My mouth dropped open. “By Gabe?”
“Yep. It made headlines in the Herald. But until Paige reminded me, I’d forgotten all about it.”
I asked if Lindsey had been arrested also, but Joe didn’t think so.
“There’s more,” he said. “But remember we should separate facts from gossip.”
“Separate what? What, what, what?”
He took a deep breath. “According to Paige—according to the Hilleville High gossip at the time—Lindsey had lots of boyfriends.”
“Travis?”
“Yes, Travis.” He held up a hand when I jumped. “Paige doesn’t know that for a fact, okay? But apparently the guy likes tall women.”
“Lindsey’s tall,” I said.
“And it’s common knowledge Travis uses drugs.”
While we searched again for pictures of Lindsey, Joe wondered out loud if she and Travis might still be friends.
“Not the impression I got today,” I said. “But what else did Paige tell you about Travis?”
“Nothing good. Drugs and alcohol. But she insisted he’s not violent.”
I put down the yearbook, which still contained zero pictures of Lindsey Luke. “Why does everyone stick up for him? You Elizabethans make me bonkers.”
“You’re an Elizabethan, too,” Joe said.
“Hardly.”
We went back to redhead hunting but found nothing.
I leaned back against the bed and sighed. “So much for Mr. Moose Head’s inspiration.”
Joe sat back to join me, and we listened to the rain that had just started up, and to the FN, which had been beeping, burping, and chirping all along. I studied Paige’s bookcase and wondered if I’d find a picture of propulsion pistons in Practical Modeling of Multi-Component Mass Transfer Coefficients.
“How was Bingo?” Joe asked.
“Why weren’t you there?”
“Did you miss me?”
I gave him a withering look, and he mumbled something about a guy can dream. Then he told me he’d been working. I made the mistake of asking for details and thus learned everything I ever wanted to know about re-calibrating the FN451z.
“She’s not cooperating,” he said. “So I’m taking her down to Manchester tomorrow. She has a sister machine there. Hopefully she’ll get straightened out.”
“She?” I said. “Her? You really are a mad scientist.”
“Yep.”
“Speaking of crazy people, I need to go get Bobby.” I glanced at the ceiling, and we listened to the rain. “We walked to Bingo.”
“Maxine was there, wasn’t she? She can drive him home.”
“I’m sure she’d love to get Dad in her car.”
“Among other places.”
Say what? I glanced up, and Joe was staring at me. Was he actually leaning forward?
I quick grabbed a yearbook, but he reached over and took it away. “Come with me.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “I want to show you something.
***
“I can’t believe it’s so big!” I stared, aghast.
“No, Cassie. That’s the generator.” Joe turned me around. “That’s the FN451z.”
I stared, aghast again, and the FN blurted out the usual beeps, burps, and chirps.
“I can’t believe it’s so small!” I said. “How can anything that little make so much noise?”
Joe smiled. “Lots of little things pack a big punch.”
Chapter 18
“Beverly Crick is going bra shopping today,” Dad informed me.
“And I need to know this at 5 a.m.?”
“It’s 5:20.”
Since it’s impossible to roll your eyes when they’re closed, I resigned myself to waking up. I sat up and yawned at my father, who was, of course, seated in the rocking chair next to my bed.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Beverly won the grand prize last night.”
FYI, the grand prize at Lake Bess Bingo is always a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Xavier’s Department Store in Hilleville.
“See what you missed by leaving early?” Dad said.
“Evert Osgood left early also,” I said. “He made a point of giving me a ride home.”
Dad stopped rocking. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. Miss Rusty saw something, Dad.” I patted the bed for Charlie to join me. “So now, if I can get her to corroborate her story with Rose and Ruby—”
“You’re nuts.”
“Speaking of lunatics.” I raised an eyebrow. “Did Maxine give you a ride home?”
Dad scowled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Joe thinks she likes you.”
“As you would say, spare me.” My father gave me the same look I was giving him. “You’re spending a lot of time with Joe lately.”
