“Go home!” he shouted, and everyone ran for cover.
Chapter 11
I opened one eye, checked the time, and told my father he drives me nuts.
“Why? I let you sleep in.”
FYI, it was 5:30, and Dad was, of course, sitting in the rocking chair next to my bed. That particular morning he had his laptop open and was busy typing. “What’s another word for rudder?” he asked.
I looked at Charlie. “How about tail?” I sat up and patted the covers, and he jumped up to join me.
“You spoil him, girl.”
I hugged the dog, and he spread his sixty-pound bulk across my lap. “Charlie protected me from the big bad thunderstorm last night.”
“I hope he didn’t protect you from Joe.” Dad looked up. “Did lightning strike?”
“Spare me.”
“You kids were out late.”
“Keep wiggling your eyebrows like that, and this kid will tell you nothing.”
The eyebrows halted mid-wiggle, and I told my father what I had learned from Joe.
“Ghosts?” Dad asked.
“But even more fascinating than the ghost-guys is that missing variable, right? The missing paddles.”
“More proof something fishy was going on.”
“I need to talk to the sheriff again,” I said.
“But only after breakfast.” Bobby closed his laptop and stood up. “Pancakes?”
***
“Brace yourself,” Dad said when I entered the kitchen a while later.
I stopped short and stared at the Hanahan Herald lying on the table. Unlike the daily paper from Montpelier, which we pick up for ourselves at the Lake Store, the county newspaper gets delivered to our door every Wednesday morning. Tater Ott, the child who likes to go fishing, is our delivery boy.
“How bad is it?” I asked from a safe distance.
“There’s a nice picture of you.”
I gasped. “In my pajamas?”
“No. Maxine promised she wouldn’t do that.”
I stepped over to take a peek. “It’s on the front page,” I whined.
“I told you to brace yourself.”
***
I slumped into a chair, and Dad brought me a cup of coffee with ridiculous amounts of milk in it. He hovered over my left shoulder. “It could be worse,” he said.
“How?”
“It’s a flattering photograph,” he said, and I stared at a picture only my father could consider even remotely flattering.
“She took that when I caught her spying under our kitchen window,” I said. “I’m snarling.”
“But only a little.”
I read the caption. “HELP!” it said. “Please help Cassie Baxter find her body!”
“Maybe no one will pay much attention,” Dad suggested.
I glanced up. He cleared his throat and went back to flipping pancakes. “Read it to Charlie,” he said.
Oh, why not? And so I read “Lake Bess Lore,” Maxine’s weekly column, out loud. “DEAD BODY SIGHTED!!!” I began.
“Oh, yeah,” I told Charlie. “People are bound to skip right over this.”
He wagged his tail, and I continued, “Never a dull moment at Lake Bess! According to my new neighbor, Cassie Baxter, we’re missing a body! All the hullabaloo started bright and early Tuesday morning, when Cassie set out to stir up mischief in Mallard Cove. Why she insisted on kayaking at 4 a.m. is anyone’s guess, and we Elizabethans are still trying to figure out why she went bird watching in her pajamas!?!?”
I got up to show my father. “What do you think of this punctuation, Mr. English Teacher?”
“I think Maxine would earn an ‘F’ on her essay. ‘Hyperbole’ I’d write in big hyperbolic letters in the margins.”
I sat back down, and skimmed and paraphrased the part about the Lake Store dock. “I found a body. Commotion, commotion … I lost a body. Commotion, commotion … Wild goose chase, commotion, fire department, commotion, youngsters from the state park, commotion.
“Oh, but I must read this next part verbatim.” I tapped the paper and read, “What with all the sirens and whistles, and with Cassie jumping up and down and screaming like that, it’s a wonder folks down in Hilleville didn’t hear!!!”
“Three exclamation points,” I said. “And I did not jump up and down.”
“Yes, you did,” Dad said.
“I didn’t scream.”
“Yes, you did.”
I kept reading. “Despite the commotion, no body was found! NO BODY!!!”
