Lucy wrote fast in small disjointed squiggles, dashes and lines. She glanced up expectantly when I stopped talking. “Crimes of passion don’t usually have much reason behind them.”
“Or forewarning,” Elvis said.
I felt my chin start to wobble and I didn’t trust my voice. These students obviously paid attention to my mother.
Adam told his side briefly about how he got involved with the type of cat and the group. “The Association has, I believe, about five hundred members with six branches that meet regularly in different parts of the country. We have an annual meeting to exchange news and have an overall competition, in different locations. I’ve only been involved the past two years.”
“OK,” Sonja said. She checked the volume and jotted the time index on her recorder, while watching Memnet with furtive, longing glances. “How about telling us your impressions of the mayor, Mr. Thompson?”
“Call me Adam. Donald Conklin was a very personable man, just right for his position. Not oily, as some people can be, knowing how to manipulate others to get what they want. You get what I mean?”
I watched Adam as he spoke, but at this, I caught the nods of affirmation from my three other guests out of the corner of my eye.
“How much time overall do you think you spent with him?” Elvis asked.
“Just a couple of hours, if that, at each convention,” I answered.
The students looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“I knew Donald a much shorter period than Ivy,” Adam said.
Sonja glanced at the others before looking at me and Memnet. “You realize, of course, that personal impressions can’t be used as evidence during a trial.”
“Yes, of course. But what about the twelve million dollars in grant money? Controlled by the mayor? And the fact that the mayor’s cat, and now his wife, have vanished?”
“Is the money accounted for? Has anyone absconded with it?” Lucy asked.
“I believe the money’s in a special trust fund controlled by the mayor’s office, according to Marion Green, the mayor’s secretary. And I don’t know that the money’s all accounted for,” I answered.
Elvis said, with a touch more sympathy than Lucy displayed, “Our first stop will be the mayor’s office to interview the secretary, then. I think we’ll be able to sift through the police file as part of our fieldwork.”
Adam squeezed my hand.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“We thought we should go over our schedule a bit with you both,” Sonja said. “The three of us are to report to the police station tomorrow from nine o’clock until noon for a tour, a ride-along, and a lecture on the procedure book. After lunch we’re to review old casebooks at both solved and unsolved crimes for a couple of hours.”
“The chief said there’d be some hands-on experience in finger printing or investigation procedure or follow-up on tips as they come in to the station,” Lucy said. “Although we were warned that Apple Grove tends to be a fairly quiet community.”
We all looked at each other.
“We’ll do a conference call with Professor Preston,” Elvis explained, “in the evening. But that leaves plenty of time to nose around, listen to conversations at the local hang-outs, check out the businesses. We might even have a legitimate claim to interview the town council members in the interest of learning how small communities function and protect themselves.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I haven’t been able to follow through on talking to them. There’s something else that’s come up since yesterday.” I explained about the newspaper and its owners. “Yolanda thinks you people might figure out a pattern of events or find clues about the mayor that Adam or I wouldn’t recognize, or she thought too trivial.”
“Hmmm, there’s merit to that idea,” Sonja muttered. “We’ll fit it in somehow. Was the mayor from Apple Grove originally?”
“Yes,” Adam answered.
I felt even worse about how little I had bothered to get acquainted with the man for whom I had uprooted my whole life. Had moving to Apple Grove been worth the risk? I also realized the schedule the students outlined would leave no time for a field trip to Chicago. I decided to delay my adventure until I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone.
~*~
Sonja and Lucy were considerate housemates.
Memnet allowed Sonja to stroke his back while he chortled and blinked in feline pleasure. Lucy’s interest in my pet appeared more historical and scientific, so we discussed the ancestry of the breed, way back to the Pharaohs.
The young women rose early the next morning and got themselves breakfast. Each had brought along a bag of groceries with their particular favorite foods. They cleaned up after themselves and fixed bag lunches. Mom told me the college would be sending a reimbursement for their lodging expenses. With business down at the moment, I didn’t protest.
“We’ll meet back here after one,” Sonja said as she and Lucy left.
“I hope you have a productive morning.” Still in a housecoat, I waved them down the drive on their way to pick up Elvis from Adam’s apartment before going to the police station.
By 11:00 I had dealt with my business and dressed for a warm and sticky summer day. I had already taken care of a few small household chores in anticipation of my guests, so I thought I would head downtown. Mea Cuppa’s first business drawing for free coffee was scheduled at noon and I wanted to be there. Hopefully, Adam could get some positive publicity out of the event.
Adam glanced up at the bell announcing my entry. He stood behind the counter in his long, wine-colored apron with stylized lettering “Mea Cuppa,” a steaming coffee cup, and an outline of a stack of books decorating the front. He nodded as if he’d been watching for me, and I felt a little thrill between my shoulder blades.
Several gawking customers stood in a loose semi-circle around the counter, waiting. Yolanda’s stringer photographer pulled a chair close and stood on its seat above the crowd to get a bird’s eye view of the event. Excited babble ceased as Adam announced it was time for the drawing. A shiver of anticipation grew the smile I shared with Bob Green, in his barber’s garb, who wandered over from next door.
