Alibi

by Kristin Butcher

  Once she’s around it, I can’t see her anymore, but I hear the rattle of the padlock and the unmistakable scraping of the door on the stones.

  I’m totally baffled. Obviously, the Spence sisters put the lock on the door and posted the KEEP OUT notice—which they had no right to do. So what do they want with the old place?

  The only way I’m going to find out is to follow this twin.

  That is easier said than done. I wait almost an hour for her to come outside, but she doesn’t. I’m tempted to sneak up to the window of the only accessible room and try to look inside, but I don’t dare. With my luck, she’ll be staring right back at me or she’ll exit the house while I’m creeping past the door.

  I check my phone for the time. It’s noon. I can’t hang around much longer. I promised Aunt Maude I’d be at the shop by 1:00. What could the Spence twin be doing in there so long?

  I have another thought. What if she isn’t inside anymore? Maybe there’s another exit that I don’t know about. I can’t think where it could be, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. If there’s a secret entrance through the fence, there could very well be a secret exit from the house.

  I wait another fifteen minutes, but she still doesn’t show. I have to leave. It will take me twenty minutes to walk to the shop. That leaves me less than a half hour to make lunch and eat.

  Because I’m in a hurry, the Witcombe streets are a postcard of life in slow motion. I swerve around the window-shoppers like a slalom skier maneuvering the gates. As I veer to miss a woman pushing a stroller, I almost crash into a low wall surrounding the patio of a restaurant. On the other side, at a table not three feet away, is a pair of zebras.

  They look up from their lunch and smile.

  “Hello, Christine. Shopping?” one of them says.

  “Or are you here for lunch too?” asks the other. “This is a fabulous little bistro. I highly recommend it.”

  I can’t believe my eyes. This is not possible. I just left one of these old ladies at Greeley House, yet here they both are in downtown Witcombe. There’s no way the twin at the mansion could have left after me and beat me back to town.

  Unless she had a car. Or unless she left by another exit.

  I squelch my surprise and bewilderment and force my face into what I hope is a smile.

  “Neither,” I say. “I’m supposed to help out at the antique shop this afternoon—Aunt Maude has an appointment—but I lost track of the time. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late.” At this point, I should wave goodbye and start running again, but I’m too curious to leave. “So how did you ladies spend the morning?” I ask.

  “We took a tour of the Miners’ Museum. The guide was a lovely woman whose great-grandfather survived that terrible cave-in back in the early 1900s,” says one.

  The other sister nods. “We also met a young couple from Missouri who are honeymooning here. Most newlyweds go someplace tropical, but Perry and Jenna—that’s the young couple—decided to tour the Okanagan instead. Apparently, Perry’s grandmother is from British Columbia. Such a sweet young pair, weren’t they, Agatha?”

  “Yes, indeed. We have met so many wonderful people during our trip. I shall be sad for it to end. But only two more days and it will be over.”

  Agatha frowns. “I shan’t miss all those robberies though.”

  I jump on the change of subject. “Speaking of robberies, have you heard from the police? Have they found your wallet? Do they have any leads?”

  Agatha shakes her head. “No leads that we know of, but then, how could we? The police haven’t been in touch. I imagine they’re busy investigating the latest theft.”

  “There’s been another one?”

  Hilary nods. “Yes. Just this morning. A man had his pocket picked in a shopping mall in Summerland.”

  The Spence sisters continue to talk, and I continue to smile and nod, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m trying to figure out how an old lady beat me back to town.

  “Do you have a car?” I blurt.

  They both look at me strangely.

  “Why, yes. We rented one at the airport in Kelowna. Why do you ask, dear?”

  Other than telling them I suspect they might be involved with the robberies, I don’t have an answer. I shrug. “It looks like it’s going to be hot again this afternoon. I’d hate for you to have to walk back to your cottage.”

  They smile, and one of them says, “Actually, the car is at the service station. We dropped it there this morning. It was backfiring.” She holds up her cell phone. “The mechanic just called. One of the spark-plug connections was loose. But it’s all fixed now. We can pick it up as soon as we finish our lunch.”

  I smile and nod. “Good. I’d hate for you to get sunstroke. It’s been nice chatting with you, but I have to go. Aunt Maude will be waiting for me.”

  Chapter Nine

  So much for my theory about the twin I saw at Greeley House driving back to town. If her car was at a service station, she couldn’t have. She had to have left by some other exit. There’s only one way to find out.

  I have just enough time to go back to the mansion. But I don’t want the Spence twins knowing what I’m doing, so I run a half-block toward the antique shop before I cross the street and double back. Then I bolt to the mansion like an Olympic runner.

  I let myself through the fence and move across the grass to the house. Then I peek around the hedge at the door.

  The padlock is back in place. Darn! Growling in frustration, I stalk to the door and give the lock a good tug, in case it’s unlocked. It isn’t. Well, that proves it—the twin I saw had to have left after I did.

  I frown and scratch my head. So how did she beat me back to town? None of this makes any sense.

  In detective shows, solving crimes looks like a snap. All of the puzzle pieces fall neatly into place, and the bad guys get caught. Either those tv shows are a huge lie, or I’m really bad at this.