“Spare me.”
“Why aren’t you married, Cassie?”
“Da-aad. It’s way too early to get into that again.”
“Joe would make a good husband.”
“Spare me!” I shooed Charlie away and got up. And while Bobby lamented his woeful, grandchild-less state, I rummaged around in my closet and came out with a handful of wrinkled stuff. “I’m going kayaking,” I said. “I’ll paddle over to the store for the newspaper.”
“Why didn’t you marry Kyle?”
“Kyle Caprio is a pompous ass.”
“Joe Wylie isn’t a pompous ass.”
“Nope. He’s a mad scientist.”
“And you’re cute as a button, intelligent, and charming. You’re quite a catch, girl.”
I showed Charlie the ratty old Hawaiian shirt I was holding. “Next thing you know, he’ll be saying I’m a snappy dresser.”
Dad shrugged. “One minor flaw. And you do have that problem with patience. But still.”
“Why aren’t you married?” I asked. “You’re cute and smart. And you really are charming, and a snappy dresser, and patient.” I winked at Charlie. “No wonder Maxine has a crush on you.”
“I’ll tell you who has a crush on whom.”
“I do not have a crush on Joe.”
“Well, you should. He has a crush on you.”
“Spare me.” I stood in my bathroom doorway, but my father still didn’t get the hint.
“Why do you think he’s over here all the time, girl?”
“Because you invite him. And can we please stop talking like we’re sixteen? Crushes. Sheesh!”
“You’re right.” Dad got up and called to Charlie. “Joe’s far too dignified to harbor a crush.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I called after them.
“You’re a big girl. Figure it out.”
***
“How do I look?” Dad asked as he came down the stairs.
I glanced up from loading our Cheerios bowls into the dishwasher, he stood at attention, and I assessed his outfit. Bobby wore linen slacks, a blue linen sport coat, and his favorite bow tie—the one with R2D2 and C3PO on it. “As Bambi would say, hunky-boo.”
“Girl,” he scolded. “Do I look like a successful author? Do I look professional?”
“Absolutely.” I smiled and assured my father he had risen to the occasion, as usual.
But the occasion itself was a bit unusual. Dad was driving to Albany, New York for a science fiction convention. And even more exciting than me getting a whole day to myself, he was finally going to meet his favorite author, Lucille Saxby. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks, and was one of three lucky fans to win a private interview. Of course he planned on telling the amazing Ms. Saxby all about Chance Dooley.
“I’m so nervous!” Dad said as Charlie and I walked him out to his car. “Lucille Saxby. In the flesh!”
“You have all the books you want her to autograph?” I asked, and he tapped his satchel. “And some copies of your stories to show her?” Tap, tap. “Be sure to mention Chance’s propulsion pistons problem,” I said. “Maybe she’ll have some suggestions.”
“Good Lord! Do you thi
nk she’ll be that interested?”
“Absolutely.” I opened the car door and handed Dad a thermos of coffee. He gave me a peck on the cheek and climbed in.
“Cassie, wait.” He held the door open and asked about my plans for the day.
I pointed to the Jolly Green Monster.
“You’ll stay out of trouble?”
“Promise,” I said and crossed my fingers behind my back.
“Uncross your fingers,” he told me.
***
Sarah Bliss wasn’t exactly trouble, but she was troublesome. And she was, of course, guarding the entrance to the sheriff’s office. “This is becoming a bad habit,” she said.
I agreed wholeheartedly and asked to see Gabe. And for the second morning in a row, endured that uncomfortable vinyl chair and Sarah’s uncomfortable stares, before Gabe rescued me.
“What’s up?” he asked as we took our seats in his office.
“Travis La Barge,” I said. “I think he’s behind all this.”
Gabe frowned. “What happened to your Fox Cove Inn theory?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve talked to more people.”
“Figures.”