Adam offered the fishbowl, filled a third of the way with cardboard rectangles, to one of the women. He held it high, nearly out of her reach, so that she could not see the names on the cards she touched. He attracted a fair number of traveling people who stopped for a coffee while passing through Apple Grove, so I hoped that at least this first winner would be local.
The camera flashed as Adam waved the winning card at the crowd.
“Apple Grove Gazette, Jim and Yolanda Toynsbee. The news you need to know,” Adam shouted. A few “awws” amidst the claps indicated a general pleasant reaction to the winner. “The Toynsbees and their staff win a cup of coffee delivered daily to the shop for all of this week,” Adam said. “Don’t forget to try again for next week’s drawing.”
The group dispersed, some out the door, some forming a queue at the counter and a few roaming toward the shelves.
The photographer got another shot of Adam holding up the fishbowl. The young man grabbed a latte for being on the newspaper office staff, and then he disappeared.
I waited until Adam served his customers and also checked out those who had decided on a book purchase. The shop was nearly empty by the time I approached him. “You had a nice crowd this morning. The drawing is a good idea.”
He blinked at the compliment. “Thanks.”
“Can I help you take coffee to the newspaper office?”
Adam glanced around his now emptied shop. “Sure. I can close for a couple of minutes. Do you know if there’s anyone else with them today?”
I shook my head. “Yolanda’s husband is at the hospital. I haven’t even met him. The set-up person who helps with layouts only comes in Sunday and Wednesday evenings. I’ve offered to help, just flexible with some copy and phones, on Thursday nights.”
Adam smiled and ha
nded me a small covered cup of his hazelnut brew. “For you, then.”
I inhaled through the sip tab. “Thanks.”
“Let me call over to the office and find out what Yolanda likes, then I’d be grateful for your company.”
While Adam made his call, I went to the front window and peered at Apple Grove’s Main Street. Tiny’s Buffet was quite full for lunch, judging by the customers visible through the windows and wrought-iron lamp posts in the sidewalk. Drivers motored past. There were few empty parking spaces.
As Adam stacked the paper holder with a lidded takeout cup, I pushed the plastic clock hands on the outside of the door to mark that the shop would reopen in fifteen minutes. He set the lock and pulled the door closed after us.
Walking the few blocks that made up Apple Grove’s quaint little downtown made me feel like we were on an old west movie set. The narrow store fronts and old square brick facades that gave false pride shadowed the street like the parapets of a castle wall. A few stores had canvas awnings to roll out for afternoon shade. A hot little breeze whipped along the sidewalk at our backs while waving the long stems of a hanging petunia basket in front of Roberta’s flower shop, next door to the newspaper.
As we approached the office of the Gazette, Yolanda came barreling out the front door, waving both arms.
“Oh, look. Yolanda’s come out—”
“Back!” she shrieked. “Away!”
The flash of light and wall of smoke billowing from the open door of the newspaper building added to the surrealistic atmosphere.
Adam tossed the coffee aside and grabbed me around the middle, pushing me against Roberta’s shop window and shielding me. When nothing further happened, Adam straightened and turned in time to meet Yolanda, breathless, who had run the length of the block. Oozy yellow smoke stirred in the wind.
“What happened!” He grabbed her elbows. “Are you all right? Is anyone else in there?”
“I—I don’t know,” Yolanda hunched over to gasp in lungfuls of air. “But, no—I—was alone! I just hung up the phone when I heard a metallic click and something bouncing up the hallway from the back door. Then the screen door slammed. We never lock the door back there.”
I heard the siren of one of Apple Grove’s cruisers approaching. The sulfurous odor made me choke and wheeze. I waved my hand in front of my face to waft away the fumes and blinked my watering eyes.
Across the street, customers and vendors alike lined the sidewalk, mouths open in shock, talking, pointing. The smoke began to clear.
Adam stared down the alley toward the back of the building.
“Don’t you dare think of going back there alone, Adam Thompson!” I wasn’t usually bossy, but fear made me speak my mind.
He put his hands on his hips as he turned to stare at me with a quizzical expression.
Officer Ripple squealed up, accompanied by Elvis.
“Stay here!” Ripple shouted.
Elvis opened his door. He closed his door but had the window down by then and thrust his head through. “Everyone all right?”
We all indicated yes while Ripple rushed over. “What’s going on? I’ve called for the fire department and backup.”
“I think it was some kind of grenade,” Yolanda said. “There’s no fire. Just smoke and smell.”
A small crowd began to converge.
Roberta, a plump brunette, whose age I guessed to be somewhere between Yolanda and me, bustled out of her door. “I heard a sound. Whump. Like a bomb you hear on TV,” she contributed. “I’m glad you’re OK,” she told Yolanda. “At least you didn’t have Jenny in there with you today.”
Yolanda went white. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
Apple Grove’s volunteer fire fighters jumped off the wailing cherry red pumper truck that pulled up. Two tan and iridescent yellow-suited figures ventured into the now quiet shop.
