“Yes, of course.” I scribbled Yvonne next to Mrs. Rogers, hoping I’d be able to keep these women straight somehow. “Why do you think he’s stealing jewelry?”
“Why else would a man like that come into a place like this? He walks in here with those tightjeans on, showing his goo-goo like he thinks he’s Magic Mike or something.”
Ohmigod, this woman cannot be real.
I stifled back a groan. “His goo-goo? And wait, you watched Magic Mike?”
“No, I most certainly did not. They had the commercials on. And his goo-goo...his package.” She waved her hands over her nether regions and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Tight Wranglers aside,was he in your room at any point, or did you see him in a place he wasn’t authorized?”
“Was he in my room?” she gasped. “What sort of woman do you take me for? Hell no, he wasn’t in my room.”
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this woman and, luckily, I didn’t have to try, since Dylan returned, her expression hopeful yet guarded. “How did it go?”
“About as well as you wouldexpect,” I admitted. “I have a possible name, though.”
“Oh, really?”
“Hello, Grandma, how are you Grandma? It’s good to see you, Grandma,” Mrs. James said snottily.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “Hello, Grandma. How are you?”
“I have gout.”
“Well, that sounds—”
“And hemorrhoids that are drivin’ me nuts, and don’t even get me started on the yeast infection.”
Dylan winced. “Nope, that’s just fine.I won’t get you started on any of it.”
Before Mrs. James could say anything else, another elderly woman came shuffling in on her walker, stalling when she caught sight of us. “Bess, you got visitors!”
“Yeah, Nance. This is my granddaughter Dylan, and her friend.”
“The Libyan?” Nancy asked.
“No, I’m American,” Dylan replied. “Grandma, what have you been telling people?”
I bit back a giggle.“Oh, you have no idea, Dylan.”
“The rich one says she’s not gay,” Dylan’s grandma continued, without acknowledging Dylan had even spoken.
My friend groaned. “We should really get going.”
“Yes,” I agreed, and rose to my feet. “Thanks for the information, Mrs. James. We’ll be in touch.”
“Wait.” Dylan paused at the door. “Grandma, do you know what’s going on with the train tracks?”
“Of courseI know what’s going on. It’s my town isn’t it?”
“Can you tell us?” I asked.
“It’s a ploy to get tourists here. They’re adding one of those old-fashioned stagecoach trains and trying to turn this place into some new-fangled tourist trap. It’s a waste of city money if you ask me, but nobody ever does.”
“All right, thanks,” Dylan said, pushing me out of the room.
I couldn’t stop myself frombreaking out into hysterical giggles. I leaned against the wall and let the mirth overtake me for a solid minute.
