then, Patrick Monroe was as famous as Dylan.”
My blank look said it all.
“Bob Dylan,” Ella said. “Patrick Monroe was living in Greenwich Village and writing these incredible, soulful poems about love and loss and longing.”
“Longing for high school girls, you think?”
She twitched her shoulders. “Like I said, I always wondered if he had anything to do with Lucy’s disappearance. Especially since I saw him talking to Lucy at the Beatles concert.”
OK, that did it! I flung my trash bag on the ground and faced Ella down, my hands on my hips. I would have been more imposing in my suede pumps, but the green boots would have to do. “A little something else you might have mentioned?”
She wasn’t as cowed as I expected. In fact, even in the face of my righteous indignation—and it was plenty righteous—Ella had the nerve to smile.
“Pepper!” She wagged a finger in my direction. “You’re not just looking into Lucy’s disappearance to help me out with Ariel. Now that you know Lucy’s story, you’re hooked. You’re going to use your talent for figuring out mysteries and you’re going to find out what really happened to her.”
There was no use denying it. Especially since I wanted to hear about the concert. Right after I admitted my interest in Lucy had taken a very detective-like turn, I asked, “Monroe was there?”
“Oh, well, so were thousands of other people.”
“But you saw him talking to Lucy?”
Ella nodded. “We went up to the ladies’ room during intermission and I thought I got done first so I stepped into the hallway to wait for Lucy. Then I realized she was already out of the restroom. She was standing over near a refreshment stand, talking to Mr. Monroe.”
“About her appointment with the principal?”
Ella shrugged.
“About that F in her poetry class?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Did they look really friendly?”
“I told the police all this,” Ella said. “If they thought there was something between them—”
“So they did look friendly?”
“He had his hand on her arm.”
“And she?”
There was nothing like loyalty that stood the test of time. Ella glanced away. “She didn’t look like she wasn’t enjoying it,” she mumbled. “But really, Pepper, if something was going on between Lucy and Mr. Monroe, she would have told me. We were best friends. We were sisters. I thought he might have had something to do with Lucy’s disappearance, that she might have run away with him or something. But that was just me being young and stupidly romantic. By the time Mr. Monroe came back for that assembly my senior year, I figured he couldn’t have been involved. For one thing, Lucy wasn’t cruel, she wouldn’t have let her parents suffer that long if she could have told them she was OK. For another, if Mr. Monroe had anything to do with it, the cops would have found something out by then. And Mr. Monroe wouldn’t have had the nerve to come back to Shaker. Not if he was responsible for Lucy…you know…going away.”
Ella was probably right. I had no doubt the cops had done all they could to look into Lucy’s vanishing, just like I had no doubt that it would take a guy who was either really twisted or really dumb to show up as guest of honor at the school his victim attended.
But then, who ever said killers were smart?
6
I n terms of my investigation, the logical thing to do was to talk to Lucy about Patrick Monroe and that appointment she had with the principal.
I would have done it, too, except that over the next few days, things got a little out of hand. For one thing, I was so whooped from dragging myself around the cemetery carrying that disgusting trash bag, I didn’t have the energy to get to the rapid, much less ride it. For another, when I finally regained my strength (thanks to a long bubble bath, a facial, and a well-deserved visit to Olga, a wizard with a file and a bottle of nail polish), and gave up my lunch hour on Friday in
My blank look said it all.
“Bob Dylan,” Ella said. “Patrick Monroe was living in Greenwich Village and writing these incredible, soulful poems about love and loss and longing.”
“Longing for high school girls, you think?”
She twitched her shoulders. “Like I said, I always wondered if he had anything to do with Lucy’s disappearance. Especially since I saw him talking to Lucy at the Beatles concert.”
OK, that did it! I flung my trash bag on the ground and faced Ella down, my hands on my hips. I would have been more imposing in my suede pumps, but the green boots would have to do. “A little something else you might have mentioned?”
She wasn’t as cowed as I expected. In fact, even in the face of my righteous indignation—and it was plenty righteous—Ella had the nerve to smile.
“Pepper!” She wagged a finger in my direction. “You’re not just looking into Lucy’s disappearance to help me out with Ariel. Now that you know Lucy’s story, you’re hooked. You’re going to use your talent for figuring out mysteries and you’re going to find out what really happened to her.”
There was no use denying it. Especially since I wanted to hear about the concert. Right after I admitted my interest in Lucy had taken a very detective-like turn, I asked, “Monroe was there?”
“Oh, well, so were thousands of other people.”
“But you saw him talking to Lucy?”
Ella nodded. “We went up to the ladies’ room during intermission and I thought I got done first so I stepped into the hallway to wait for Lucy. Then I realized she was already out of the restroom. She was standing over near a refreshment stand, talking to Mr. Monroe.”
“About her appointment with the principal?”
Ella shrugged.
“About that F in her poetry class?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Did they look really friendly?”
“I told the police all this,” Ella said. “If they thought there was something between them—”
“So they did look friendly?”
“He had his hand on her arm.”
“And she?”
There was nothing like loyalty that stood the test of time. Ella glanced away. “She didn’t look like she wasn’t enjoying it,” she mumbled. “But really, Pepper, if something was going on between Lucy and Mr. Monroe, she would have told me. We were best friends. We were sisters. I thought he might have had something to do with Lucy’s disappearance, that she might have run away with him or something. But that was just me being young and stupidly romantic. By the time Mr. Monroe came back for that assembly my senior year, I figured he couldn’t have been involved. For one thing, Lucy wasn’t cruel, she wouldn’t have let her parents suffer that long if she could have told them she was OK. For another, if Mr. Monroe had anything to do with it, the cops would have found something out by then. And Mr. Monroe wouldn’t have had the nerve to come back to Shaker. Not if he was responsible for Lucy…you know…going away.”
Ella was probably right. I had no doubt the cops had done all they could to look into Lucy’s vanishing, just like I had no doubt that it would take a guy who was either really twisted or really dumb to show up as guest of honor at the school his victim attended.
But then, who ever said killers were smart?
6
I n terms of my investigation, the logical thing to do was to talk to Lucy about Patrick Monroe and that appointment she had with the principal.
I would have done it, too, except that over the next few days, things got a little out of hand. For one thing, I was so whooped from dragging myself around the cemetery carrying that disgusting trash bag, I didn’t have the energy to get to the rapid, much less ride it. For another, when I finally regained my strength (thanks to a long bubble bath, a facial, and a well-deserved visit to Olga, a wizard with a file and a bottle of nail polish), and gave up my lunch hour on Friday in
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