A Multitude of Sins by M. K. Wren

you inside in case Jenny’s still awake.”
    She sobered, frowning. “But, why?”
    “Nothing sinister. I want her to hear me confirm our plans for a picnic lunch on the beach tomorrow.”
    “Oh?”
    “Didn’t I tell you? Yes, we have a date. Meet me at the shop tomorrow at eleven.”
    “All right. Shall I bring fried chicken, or should it be a loaf of bread and a jug of wine?”
    He laughed. “I’ll take care of the gastronomic accessories. Or rather, Mrs. Early will.”
    The living room was dark as they went in, but a shaft of light appeared suddenly from Jenny’s studio.
    “Dore? Is that you?”
    “Yes, Jen. Conan’s with me.”
    The light disappeared as the door closed, but a moment later, a table lamp near the windows went on, and he saw Jenny standing there, her back to the light.
    “Oh. Hello, Mr. Flagg.”
    “You’re working late tonight, Miss Hanson.”
    She made no move to approach them, and the light was dim, yet he could see that her eyes were swollen and red. He wondered what made Jennifer Hanson weep in solitude.
    “I—I like to work at night, sometimes,” she said. “It’s quiet then.”
    “I’ve always been convinced the Muses are creatures of the night.” Then he smiled at Isadora, putting no restraint on the affection behind it. “I’ll see you tomorrow about eleven, and be prepared for lunch seasoned with sand.”
    Her smile was a little uneasy in Jenny’s presence. “There’s no better seasoning. Sounds like fun.”
    “The best seasoning is good company.” Then he nodded to Jenny. “Good night, Miss Hanson.”
    She still hadn’t moved. “Good night.”
    When he reached the main Shanaway road, Conan stopped long enough to open the compartment between the seats and take out the radio mike. The response to his call was immediate. Carl Berg was on the hill above the cottage, a lookout he’d manned since nine o’clock.
    “Conan, I had some action here early in the evening.”
    “I’d like a first-hand report, then.” He turned onto the main road, keeping his speed down, frowning up at that rearview mirror; the only lights visible were street lights. “What happened to my escort?”
    “He retired to the duplex. No lights in the house, but he’s probably at the window with his infrared scope.”
    “See if he decides to tail me, then meet me—” He paused to shift up to third as he hit the open stretch by the golf course. “There’s a drive-in a few blocks south of the shopping center. Dilly’s. Meet me in back.”
    “Right. No sign of pursuit yet.”
    “I think Hicks has a one-track mind, but give him a few minutes.”
    Dilly’s Drive-in was bleakly dark. Conan drove around behind it, startling a scavenging alley cat. He parked and got out to pace the asphalt, listening to the cold, rustling night sounds animating the darkness. It seemed a long time before Carl Berg’s Thunderbird came thrumming around the rear wall of the restaurant. Berg turned off his motor and lights, restoring the silence and darkness.
    “You’re right about Hicks having a one-track mind,” he commented as he walked over to Conan. “He didn’t budge from his blind.”
    Conan lit a cigarette and offered one to Berg. The flare of the lighter momentarily etched Berg’s aquiline features against the darkness.
    “What about the action out at the cottage, Carl?”
    “Well, it seems Miss Hanson had a little rendezvous about nine-thirty.”
    He nodded. “When she could be sure Dore was safely at work. Where was this rendezvous? The cottage?”
    “No, she drove down to the shopping center. Whoever she was meeting was parked by the telephone booth near the supermarket.”
    “Did you see who it was?”
    He shook his head. “That parking lot’s big as a football field and just as open that time of night. I couldn’t get anywhere near without being seen. I ditched my car and came around the supermarket on foot, but by that time the meet was over. I didn’t even get a license