  The thing is, I shouldn’t be. I’m pretty observant and good at gathering clues. The problem is, I suck at putting the evidence together and coming up with the correct conclusions.

  For instance, I saw Simon sneak into Greeley House. I saw him leave it again the next day. I discovered all his stuff in the mansion like he was living there. Normal people don’t live in ramshackle, abandoned buildings. But thieves very well might. Conclusion: Simon was the robber.

  Totally logical—and totally wrong. It never occurred to me that Simon might have other reasons for staying in Greeley House. I wanted him to be the robber, so I put the evidence together so that it looked like he was. No wonder he laughed his head off when I accused him of being the crook.

  Right then and there, I should have given up sleuthing, but of course I didn’t. I must be a glutton for punishment. No, I see the lock on the door and the NO TRESPASSING sign, and I poke my nose into things all over again. The thing is, I’m no better at it this time around than I was before.

  The only difference is that now I think the Spence sisters are the thieves—even though there’s no way they could be. When the people were being robbed in Kaleden, the twins were on the ghost walk in Witcombe. During this morning’s robbery, they were visiting a local museum with a pile of other people. The only time they were at the scene of one of the robberies was at the antique store, but that time Agatha Spence was one of the victims. Who robs themselves?

  “Give it up, Christine,” I scold myself aloud. “The twins are not the thieves.”

  There has to be a logical reason for one of them being here this morning and having a key to the locked door. There’s also got to be an explanation for how she got back to town so fast.

  Maybe the little room with the window will tell me something. I hurry across the yard. Cupping my hands around my eyes to cut out the glare of the sun, I press my face against the glass.

  All I see is total darkness. I can’t even make out shadows. I pull away from the window and immediately realize what the problem is. Someone has covered the inside
of the window with black paper. Obviously, Agatha—or Hilary—doesn’t want me seeing what’s inside. Why? What are they hiding?

  “Nothing!” I yell to the air. “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” But it doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I can’t make myself believe it.

  I check the time. Yikes! It’s 12:40. I only have twenty minutes to get to the antique shop. I call Aunt Maude to let her know I’m on my way, and then I race back to town.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m thinking maybe I should bounce my theory off someone who’s not involved. My mind automatically goes to Simon. He knows about Greeley House and my interest in the robberies. But he’s objective. If my ideas are totally out to lunch, he’ll tell me. He’ll remind me that the thief or thieves don’t have to be hiding out in Witcombe. Since the robberies have occurred all over the Okanagan Valley, the crook could be staying anywhere. The thief might actually live in the Okanagan and have a home here—even a job! Also, he’ll tell me that if he’d had a good reason for holing up in Greeley House, the Spence sisters probably do too. Besides, they’re not living in the mansion. They’re staying in a cottage. All I know for sure is that they have a key for the padlock. Just because I saw one of them go inside doesn’t mean she’s hiding stolen goods. Maybe the place is for sale and a realtor gave her the key to the padlock so she could look around.

  I smile to myself. Just by trying to think like Simon, I’ve come up with a pile of explanations for what I’ve seen, and none of them point to a crime. Clearly, I’ve been letting my imagination run away with me.

  By the time I arrive at the antique shop, I’m pretty much thinking like a normal person again. This is a good thing, because Simon isn’t there to talk sense into me. Aunt Maude says he came by to drop off his stuff and collect the door key, but then he went to work. I’m disappointed. Even though I’ve almost talked myself out of my crime theories, I still want to find out what Simon thinks. After his shift at the pool, he shows up to change his clothes but zooms away again to his restaurant job.

  “I’m off at 11:00,” he says. “We can talk then.”

  The evening drags by. I stare at the television, but I don’t register what I’m watching. I play Scrabble with Aunt Maude, but the longest word I put down is cat.

  “This is a waste of time,” she finally says, wiping the tiles off the board with a sweep of her arm. “The goldfish is more competition than you. Where’s your head tonight, girl? It certainly isn’t here.”

  I shrug. There’s no way I’m telling her I’m counting the minutes until I can talk with Simon. She’ll think there’s something romantic between us. And if she thinks that, she might un-invite him to be her night watchman.

  “It’s just one of those days,” I say. I stand and push in my chair. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not very good company. I may as well go to bed. Goodnight, Aunt Maude.” I squeeze her shoulder and kiss the top of her head.

  She pats my hand. “Goodnight, Christine. I think I’ll hit the hay too. At my age, you can’t get too much beauty sleep. Tomorrow is another day. What do you say we start it off with a big breakfast?”

  “Pizza?” I tease.

  “Actually, I was thinking spaghetti and meatballs with garlic toast.” She winks.

  She’s teasing—I think. I give her shoulder another squeeze. “Even better. See you in the morning.”

  After cleaning my teeth and washing my face, I crawl under the covers with my clothes on. There’s no way I’m letting Simon see me in my pajamas. On the other hand, if Aunt Maude comes into my room, I don’t want her asking why I’m still in my clothes.

  I peer at the clock beside the bed. It’s 10:30. Simon won’t be back for a while. Until then, I have to make sure I stay awake—and hope Aunt Maude falls asleep.