“More unnecessary capitalization, more exclamation points,” I said.
“More hyperbole,” Bobby said.
I continued, “Folks hereabouts are wondering what poor Cassie Baxter really did see in Mallard Cove. But never fear! Your reporter spoke to Sheriff Gabe personally, and we’d like to give poor Cassie the benefit of the doubt. We think she did see a redheaded lady, but the lady was taking a nap.”
I looked up as Dad set a plate of pancakes in front of me. “I’m so relieved Sheriff Gabe and Maxine are in perfect agreement.”
“Keep reading.”
I took a deep breath. “Poor Cassie is spending every waking moment fretting about her dead lady,” I read. “But Sheriff Gabe has proven his mettle on tougher cases than this. Let’s hope he comes up with an explanation for poor Cassie real soon. In the meantime, anyone with any information should call me or the sheriff. Anything to help poor Cassie!!!”
I slammed down the paper.
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Dad suggested. “It will get people’s attention.”
“Old man! Not two minutes ago you said no one would pay much attention. Which is it?”
“I was wrong earlier.” Bobby sat down with his own plate. “Remember what happened when your mother died? A little publicity is a good thing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I am right,” Dad insisted. “Now people from all over the county will be on the lookout for your redhead.”
“Yep,” I said. “And now people from all around the county will think ‘poor Cassie’ is a complete lunatic.”
“Whereas some of us know for sure.”
***
Dad asked me to pass the maple syrup. “Anything else?” he asked, and I returned to “Lake Bess Lore.”
“The Congregational Church is hosting a potluck picnic next weekend.” I skimmed Maxine’s list of upcoming Elizabethan birthdays and anniversaries. “Tater Ott turns twelve on Sunday, and Oden Poquette’s goats destroyed Brooke Ferland’s prize peony bush last Saturday.”
I tapped the paper and read, “You may recall, the peonies from that exact same bush earned Brooke the blue ribbon at last year’s county fair. What a shame!”
I scowled at Charlie. “Why is it so hard to keep those goats in one spot?”
“Don’t ask Charlie,” Dad said. “He’s from Hoboken.”
Chapter 12
“Well, well. If it isn’t Miss Looney Tunes.” The thirty-something receptionist at the Hanahan County sheriff’s office adjusted her glasses and puckered her nose. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your pajamas.”
“You’ve never seen me in my pajamas.”
“But your reputation precedes you, babe. Great article in the Herald.” She snickered, and I noticed the nameplate on her desk. Sarah Bliss.
Perfect. I shook my head and asked to see the sheriff.
“Take a number.” She pointed me to the deserted reception area, I assumed that made me number one, and sat down on a beige vinyl chair about as inviting as Ms. Bliss herself.
***
“Cassie Baxter!” Gabe Cleghorn finally emerged from the hallway.
I dropped the brochures about keeping kids off drugs I’d been feigning interest in and stood up. “Any news?”
“I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“With news?”
Gabe tilted his head Sarah Bliss-ward and silently led me to his office. Along the way we passed a closed door with
a scrap of paper taped to it. So Gabe actually had a deputy that week? According to the Herald this is a rare occurrence. The seriously low pay tends to keep the job open.
I took the chair Gabe indicated in his office and he moved around the desk. “Sorry about Sarah,” he said as he sat down. “She comes on kind of strong, but she does a good job around here.”
“She made me feel right at home.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me you found the body.”
“No can do.”
“Well then, hopefully these will help.” I took a slip of paper from my purse and slid it across the desk. “I put some notes together after breakfast this morning.”
“Waffles?”
“Pancakes,” I said pleasantly and pointed to my notes. “It’s a few things I thought of since yesterday.”
“Five-ten, and wearing shorts and a tee-shirt,” Gabe read. “Not much here.”
“But the fact that there were no paddles is significant. Somebody had to put her out there, right?”
Gabe looked up.
“And she couldn’t remove herself from the lake without paddles, either,” I said.
