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asleep when PQ called for a cup of tea. Gretchen would have made her pot while making PQ’s cup. Then she would have taken him his cup so she could come back and enjoy her pot of tea. But she never even got out a second cup for her own use. When she went to his room, she found him dead and everything went crazy. The elements in this room confirm she made no pot of tea, and had no cup for her own use.”
    The sheriff took off his service hat and twirled it on the ends of his fingers. “So what in hell did she use the pot for?” While he listened, he ran his hand around inside his hat the way one would dry the inside of a washed bowl.
    “My guess,” I began, “and it’s merely a guess, she heated a pot of water in the microwave to pour over her hands and forearms with the thought it would wash away any gunshot residue. Even if it did, you’ll likely find some farther up her arms or on her apron.”
    “Okay, Big City, what’d she do with the gun?”
    “She didn’t have much time. You’ll find it. She’s hated PQ for nearly twenty years, has probably fantasized killing him more times than we can imagine. She’s likely feeling pretty satisfied about now and, with a little friendly persuasion, she might not be able to contain her feelings.”
    At that moment, the sheriff’s deputy came in holding a clear evidence bag weighted down with a German Walther PPK. The deputy looked at me and seemed hesitant to talk.
    “It’s okay, Deputy, this here’s Matt Kile, a big-city PI hired by PQ for protection.”
    “Weren’t all that good at his job, was he?” The deputy had one of those endearing laughs that coexisted with a snorting back rap.
    “No, I certainly wasn’t Deputy.”
    The sheriff stepped forward to draw his deputy’s attention, putting an end to the man’s sonar sounds. “So, what cha got there in the evidence bag?”
    “Sheriff Tallon,” the deputy said, turning all official like, “I found this here fancy gun about thirty yards out back of the kitchen at the bottom of a grungy old trough. Water’s as black as inside the toe of your boot. I drug the thing with a rake from the tool shed. In the open spaces, the wind’s tossing the dust around pretty good. But I did find some protected tracks up near the kitchen porch. I left the light on, figuring you’d wanna take a look.”
    We went to the door. The shoe prints, heading both off and onto the porch, had square heels with the sharp clean edges of new shoes or at least new heels. They were fresh and too small for a man’s shoe. More like the laced pair Gretchen had worn while serving the turkey.
    “I saw a .32 caliber Walther with a silencer in PQ’s gun cabinet the day I arrived.”
    “Show me, Matt.”
    I led Sheriff Tallon into the study. The outline where the Walther had hung against the back of the cabinet showed darker than the always-exposed wood around it. I reached up and took down the Old Maid card box from the small stack of games above the gun cabinet.
    “I haven’t had time to check, but I expect the Old Maid card is missing from this deck.”
    The sheriff fanned through the cards, and then did it a second time without finding the Old Maid card. The receipt from its purchase was sticking out of the box. The pattern on the backside of the cards in the box matched the pattern on the backside of the Old Maid card PQ had used as a bookmark.
    “This is the only children’s game on the shelf,” I pointed up to where the games were stacked. “The receipt shows the deck was bought while PQ was in Phoenix to pick me up at Sky Harbor Airport.”
    The sheriff’s lower lip climbed over his upper. He raked his teeth down through his rough cut mustache. After a moment, he turned to his deputy. “You’ll find Gretchen in the living room. Send her back and watch to make sure she gets here. Then go on back and babysit them other folks. There’s a polecat somewhere in this bunch, so I don’t want any of ‘em up and disappearing.”
    The