We all watched for a long five minutes until they reappeared.
I made my way over to Elvis. He hung as much of his skinny person out the window as he could to get a good view of the action.
The crowd blocked his line of sight.
“What’s going on? I can’t see a thing,” he complained as soon as I came in earshot.
I bent to peek through the mass of elbows and guts of my fellow Grovers. “The firefighters are coming out. Thumbs up. They’re giving the ‘all clear,’” I told Elvis. “Say, what was the call, anyway? Who called this in?”
“A woman’s voice shouted, ‘they just bombed me out,’ or something like that,” he replied. “I was at the monitoring station when the operator took the call. I could hear through her headset.” His cell phone bleeped. “It’s Sonja. I’d better let her know what’s going on. We’ll be late for our lunch meeting today.”
Adam hiked over to us. “I just overheard the captain telling Chief Hackman he thought there was only smoke damage. The grenade was apparently something SWAT teams use when they want to roust out a suspect, like in a hostage situation. He called it an OC grenade. Had that pepper stuff in it that makes your eyes water.”
“Must be strong if it affects us from this far away,” I said.
Elvis got out of the car. “Oh, yeah! That was on our list of weapons at the terrorism seminar I went to. Sometimes there’s tear gas, too. Or they color the smoke to determine targets. But why would anyone toss one around here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” A grim-faced Yolanda strode up to the group, notebook in hand, graying curls springing angrily as she spoke. With her pen poised she began rapid-fire questioning of me. “You two were just on your way. Did you see anything?”
“No, I’m sorry, Yolanda,” I replied.
Adam denied noticing anything out of the ordinary as well.
“I’d chalk this up to some kind of high school prank, if it weren’t for—”
“For what, Yolanda?” Chief Hackman silently joined our group. “We’re taping off the scene, but anything you could tell us would be helpful.”
“Like I told you, Gene, it all happened so fast. I didn’t even see what it was before I leaped outta there. But whoever threw it was at the back door. If there’s any evidence, you’d find it around back.”
“You were saying something else, Yolanda,” Hackman prompted.
“Well, I was opening the weekend mail, and I came across—”
A shout from the street interrupted us. “What did I tell you!”
For a Monday at lunchtime, there were a lot of people milling about. The sight of Tiny Alnord clutching a megaphone and standing in the rusty bed of a once-blue pickup truck would have given me the giggles had the message of his impromptu speech not been so vicious.
I caught a glimpse of an unsmiling man leaning against a light pole behind Alnord, with his arms folded. Our friendly neighborhood sewer guy, Jeff Hanley.
“Strangers bring problems,” Alnord shouted. “We never had anything like this happen before in our beloved village. We need a mayor to help us in our darkest hour!”
Grim-faced, Hackman waded toward the truck. “Tiny!”
“Oh-oh!” Lucy and Sonja skidded up to us at this point. “Just in time. Looks as if things are getting ugly.”
“Where did these upstarts came from? For all we know—”
“Disperse at once!” Hackman called out when he reached the curb. “Before we fine you all for loitering and unlawful assembly.” He addressed Tiny next. “Alnord, I oughtta give you a ticket for inciting a riot! What in the world do you think you’re up to? Anyone would think you purposefully caused this incident. Where were you half an hour ago, anyway?” Hackman was so outraged, we could hear his shouting from where we stood on the sidewalk.
“I got my rights!” Tiny declared to Hackman. “You can’t stop me from speaking. It’s my constitutional right.”
“I’m not stopping you from making a fool of yourself. I am stopping you from doing it without a permit to hold an assembly, and from blocking traffic, and from inciting a riot.”
>
By now two other officers had arrived, including the parking ticket lady.
“She’s really the Community Services Officer. Her name is Rachel,” Yolanda whispered to me. “Besides checking the parking meters downtown, she also puts on school safety programs.”
The uniformed officers encouraged people to move away from the scene.
On a whim, I asked Yolanda, “How well do you know Jeff Hanley?”
“The bank guy?”
“Banker? He’s the one on the town council…um, in charge of sewage.”
“Yes, that’s right. What about him?”
“I didn’t realize he was a banker. He was watching, just a few minutes ago.”
“A lot of people were. Ivy, what’re you up to?”
“I just wondered, that’s all. He seemed to know about the money for Apple Grove.”
“He’s vice president at State’s Bank,” Yolanda said. “Donald kept that money somewhere, right?”
“Yeah. What was in the mail that you were about to mention?”
Yolanda’s expression closed down. Her mouth narrowed. “Just stupid stuff, and that’s all I’ll say for now.”
I swallowed. “Was the office damaged much?”
“Not sure. If it’s just smoke…well, I don’t know until I get in there.”
“I not only type, I clean.”
Yolanda smiled. “You sound like a walking advertisement for a Girl Friday. But, thanks. We’d better move on before we get a ticket.”
I squeezed her arm and turned.
Adam zeroed in on me and pulled me down an alley.
Meow Mayhem Page 11