“You must not have seen the paddles.”
“Because there were none.”
“That you noticed.”
I took a deep breath. “Maybe you should tell me what you learned,” I suggested.
“Nothing.” He put down my notes. “I spent all day yesterday trying to verify your story. I got nowhere.”
“Someone’s lying to you, Gabe. I’m convinced someone killed that woman.”
“What, like murdered?”
“Yes. Like murdered.”
He picked up a pen and started clicking it on and off. “How?”
“I don’t know, but somebody sure does.” I hesitated. “Maybe somebody at the Fox Cove Inn?”
“Nope.” Click, click. “No one at the B and B saw anything.”
“Maybe you should try again,” I said. “I think Arlene Pearson lied to you.”
Gabe stopped clicking. “Are you accusing her of murder?”
I bit my lip. Was I?
“Probably not,” I said. “But she’s hiding something. I have it from a reliable source that the Fox Cove must be involved in this.”
“Oh, really? What source?”
“Josiah Wylie. He’s my neighbor.”
Gabe laughed out loud. “Figures,” he said. “Since Joe has such an unbiased opinion of the Fox Cove.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Joe.”
“Okay, I will,” I said. “But what about Mallard Cove?” I asked. “Did you learn anything there?”
“Nothing.” Gabe explained that no one had even been home at the La Barges since Ross the Boss was campaigning down in Woodstock, Janet was in Montpelier, and Travis was staying there, too.
“But he lives in Mallard Cove, right?”
“Yes, but he works at Cars! Cars! Cars! On the days he works back-to-back he ‘crashes,’ as he put it, at their house in Montpelier.”
“You talked to him?”
“I did my job.” The sheriff started clicking his pen again. “I called Travis. And before you ask, I talked to Fanny Baumgarten and Evert Osgood in person.” Click, click. “Evert was awake, you know. He’s working on Interstate 89 this week, so he was up at the crack of dawn to drive down to Richmond.”
“Terrific. Did Evert see anything?”
“I already told you. Nothing. He’s half deaf, but he claims he heard his dog bark.”
“Miss Rusty?” I sat forward. “Maybe she was barking at the dead woman. Or the murderer.”
“Nooo. She was barking at the goats. Did you hear her?”
I reminded him I’d been kind of flustered.
“Figures,” he said. “So that leaves Fanny Baumgarten.”
“Did she see anything?”
“Excuse me?”
I grimaced and apologized for my choice of words.
Gabe nodded. “Fanny’s old and blind,” he said, “but she does alright. She spends most of her time on her upstairs porch overlooking Mallard Cove. Unbelievable, but she was awake, too.” He clicked his pen. “And she heard something.”
“Miss Rusty?”
“And you.” Click, click. “Fanny Baumgarten heard you talking.” Click. “To the supposed dead woman.”
***
I stared at the pen and swallowed a few colorful words. “I told her to move,” I said.
“About twenty times,” Gabe said. “Why didn’t you mention this yesterday?”
“I didn’t remember until now.”
“Why were you talking to someone who was supposedly dead?”
I held up an index finger. “Better question. If she wasn’t dead, why didn’t she move when I told her to?”
“Because she was out cold. And she did move, didn’t she? After you left.”
“Come on, Gabe!”
“No, you come on. You don’t know what you saw or heard. You didn’t notice Fanny, you didn’t hear Miss Rusty—”
“I saw a dead woman.”
Gabe took a deep breath. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve checked for missing persons, I’ve checked for abandoned cars, I’ve questioned people.” He clicked his pen. “I’ve done everything I can, Cassie.”
“Ga-aabe! You can’t just drop this!”
He raised an eyebrow and dropped the pen.
Chapter 13
Dad looked up from his computer. “No body?” he asked.
I stepped into his office and plopped into a rocking chair. “Nothing,” I said. “No one knows anything about anything.” Charlie sauntered over for a pat on the head. “Actually, I take that back. Miss Rusty knows something. And the goats. But Gabe refuses to talk to them.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Wacko and Looney Tunes. Gabe promised to keep his eyes and ears open. And meanwhile I’m supposed to relax.”
