A bedside table held a few magazines. I sat on the bed to see what my cousin had read before going to sleep—Sports Illustrated, Hockey World, and a densely printed paper called Grain News. I looked at this with interest. Published in Kansas City, it was filled with information about grain—the size of various crops, prices on different options exchanges, rates for shipping by rail and boat, contracts awarded to different transporters. It was pretty interesting if grain was important to you.

“Is that something special?”

I’d gotten so absorbed I hadn’t noticed Paige come out of the bathroom to finish her packing. I hesitated, then said, “I’ve been worried about whether Boom Boom went under that propeller—deliberately. This thing”—I waved the paper at her—“tells you everything you’d ever want to know about grains and shipping them. It apparently comes out twice a month, weekly during the harvest. If Boom Boom was involved enough at Eudora Grain to study something like this, it gives me some reassurance.”

Paige looked at me intently. She took Grain News and flipped through it. Looking at the pages, she said, “I know losing hockey upset him—I can imagine how I’d feel if I couldn’t dance, and I’m not nearly as good a ballerina as he was a hockey player. But I think his involvement with me—kept him from being too depressed. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“Not at all. If it’s true, I’m pleased.”

Her thin, penciled brows rose. “If it’s true? Do you mind explaining that?”

“Nothing to explain, Paige. I hadn’t seen Boom Boom since January. He was still fighting the blues then. If knowing you helped him out of the depths, I’m glad.… There was some talk at the funeral about his being in trouble down at Eudora Grain—I guess there’s a rumor going around that he stole some papers. Did he say anything about that to you?”

The honey-colored eyes widened. “No. Not a word. If people were talking about it, it must not have bothered him enough to mention it; we had dinner the day before he died. I wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”

“Do you know what he wanted to talk to me about?”

She looked startled. “Was he trying to get in touch with you?”

“He left an urgent message for me with my answering service, but he didn’t say what it was about. I wondered: if there was some story going around the docks maybe he wanted my professional help.”

She shook her head, fiddling with the zipper on her purse. “I don’t know. He seemed fine Monday night. Look—I’ve got to get going. I’m sorry if I upset you earlier, but I have to run now.”