was guilty of killing Lightning Joe Walsh.
Gramps and Mrs. Wilson were still talking about the good old days when I said good-bye and left to go to Missing Pieces. I didn’t take Treasure with me, since he was licking his lips and waiting patiently for a little cream from Gramps when he was finished with his coffee. For a man who’d never wanted a pet, Gramps had sure done a great job of spoiling the cat.
I left the golf cart at home and walked to the Duck Shoppes. A stiff wind had picked up, rattling the bushes and blowing trash along the road. I reminded myself to put in an order for the public works people to do some trash patrol. It was probably coming from people not putting the lids down tight on their trash cans.
The first thing I noticed as I walked into the parking lot was a TV news crew from Virginia Beach. A van was parked outside the coffee shop.
I saw Chris and Jamie talking to two people—one with a microphone and the other with a video camera. It seemed Duck was going to get some attention for the odd murder. The media usually wasn’t interested in us, but I knew the businesses that were still open would be happy to have them there.
I avoided the news crew and scuttled up the stairs to the boardwalk. The freezing wind was fierce coming off the sound. I was glad to slam the shop door on it. I put on the kettle and put away my jacket and bag. It seemed unlikely that there would be any customers on a day like this, but there was always something to do.
La Donna Nelson found me there an hour later cleaning a set of 1886 silver I’d acquired a few weeks before. She was a member of the town council and Chief Michaels’s sister. She and I had always gotten along, frequently agreeing on the issues we faced as a town.
“Just in time for tea.” I put out another cup as she came in shivering. It was my third cup of the morning but who was counting?
The wind was whipping at her ankle-length brown skirt, coat and scarf. Her long grayish brown hair was pulled back from her face with a wide, knitted headband.
“I shouldn’t have put this off for so long.” She closed the door with an extra push. “The weather was better last week, but I was so busy with other things. I’ll take that tea, Dae, thanks.”
We both sat down on the burgundy brocade sofa, our hands wrapped around the warm mugs. I complimented her on the knitted headband. It had a few beads woven into it. She told me her granddaughter, who was taking textile design in college, had made them for a marketing project.
La Donna was there to scrounge up whatever I could spare for the St. Vincent’s Church annual bazaar the following week. I told her I’d find some things for her and bring them over.
Talk, of course, led to Mad Dog and everything that had happened in the last few days.
“I still don’t believe it.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Randal isn’t a killer. It was so long ago—how will they ever be sure what really happened?”
“I don’t know.” I told her what little I knew about his arrest, excluding what I was supposed to keep to myself, according to Chief Michaels. He was her brother. Maybe he’d told her the rest. “I don’t know if they
can
be sure. So far everything is circumstantial. Mad Dog and Joe argued. Mad Dog’s car disappeared. Joe was found dead in Mad Dog’s car. That’s not much.”
“They all like to close these old cases. I know Ronnie does. I’m sure your grandfather was the same. It’s like birthday and Christmas rolled into one.”
“It’s so weird after hearing all those old stories about Mad Dog’s racing career. It didn’t seem real to me, I guess, because it happened before I was born. Looking down in that hole and seeing the number twelve car was like seeing a mermaid or something.”
La Donna frowned. “You’re making me feel really old. Stop now.” She took a sip of tea and gazed across the store. “Lightning Joe Walsh has been a legend for the last forty years, and
Gramps and Mrs. Wilson were still talking about the good old days when I said good-bye and left to go to Missing Pieces. I didn’t take Treasure with me, since he was licking his lips and waiting patiently for a little cream from Gramps when he was finished with his coffee. For a man who’d never wanted a pet, Gramps had sure done a great job of spoiling the cat.
I left the golf cart at home and walked to the Duck Shoppes. A stiff wind had picked up, rattling the bushes and blowing trash along the road. I reminded myself to put in an order for the public works people to do some trash patrol. It was probably coming from people not putting the lids down tight on their trash cans.
The first thing I noticed as I walked into the parking lot was a TV news crew from Virginia Beach. A van was parked outside the coffee shop.
I saw Chris and Jamie talking to two people—one with a microphone and the other with a video camera. It seemed Duck was going to get some attention for the odd murder. The media usually wasn’t interested in us, but I knew the businesses that were still open would be happy to have them there.
I avoided the news crew and scuttled up the stairs to the boardwalk. The freezing wind was fierce coming off the sound. I was glad to slam the shop door on it. I put on the kettle and put away my jacket and bag. It seemed unlikely that there would be any customers on a day like this, but there was always something to do.
La Donna Nelson found me there an hour later cleaning a set of 1886 silver I’d acquired a few weeks before. She was a member of the town council and Chief Michaels’s sister. She and I had always gotten along, frequently agreeing on the issues we faced as a town.
“Just in time for tea.” I put out another cup as she came in shivering. It was my third cup of the morning but who was counting?
The wind was whipping at her ankle-length brown skirt, coat and scarf. Her long grayish brown hair was pulled back from her face with a wide, knitted headband.
“I shouldn’t have put this off for so long.” She closed the door with an extra push. “The weather was better last week, but I was so busy with other things. I’ll take that tea, Dae, thanks.”
We both sat down on the burgundy brocade sofa, our hands wrapped around the warm mugs. I complimented her on the knitted headband. It had a few beads woven into it. She told me her granddaughter, who was taking textile design in college, had made them for a marketing project.
La Donna was there to scrounge up whatever I could spare for the St. Vincent’s Church annual bazaar the following week. I told her I’d find some things for her and bring them over.
Talk, of course, led to Mad Dog and everything that had happened in the last few days.
“I still don’t believe it.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Randal isn’t a killer. It was so long ago—how will they ever be sure what really happened?”
“I don’t know.” I told her what little I knew about his arrest, excluding what I was supposed to keep to myself, according to Chief Michaels. He was her brother. Maybe he’d told her the rest. “I don’t know if they
can
be sure. So far everything is circumstantial. Mad Dog and Joe argued. Mad Dog’s car disappeared. Joe was found dead in Mad Dog’s car. That’s not much.”
“They all like to close these old cases. I know Ronnie does. I’m sure your grandfather was the same. It’s like birthday and Christmas rolled into one.”
“It’s so weird after hearing all those old stories about Mad Dog’s racing career. It didn’t seem real to me, I guess, because it happened before I was born. Looking down in that hole and seeing the number twelve car was like seeing a mermaid or something.”
La Donna frowned. “You’re making me feel really old. Stop now.” She took a sip of tea and gazed across the store. “Lightning Joe Walsh has been a legend for the last forty years, and
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