The Lady Doctor's Alibi by J. Roberts Page A

on my patients.”
    “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
    “Yes,” she said, still uncomfortable. “Good night.”
    “Good night, Lissa.”
     
    Clint went over to Deputy Boone, who had taken up a position in a wooden chair by the front door.
    “I’ll be back in the morning. You need anything?” Clint asked.
    “Yeah,” Boone said. “This chair is real uncomfortable.”
    “You want me to get you a pillow?”
    “No,” Boone said, “I want you to get whatever you’re doin’ done . . . quick.”
    “I’ll do my best, Deputy.”
    “And what’s the sheriff gonna be doin’ all this time?” Boone asked.
    “Same as me,” Clint said. “Trying to find the evidence on whoever killed Dr. Graham.”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    It was too early to turn in, and Clint knew that Josephina kept her cantina open later for people with late appetites. “Drunk hombres are hungry hombres,” she had told him.
    It seemed to be the truth, for as he approached the front door of her place, three drunken Mexicans were leaving—although they were probably less drunk than they had been when they entered, since they had now eaten.
    As he entered, he saw that the place was empty. Josephina came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
    “Well, well,” she said, “there you are. Have you found another place to eat?”
    “There is no other place to eat in this town,” he assured her.
    “What about another bed to sleep in?”
    “I’ve been sleeping in my own bed, Josephina,” he said. “Honest.”
    “Sí, but with who?”
    “Now, now,” Clint said, “here I’ve been busy trying to solve a murder, and you accuse me of sleeping with someone else?”
    “Well, I have not heard from you since I came to your room,” she said. “Don’t tell me you have still been waitin’ for me to come to you again?”
    “No,” he said, “I’ve just been very busy, and now I’m very hungry.”
    “Hmph,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her big breasts, almost pushing them up and out of her peasant blouse. “So now you want me to feed you.”
    “Yes,” he said, “please.”
    She sighed and said, “Very well. Sit down. I think I still have some food left.”
    She had plenty of food left and brought him platters full. She sat with him while he ate.
    “So who has been murdered—oh wait, you are talkin’ about the gringo doctor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Madre de Dios,” she said. “That was terrible. Who would beat to death el médico?”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    While he ate, he explained to her how Dr. Sugarman and the nurse, Marietta, had been caring for Dr. Graham’s patients since his death.
    “The doctora, she is beautiful, no?” Josephina asked.
    “Have you seen her?” Clint asked, wondering if he could get away with a lie.
    “Oh, sí,” Josephina said, “I went to her one day when I burned my hand.”
    “Then yes,” he said, “she is very beautiful.”
    “More beautiful than I am?” she asked, sitting up straight.
    “Different,” Clint said. “You are both very beautiful.”
    She punched him on the arm.
    “You wanted me to tell the truth, didn’t you?” he asked.
    “No,” she said, “I wanted you to tell me I am the most beautiful.”
    “Well,” Clint said, “while you’re both beautiful, you are the one who can cook.”
    She folded her arms and glared at him, still not happy.
    “And you’re the one,” he added, “who will be coming to my room tonight.”
    “Because you are inviting me?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he said with a smile, “I’m inviting you.”

TWENTY-EIGHT
    Rufus Holmes had moved out of his hotel and into the big house with Lillian Graham. He woke up that morning with weak legs. That woman was insatiable, had kept him up most of the night having sex, and that meant that she took a lot of punishment. He’d never seen a woman who liked punishment so much.
    She came into the room now, wearing a dressing gown, and he said, “Again?”
    “No, not