I cleared my throat. “Fanny Baumgarten, Lindsey Luke, and Evert Osgood all agree that Travis is somehow responsible.”
“He was in Montpelier.”
“No. He was in Mallard Cove.”
“Then how come no one saw him? How come you didn’t see him?”
“I was flustered.”
“Figures.”
I took a deep breath. “Fanny’s convinced he was there,” I said. “And everyone knows Fanny’s always right. And you yourself told me Miss Rusty barked at something. Evert thinks she barked at Travis, and he fed her something to shut her up. Miss Rusty had no appetite for breakfast that morning.”
Gabe shook his head. “That’s your proof? You need to stop harassing your neighbors, Cassie. I’m getting complaints.”
“Oh, please. From who?”
“Who do you think? From Travis. From his mother.” Gabe picked up a pen and started clicking. “Do you know Janet La Barge?”
“Not personally. But I’ve seen her campaign commercials for her husband.”
“She’s threatening to get me fired unless I rein you in.”
“You’re an elected official, Gabe.”
“Even so.” Click, click. “I need you to cool it, Cassie.”
I stared at the pen. “You realize Janet’s behavior fits with what I’m saying? She’s protecting her son because he murdered that woman.”
“Or the opposite,” Gabe said. “Travis has nothing to do with it, and his mother’s upset he’s being accused of murder.”
It took me a minute to think of a comeback. “How about this?” I sat forward. “Since we can’t prove he was at Mallard Cove, let’s prove he wasn’t in Montpelier. Have you checked with Cars! Cars! Cars! to verify his story?” I asked. “Or Mandy’s?”
He stopped clicking. “Who’s Mandy?”
“Ga-aabe! It’s the bar in Montpelier. Travis claims he was there Monday night. Can’t you at least check his alibis?”
“No can do.”
“What? Why?”
“Think, will you? Without a body, there is no crime.” He dropped the pen. “I can’t spy on private citizens for no good reason. It’s illegal.”
“Yep,” I said. “And so is murder.”
Chapter 19
“You’re kidding me, right?” Bambi asked.
“No. I’m serious.”
“You’re seriously, right now, in Montpelier, spying on the La Barges?”
“Someone has to.” I glanced at the mansion across the street from where I was parked. “The sheriff says it’s illegal for him to do it.”
“Perfect! The sheriff said no, so you rushed straight over to confront someone you just told me you suspect of murder.”
“I don’t intend to confront anyone right this minute. And I didn’t rush. I drove home to let Charlie out, first. And then Mr. Hooper’s cows delayed me some more.”
FYI, the drive from Lake Elizabeth to Montpelier normally takes about twenty minutes. But this is Vermont, and normal is a relative term. The drive takes a lot longer if the cows at the Hooper farm decide they need a change of scenery while you happen to be driving by. Traffic in both directions waits while the herd of Holsteins walks in cow time—which is slower than Celia-Stump time—across Route 19 and into the pasture on the other side.
“I stopped to smell the cow manure and tried calling you,” I said. “To warn you ahead of time.”
“Let me guess. Your cell phone didn’t work.”
“Mr. Hooper’s cows performing a synchronized dance step would have been more likely.”
While Bambi made some not-so-encouraging noises, I reminded her how lucky it is that cell phones do work within Montpelier city limits. “And luckily, I figured out where the La Barges live.”
“You’re brilliant,” Bambi said. But in case you haven’t quite caught on, she was being sarcastic. Montpelier is the state capital, but it’s a very small city. And considering Crabtree College is there, and I lived there for twenty years, I know my way around, and knew where to find the fanciest neighborhood in town.
“I looked up their address, and here I am,” I said.
“I know I’m going to regret asking this. But what are you doing? How illegal are you?”
“Zero illegal. I’m simply parked out front, watching.”
“Not obvious at all, I’m sure.”
I decided to back up a bit. “They don’t know my Honda.” I stopped the engine again. “And I’m hiding behind a maple tree.”
