Page 75 of Death on Gallows Path

Accepting Clara’s declaration as an obvious fact with a low-energy hand-wave, the woman circled back to, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking into getting a car wash,” Clara said brightly.

“Oh.” The bored syllable dismissed that mission. “You should tell me how to get on TV. I’m Blanche Todd Alsup. Like Mary.”

I tried not to let my face reflect the turmoil in my brain.

Alsup . . . Heading toward the car wash and William. His wife? The woman Clara saw with Damon and we both saw after Thursday’s training? She had the dark hair and pale face.

But who was this Mary Alsup she clearly assumed we knew with her Like Mary comment?

Clara got it well before I did, but she has the Kentucky native’s advantage.

“You’re related to Mary Todd Lincoln?” Clara sounded impressed — if you didn’t know her. “Quite the family tree.”

Blanche Todd Alsup looked blanker than I’d felt. “Related? No.”

I retook the lead in the blank sweepstakes. Why on earth would she bring it up if she wasn’t related?

Again, Clara came to the rescue. “Oh, to indicate how to spell it. But do people have more trouble spelling Todd than Blanche or Alsup?”

Blanche Todd Alsup’s top lip didn’t center on her bottom lip, which gave her a sneering, exasperated expression and, oddly, made her look more intelligent than she’d otherwise shown herself to be.

“Everybody will get it right once people see it on TV. How do I get on TV?”

Clara’s smile didn’t budge as her jaw tightened. “Being involved with a charity can open the door—”

“Nah. That’s not how you get on.”

“If you answer questions for us, that might . . .” Clara didn’t finish, letting Blanche make the assumption. “You must be so sad and shocked about Damon Swindell’s death.”

I admired Clara’s tactic of taking the connection for granted.

“Can’t believe it.” Neither sadness nor shock echoed in those flat words.

“How long have you known him? How did you meet?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Don’t remember. Maybe a party in the neighborhood. Saw him around.”

“Did you see him Thursday night?”

For the first time, something like wariness came into Blanche’s eyes. “There wasn’t a party Thursday.”

“What did you do that evening?” Clara prodded a bit more. “You talked to him? Outside Zepke’s?”

Blankness resurfaced.

I slid in with, “The pet store, where he took his dog to training.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Were you supposed to meet him after that?” Clara asked.

“Nah.”

“But you hoped to.” Clara’s mild persistence paid off.

“Yeah. Would have made it easier. Hurried things up. Found out what I needed to.”