Paint It Black by P.J. Parrish

Margaret’s thick ankles.
    â€œCome here, cat.”
    Issy trotted away into the laundry room.
    â€œDamn it,” Louis said.
    Louis started after the cat. The phone rang. Margaret was busy making the sandwich and motioned for Louis to pick it up. It was Wainwright.
    â€œKincaid,” he said, “I just had a visit from one of the sheriff’s boys and I kind of put my foot in it. They want to help and I threw him out of my office. He pissed me off, Kincaid. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but it gave me a chance to do something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.”
    â€œWho is it?” Margaret asked.
    â€œGo on, Chief,” Louis said.
    Margaret scurried out of the room. Louis could hear her calling to Dodie.
    â€œDo you want to stay and help me with this case?” Wainwright asked.
    â€œAre you offering me a job?” Louis asked.
    â€œWell, yeah, there’s one thing, though.”
    Jesus. Background check. Reference check. Why did you leave your last job? He had to tell him.
    â€œI can’t pay you much,” Wainwright said. “I got a little money in petty cash that I can funnel your way, and I’ll have to label you as a consultant or something until I can get the town to approve you being hired as anything else.”
    Louis fell back against the wall. He glanced over to see Dodie and Margaret standing at the door.
    â€œKincaid? Can you live with that?”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Louis said, smiling. “I can live with that.”

Chapter Eleven
    Louis ducked under the Japanese lanterns and joined Wainwright and Dodie out on the lawn by the barbecue. Dodie was turning pieces of chicken. The sauce sizzled onto the coals, sending magnificent smells into the evening air.
    Wainwright nudged Louis. “Can he cook?”
    â€œI don’t know. Only food he ever offered me in Mississippi was a bowl of crawfish.”
    Dodie glanced at him. “I never told you this, Louis, but you’re not suppose to eat the heads.”
    Louis smiled. “I know that. Now.”
    Wainwright looked confused and Dodie told the tale of how Louis bit off the head of a crawfish.
    â€œTrying to impress me, he was,” Dodie said. “Well, better let this bird bake a few. Let’s go pop open some brews.”
    They retreated to the patio and sat watching the sky darken, listening to the evening’s overture of frogs and crickets. Margaret came out, glanced at the three men, then went over to check the chicken.
    â€œI just turned it, Margie.”
    Margaret turned it again, then disappeared back into the house. Louis watched Dodie’s eyes as they followed her round body with open affection.
    Wainwright sat forward in his chair. “Louis, you see this morning’s News-Press ?”
    Louis nodded.
    â€œThey’re calling it a racially motivated crime. A fucking anonymous source in the sheriff’s department,” Wainwright said. “Someone leaked it on purpose. They knew the reporter would jump on it.”
    â€œBut why would someone inside leak it?” Dodie asked.
    â€œTo put the screws on me, Sam,” Wainwright said. “Mobley wants the case and he knows if there’s enough pressure, I’ll have to give it to them.”
    â€œThat kind of talk is only gonna make everyone nervous,” Dodie said quietly.
    â€œJust black men,” Louis said, taking a sip of beer.
    â€œWell, do y’all believe that’s what it is?” Dodie asked.
    Louis glanced at Wainwright, but he didn’t seem inclined to answer. “Racially motivated crimes are usually messages,” Louis said. “The offender is sending a message to a certain group that they are . . . unwelcome. The crimes are usually generalized and not normally filled with such rage.”
    Wainwright was nodding. “Which is why I don’t think these murders fit. They seem personal somehow. My money’s still on