“Cassie! What exactly do you expect to see? Is the missing body propped up on the front stoop?”
“Nooo.” I stared in front of me. “The only things I see are the three or four thousand Ross the Boss for Governor posters decorating the front lawn.”
Bambi groaned.
“I’d love to go inside and snoop around,” I said. “Take a peeky in the closets, check under the beds. You know, to see what turns up.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Wacko and Looney Tunes. And after I’m done here, we’ll go to Cars! Cars! Cars!”
“We?”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Remind me why I answered the phone.”
“And after the car lot, we’ll go to Mandy’s for lunch. My treat.”
“Remind me why I answered the pho—”
“Holy moly!” I hunkered down. “You will never guess who just drove up!”
“The dead redhead?”
“Nooo! It’s Travis.” I watched him park and walk inside. “I’d love to take a peeky in his car,” I said. “Do you think I’d get caught?”
“Do you think at all?”
***
“Ross the Boss for governor! A car in every garage!”
Bambi and I stared at the banner hanging over the entrance at Cars! Cars! Cars! Unlike that sign, or the American flag that can probably be seen from Whoozit, we were being discreet. We had parked in the strip mall across the street, and we were gathering up our nerve.
“What does that slogan even mean?” Bambi asked.
I grinned. “It means Ross the Boss is busy on the campaign trail and not here.”
“Would he recognize you?”
I doubted it. But I still felt better knowing he was preoccupied elsewhere.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked as I started the car.
“Easy.” I said. “I’ll pretend to be looking for a used car, and you’ll pretend to help me.”
“Cassie, wait.” She put a hand out, and I killed the engine.
“For what?”
“We need a clearer plan—a more precise experiment.”
“You sound like Joe Wylie.”
“Ooo! That’s good.”
“What is?”
Bambi pointed to the car lot. “We’ll say you’re buying your boyfriend Joe
a truck for his birthday—”
“Joe’s not my boyfriend.”
“And I’m here to help since you don’t know anything about trucks.”
“And you do?”
“My brother has one.”
I rolled my eyes, and Bambi said something about aliases.
“I’ll be Barbara Smith. And you’re Cassandra Jones.”
I tilted my head. “Is your full name really Barbara?”
“Do you think I’d use Bambi if it were?”
I started the engine again, but she grabbed my arm.
“What now?”
“Patience is a virtue,” she said, and I rolled my eyes again. “I mean it, Cassie. The more time we spend in there, the more we find out. We need to browse, and you need to act very indecisive and confused.”
“That won’t be hard.”
***
A group of salesmen swarmed my car, but only one of them won the battle.
He opened my door and yanked me out. “How are you ladies today? It’s a fine day, isn’t it? Might be some rain later on, though. Larry Suggs here. What can I do to put you ladies in the car of your dreams?”
I backed away, but Bambi seemed perfectly at ease. She came around from the passenger side and introduced herself. “I’m Dr. Barbara Smith.” She held out her hand. “And this is Dr. Cassandra Jones.”
“Lady doctors!” Larry leered. “Want to take my temperature?”
I curled my lip while Dr. Smith told the fool we were college professors. “Dr. Jones is looking for a truck for her boyfriend,” she explained. “Joe wants a big truck for his birthday. Isn’t that right, Cassandra?”
I squeaked something incoherent, and Larry led us to the trucks, where we proceeded to “browse.”
Pussy-footing around is more like it. I spent at least ten minutes listening to Larry and Bambi-Barbara debate the ins and outs of bed capacity and four-wheel drive before interrupting.
“So, Larry,” I said as we inspected a gigantic red truck. “Does Ross the Boss think he’ll win this fall?” I ignored Bambi’s frown and smiled sweetly. “He’s exactly what Vermont needs—someone with good solid business sense.”
“Mr. La Barge usually gets what he wants,” Larry said. “And Mrs. La Barge always does. Now then.” He rubbed his palms together. “Which of these beauties can I interest you in, little lady?”
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