“Now, you just watch out now, Rose,” I said. “You just better watch out or you’ll be saying something dirty.”

She started bawling, and stumbled back out of the room.

I heard her as she dropped down on the lounge, bawling and sniffling. And after a while she began to mumble to herself. Wondering out loud how anyone— meaning me—could do such a terrible thing.

And what could I have said except that it wasn’t easy; it sure wasn’t easy. And how could I explain what I didn’t really understand myself?

Well?

But this is what had happened.

22

After I’d taken George Barnes to the station last Sunday, I stopped by Amy Mason’s house. I knew I’d better explain that I’d just been kidding in front of Barnes—that I didn’t have no intention of letting Ken Lacey get blamed for killing those pimps. But the way she hopped on me the minute I showed up, I hardly had a chance to say anything.

“I warned you, Nick!” she blazed at me. “I warned you not to do it! Now, you’ll have to bear the consequences!”

“Now, wait a minute, honey,” I said. “What—”

“I’m going to send a telegram to the governor, that’s what! Right tonight! I’m going to tell him who actually did kill those two, uh, men!”

“But Amy, I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry, Nick. You’ll never know how sorry I am. But I’m going to do it. I can’t allow you to commit a murder—and framing Sheriff Lacey would be murder— that I know about in advance.”

I finally managed to make her listen to me, to tell her that I wasn’t even halfway planning to frame Ken. “It was just a joke, see? I was just leadin’ Barnes on for a good hard letdown.”

“Yes?” She looked at me sharply. “You’re sure about that?”

“Sure I’m sure. You should have seen his face when I told him I’d seen them pimps alive the day after Ken was down there.”

“Well . . .”

She was still sort of suspicious, still not quite convinced that I didn’t have some scheme for framing Ken without getting myself in trouble. Finally, I got kind of impatient, and I said I wasn’t really flattered to have her doubtin’ my word when she didn’t have no reason to.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled and pecked me on the cheek. “I believe you, dear, and I’ll tell you something else. If I hated Sheriff Lacey like you do, I’d probably want to kill him, too!”

“Hate?” I said. “What makes you think I hate him?”

“Now, darling, it sticks out all over you. What did he ever do to you to make you feel that way about him?”

“But I don’t,” I said. “I mean, I don’t hate him. I mean, it ain’t what I feel about him that matters. It’s what he is, you know; the things he’s done to others. I—well, it’s kind of hard to explain but—but—”

“Never mind, dear.” She laughed and kissed me again. “You’re not going to do anything to him, and that’s all that matters.”