A Crossworder's Delight by Nero Blanc Page B

said. “Who knew this set-in-his-ways curmudgeon had it in him to go all sensitive and gooey?”
    Al’s response to this comment was a sheepish shrug. Then he picked up another ice-coated stick and threw it for Skippy to chase. “So, no more criminal investigation out at the inn, huh?” he asked, his eyes dotingly following the dog as he bounded away, kicking up foamy clouds of snow. Added to this backdrop of frolicking canines, friendly humans, sleds, plastic saucers, and a blur of kids’ faces as they roared down the hill was a picture-perfect afternoon: the sky a cloudless cobalt blue, a lemon-colored sun, evergreens dense with white, and the wonderful stillness that follows any storm.
    â€œLooks that way,” Rosco answered, although he frowned as he spoke. “But there’s still something weird about this. Morgan called me to tell me all was resolved—a ‘prank,’ bla, bla, bla … ‘terribly sorry for wasting your time, but you know how easily Mitchell jumps to conclusions,’ etc., etc…. Belle just mentioned that the whole thing could be a PR gimmick.”
    Lever nodded and again tossed the stick for the excited and now anxiously barking Skippy. “Could be … although publicity involving a supposed theft could backfire in a major way.… On the other hand—I’m sure it’s entered your mind, Poly—Crates—the so-called crime might be no more than an escalating spat between the inn’s two owners. Someone teaching someone else a lesson?”
    Rosco paused a moment before speaking. “Yes, it has. The scenario goes something like this—and Belle can corroborate because she heard them having a similar argument just before the poem disappeared: Morgan’s been increasingly concerned about protecting and insuring the inn’s collection of antiques; he wants to dispense with the originals and replace them with reproductions. Mitch says ixnay—it’s the real deal or nothing—which leads Morgan to pilfer the piece, albeit briefly, just to show his twin how easy it is for valuable antiques to ‘walk.’ Lesson learned: there’s no point in keeping all those pricey collectibles around.”
    â€œI can’t believe Morgan would play such a nasty trick on Mitchell,” Belle said. “On the other hand, there was real tension between them the other day.” As she spoke she pulled a well-worn tennis ball from Kit’s mouth and drew her right arm back in preparation for a mighty throw. This time, both Rosco and Al flinched and ducked to the side. “Cowards,” she chortled. “What’s the point of tossing a ball if you know in advance where it’s going to land?”
    â€œThere’s a new concept for major league baseball,” was Al’s amused reply. “Instead of one guy at bat, you’ve got the whole team, and a pitcher firing off random curveballs.”
    â€œWhich might help some of the pitiful underdogs get a run or two when they go up against the Sox,” Rosco added.
    Belle shook her head. “I hope you two realize how unbearably smug you’ve become since Boston finally won a World Series.”
    Their reaction to this accusation was to look even more self-satisfied, but Belle’s expression grew suddenly serious, and her arm dropped to her side, much to Kit’s disappointment. “The police department in Boston would keep homicide records dating from the 1940s, wouldn’t it, Al?”
    Lever looked at Belle. “What is it about your tone of voice that tells me I don’t want to get involved in this?” was his cagey answer.
    â€œBut it would, wouldn’t it?” she persisted.
    Al turned to Rosco. “You’ve been hired to solve a very cold case up in Beantown? Is that it …? Happy holidays. Find a murderer who whacked an innocent victim sixty-plus years ago.… My math makes that an octogenarian