“You’re not very good at that.”
“No kidding.” I pointed to the computer. “So distract me. What’s up with Chance Dooley’s propulsion pistons?”
Dad frowned at his computer. “Nothing good there, either. Chance thought he found a mechanic on Whoozit who could help him. But it turns out Zach Cooter doesn’t know a turbo thrust propulsion piston from a plain old reciprocal reverse performance piston. The technology of the Spaceship Destiny is simply too advanced for your average Whooter.”
“Zach Cooter, the Whooter?” I giggled at Charlie. “Does he usually work on scooters?”
“Ooooo. That’s good, girl. Can I use it?”
“Of course,” I said and stood up. “You and Chance can keep working on the Spaceship Destiny, and Charlie and I will work on the Jolly Green Giant.” I tapped my thigh. “Come on, boy.”
“Cassie, wait.”
“For what?”
“You should call Fanny Baumgarten. She called while you were out.”
“Da-aad!” I lunged for the phone on his desk. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.” He handed me a slip of paper with the number on it. “I even tried your cell, but I couldn’t get through.”
“You could have texted,” I said while I punched in the number.
“That doesn’t always work, either. Communicating with planets beyond the Crystal Void is easier than reaching anyone around here by cell ph—”
I waved him to be quiet and spoke to Fanny. She claimed she was anxious to talk to me, but I guess anxious means different things to different people. She asked me to stop by at two.
It was ten o’clock.
“I’d be happy to come by sooner,” I said brightly. “In fact, I could stop by right now.”
“No,” she said. “Two is better. Travis should be awake by then.”
I scowled at my father. “Gabe told me Travis is in Montpelier.”
“No. He’s here in Mallard Cove now. And we want to talk to him, don’t we?”
“Why?”
“Because he’s responsible for the dead girl, isn’t he?”
Suddenly, I had many, many, questions. “You believe she was dead?” I asked.
Fanny hesitated. “You believe she was dead?”
“I know she was dead.”
“Well then, so do I. You’re not blind, are you?”
***
I arrived at Mama Bear at 1:59 sharp, and it started raining at 2:00.
Luckily, Fanny called down to me almost immediately. “Come on up, Cassie.”
I found my way inside and to the upstairs porch, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries.
“This is a great spot,” I said as I glanced around. We were sheltered from the rain but still had a nice view of Mallard Cove, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear. I frowned at my blind hostess. Make that, I had a nice view.
“Let’s have our tea.” Fanny pointed in the direction of a tray laid out with a teapot and three cups, and I expressed some surprise at how delicate things looked.
“If I’m careful I can still do these things,” she said. “Although I will ask you to pour.”
“Is the third cup for Travis?” I asked as we sat down.
“No. Travis isn’t much of a tea drinker.” She explained the extra cup was for her assistant. “I thought it might be Lindsey when you pulled up, but your car sounds different.”
“And then we’ll go see Travis?” I asked, but Fanny had gotten distracted, and I heard a car pull up behind the house.
“We’re on the porch, Love,” she called out, and Lindsey Luke soon appeared. She greeted me and bent down to give Fanny a kiss, inadvertently flashing enough cleavage to stop a speeding locomotive.
“Love made this tea set,” Fanny told me as I poured. “She’s so talented!”
“I just do pottery is all.”
“Just pottery!” Fanny tapped her knee. “You do beautiful work.”
Lindsey reminded her she can’t actually see it. “And Cassie isn’t here to talk about me, anyways,” she said. “She wants to talk about the dead lady.”
“And Travis,” I added. “I want to talk about Travis La Barge.”
“No kidding.” Lindsey pulled a copy of the Herald from her purse and told Fanny that Maxine had outdone herself.
“Love reads me the Herald every Wednesday,” Fanny explained. “It’s our favorite thing.”
Unbelievable Page 6
