I opened the door of our hotel room to find her at the window with some high-powered binoculars watching the front of the Viking Cooking School. We had a pretty good view, unassisted, of the building, but the binoculars snapped everything into sharp focus—including the expression on Karrie Kompton’s face as she lurked outside the building. “Jansen said we could speak with Babs at ten.” She kept her binoculars glued to Karrie. “What’s the bitch queen up to?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice neutral. Confronting Tinkie about Tammy’s dream would accomplish nothing. She was, indeed, as hardheaded as I ever dared to be. “Her attitude says no good.” Tinkie reached over and pinched me hard on the waist. “Ow! What’s that for?” “Leaving me alone with Oscar.” “He’s your husband,” I protested loudly. “I thought the two of you would work out a few kinks, have some yucks, and he’d be in a better mood.” Tinkie lowered the field glasses. “His intent was to convince me to drop this case and go home.”
