.“It tells us Hiram is prone to believing conspiracy theories, which means he is not a credible witness—”

“Like I said,nothing.We already knew he wasn’t credible.”

“—and that Jardos wasnotprone to believing conspiracy theories, which makes what we’re told about what he’s said more credible.”

After a beat of silence, Diana said, “Credible about what?Frank Jardos isn’t giving us any information.”

So much for my trying to find a bright side.

We agreed to a video call at lunchtime the next day.

“What are you going to do next?”Mike asked.

“Mrs.P.”

I explained about reading the manuscript, though Mike and Jennifer expressed skepticism that it would help.

Diana said nothing, but I suspected she agreed.

If it came to that, so did I.

But the less you have, the wider you cast your net.Sometimes back a century-plus.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emmaline Parens greetedme at the front door of her tidy frame house with her characteristic equanimity and led me into the front room I thought of as the classroom.

I, on the other hand, counted my lucky stars that Aunt Gee’s vehicle wasn’t in the drive next door.At her job as chief dispatcher for the sheriff’s department’s substation?Errands?

I hoped the former, because it would keep her away longer.

Possibly as part of the aforementioned blade and stone interaction, these two had a convoluted score-keeping contest that I’m guessing started with their first encounter.No one else knew the rules.But non-players could experience the prickly discomfort of being sucked in under certain circumstances.

Like visiting one house more often than the other.

I tended to go to Mrs.P for history and Aunt Gee for food.

But since I had an already-fitted and finalized wedding dress to get into soon, a stop at Aunt Gee’s was out of the question today.

Mrs.P gestured me to one of a pair of straight-backed chairs.Between the chairs sat a table with the makings of tea already set out, plus a small plate of cookies without a hint of chocolate.

I couldn’t help but glance at the walls packed with materials cataloguing the history of Cottonwood County and beyond.Although for this visit, my focus started with current affairs.

More surprising, so did hers.

“You do not need to share such matters with me, naturally, however, I would be interested to know what steps you and your compatriots have taken to this point in your inquiries about the recent fire at the cabin of Irene and Frank Jardos?”

This was different enough to throw me off.

Mrs.P seldom asked about our inquiries.

I’d always suspected she knew what we did practically as we did it, so she had no need to ask.