  No worries on that front. Before I know it, she’s snoring. When I hear the back door of the shop clicking shut, I look at the clock again. It’s 11:15.

  Grabbing the mini-flashlight from the night table, I throw back the covers, tiptoe to the door and open it. Aunt Maude is still snoring. I slip into the hall and quietly make my way down to the antique shop. The blinds are closed, so except for a crack of light under the door of the storeroom, the shop is in darkness. I aim the flashlight beam at the floor and follow the dim path it creates.

  Simon opens the door before I can knock. It happens so quickly and unexpectedly that I scream—sort of. It’s actually more of a squeak, but Simon yanks me into the storeroom and closes the door.

  “Ssshhhh. You’ll wake your aunt.”

  “You scared me!” I say in my defense.

  “Sorry. Have a seat.” He gestures toward the cot.

  I look around for a chair. There isn’t one. The idea of sitting on Simon’s bed feels weird—I mean, the guy is totally hot. But there are no other options, so I sit.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  I’ve been waiting all day to get Simon’s take on things, but now that the moment has arrived, I’m embarrassed to tell him about my sleuthing.

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “If it’s funny, I’ll probably laugh. I like laughing. Why would I promise not to?”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “Thanks a lot. You’re not making this easy, you know.”

  He sighs. “Okay, fine. You want easy? How about this? You’ve found a new suspect for the Okanagan robberies.”

  My jaw literally drops open. “How can you know that?”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “Magic.”

  I swat him. “No. Seriously. Why would you say that?”

  “Think about it, Christine. You and I hardly know each other. I saw you on the ghost walk and at the pool. I served you at the restaurant. What is the one thing we have in common?” He doesn’t even give me a chance to answer. “Greeley House and the robberies. And since you were staking the place out before, I’m guessing you’ve been at it again. And now you think you know who the thief is.” He pauses. “Am I close?”

  I scowl and nod. “And you think I’m being dumb.”

  He shakes his head and puts up his hands. “I never said that. Like you said before—somebody’s gotta be the thief. Your theories are as good as anyone else’s. The police sure haven’t solved the case. So now that I’m off your hit list—I am off it, right?”

  When I offer him an unamused sneer, he smiles and continues. “So who do you think the crook is?”

  “The Spence sisters,” I say and wait for Simon to split a gut laughing.

  He doesn’t. “Those twin old ladies who were on the ghost walk?”

  I nod.

  “What makes you suspect them?”

  “Because one of them has a key for the padlock on Greeley House.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw her use it to get in today.”

  “Really? That is interesting.”

  “Interesting, yes, but it doesn’t prove anything.” I tell him about the twin beating me back to town. Then I outline all the other holes in my theory. “And the Spence sisters have an alibi for every robbery. They are always somewhere else with a ton of witnesses.”

  Instead of agreeing with me, Simon says, “That in itself is suspicious.”

  “Why?”

  “The first law of magic is that things are not what they seem. A magician draws people’s eyes away from what he’s doing. He makes them see what he wants them to see. The mind jumps to conclusions by the power of suggestion. The twins told you their car was at the service station, but was it? Maybe the one twin did know of another exit from Greeley House. Maybe Agatha wasn’t robbed. Maybe she only said she was to draw suspicion away from herself.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure, why not? I think the twins wanted to be noticed at other places so no one would suspect them. But people aren’t watching them the whole time. They stand out when they want to be noticed—like wearing the zebra-stripe
dresses, and they blend in when they want to be inconspicuous. You may have thought they were on the ghost walk the whole time, but maybe one of them disappeared for a while and you didn’t notice.”

  “I don’t know, Simon. It seems like a stretch to me. Not that it matters. Either way, we’ll know in a couple of days.”

  “How’s that?”

  “That’s when they’re heading home. They told me today. If they leave and the robberies stop, we’ll know it was them. If the robberies continue, they’re innocent.”

  Simon’s face breaks into a grin. “Unless we catch them in the act before then.”

  I frown. “And how are we going to manage that?”

  That’s when the storeroom door swings open and Aunt Maude says, “Precisely what I was wondering.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s midnight. Aunt Maude and I sit in darkness, staring out my bedroom window at the street below. The shops are closed, and the sidewalks that bustled with people during the day are empty. It’s dark except for a few puddles of light cast by ancient streetlights. Witcombe is asleep.

  We can see the other side of the street, but anyone who might be walking on our side is hidden. Simon, on guard in the shop below, will be the first to know if someone tries to break in. But Aunt Maude and I watch anyway.

  “Do you think the twins will take the bait?” I whisper.

  “I guess it depends on how convincing our performance was this afternoon and if they’re the thieves,” Aunt Maude replies.

  I feel a grin creep across my face. “Oscar nominations in our future for sure.”

  Aunt Maude chuckles. “I don’t know about that, but it was certainly fun. I’m sorry my exit came so early in the scene. I would have liked to see the sisters’ reaction.”

  “When you stormed out of the restaurant, they were hooked. All I had to do was reel them in.”

  “So what happened after I left?”