Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 by Susan Wittig Albert Page A
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
an afterthought. "Do you mind if
I take a look at your van?"
"Of
course," Donna said, with so much alacrity that I knew we wouldn't see anything
out of the ordinary. She shrugged into her down vest, clearly anxious to get us
out of the house before Aunt Velda woke up.
"What about that burn?" Blackie asked.
"Shouldn't you bandage it?"
Donna gave him a
brave smile. "It'll be all right," she said. "That aloe works
wonders."
Leaving the old woman snoring at the table, we
went back outdoors and down the path to the barn. I looked for the red Ford
pickup, hoping it would be parked where I had last seen it, beside the van. The
space was empty. Both vehicles were gone.
But the van was in the barn, just as Donna had
said, its essential parts spread out on a canvas tarp on the dirt floor, both
headlights intact. A couple of Rhode Island Reds were roosting on the roof of
the van and Max crawled out from under it, wagging his tail, happy to have
company. Donna lifted the lid off a metal garbage can and took out a handful of
corn for the chickens, while Blackie walked around the van, inspecting it. I
scanned the barn for Aunt Velda's truck, but it wasn't there.
Blackie came around
the van. "Thank you, Miss Fletcher," he said, putting out his hand to
Donna. "Please tell your sister that I may have some questions for her. If
I need any more help, I'll call."
And that was it. We said our goodbyes,
climbed into McQuaid's truck, and drove off.
I had swung out of
the lane and was headed back down the gravel road toward Swenson's place when
Blackie put his hand on the wheel. "Pull over," he said.
When the sheriff
speaks to you in that tone of voice, you pull over, immediately. "What's
up?" I asked.
"You
tell me," Blackie said. "Cough it up, China."
I sat for a moment, wrestling with my conscience.
On the one hand, I liked and admired the Fletcher sisters for their guts and
determination. They had put their hearts into their flower farm and I wanted
them to succeed. I was also glad that Carl Swenson was no longer going to make
their lives difficult, although I would have preferred him to back off
voluntarily. I liked Aunt Velda too. She wasn't a whole lot nuttier than the
thousands of Trekkies who show up at the Star Trek conventions outfitted in
bizarre galactic masks and costumes.
On the other hand, I liked and admired Blackie.
And not for nothing had I been educated and trained to respect the law. In this
case, Blackie was The Law, and I had an obligation to tell him what I knew. I
also had an obligation to the truth, whatever that meant.
"They own
another vehicle," I said. "A beat-up old red Ford pickup with the
right side smashed in. It's not tagged or inspected, so they don't take it off
the place. They let Aunt Velda drive it around." I made a face, not liking
to give him this information. "In fact, she drove it when they were
cleaning out the spring, not very long ago."
He took that in,
obviously measuring it against Donna's statement that the old woman hadn't been
out of the house for a couple of months. "Where is this truck? Have you
seen it?"
"When I was out
here on Saturday, it was parked beside the barn, next to the van. It's not
there now, though. I looked. It's not in the barn, either."
"The old girl is a half-quart
low," Blackie said musingly,
"but she might have seen
something yesterday. Or done something."
"You think she
might have been involved in Swenson's death?"
"That boy got took yestiddy," Blackie quoted. I frowned. "That doesn't
necessarily mean—" "Come on, China." Blackie gave me an
impatient look. "You know what it means as well as I do. The old woman
knew Swenson was dead. And what's more, her niece knew it too. Before we got
there. That oh-dear-I'm-so-shocked act didn't fool me. Neither did that little
business with the coffeepot."
I had to agree.
Donna's imitation of surprise hadn't been very convincing. "So what do you
think happened yesterday?"
Blackie slid down in the seat and tipped
I take a look at your van?"
"Of
course," Donna said, with so much alacrity that I knew we wouldn't see anything
out of the ordinary. She shrugged into her down vest, clearly anxious to get us
out of the house before Aunt Velda woke up.
"What about that burn?" Blackie asked.
"Shouldn't you bandage it?"
Donna gave him a
brave smile. "It'll be all right," she said. "That aloe works
wonders."
Leaving the old woman snoring at the table, we
went back outdoors and down the path to the barn. I looked for the red Ford
pickup, hoping it would be parked where I had last seen it, beside the van. The
space was empty. Both vehicles were gone.
But the van was in the barn, just as Donna had
said, its essential parts spread out on a canvas tarp on the dirt floor, both
headlights intact. A couple of Rhode Island Reds were roosting on the roof of
the van and Max crawled out from under it, wagging his tail, happy to have
company. Donna lifted the lid off a metal garbage can and took out a handful of
corn for the chickens, while Blackie walked around the van, inspecting it. I
scanned the barn for Aunt Velda's truck, but it wasn't there.
Blackie came around
the van. "Thank you, Miss Fletcher," he said, putting out his hand to
Donna. "Please tell your sister that I may have some questions for her. If
I need any more help, I'll call."
And that was it. We said our goodbyes,
climbed into McQuaid's truck, and drove off.
I had swung out of
the lane and was headed back down the gravel road toward Swenson's place when
Blackie put his hand on the wheel. "Pull over," he said.
When the sheriff
speaks to you in that tone of voice, you pull over, immediately. "What's
up?" I asked.
"You
tell me," Blackie said. "Cough it up, China."
I sat for a moment, wrestling with my conscience.
On the one hand, I liked and admired the Fletcher sisters for their guts and
determination. They had put their hearts into their flower farm and I wanted
them to succeed. I was also glad that Carl Swenson was no longer going to make
their lives difficult, although I would have preferred him to back off
voluntarily. I liked Aunt Velda too. She wasn't a whole lot nuttier than the
thousands of Trekkies who show up at the Star Trek conventions outfitted in
bizarre galactic masks and costumes.
On the other hand, I liked and admired Blackie.
And not for nothing had I been educated and trained to respect the law. In this
case, Blackie was The Law, and I had an obligation to tell him what I knew. I
also had an obligation to the truth, whatever that meant.
"They own
another vehicle," I said. "A beat-up old red Ford pickup with the
right side smashed in. It's not tagged or inspected, so they don't take it off
the place. They let Aunt Velda drive it around." I made a face, not liking
to give him this information. "In fact, she drove it when they were
cleaning out the spring, not very long ago."
He took that in,
obviously measuring it against Donna's statement that the old woman hadn't been
out of the house for a couple of months. "Where is this truck? Have you
seen it?"
"When I was out
here on Saturday, it was parked beside the barn, next to the van. It's not
there now, though. I looked. It's not in the barn, either."
"The old girl is a half-quart
low," Blackie said musingly,
"but she might have seen
something yesterday. Or done something."
"You think she
might have been involved in Swenson's death?"
"That boy got took yestiddy," Blackie quoted. I frowned. "That doesn't
necessarily mean—" "Come on, China." Blackie gave me an
impatient look. "You know what it means as well as I do. The old woman
knew Swenson was dead. And what's more, her niece knew it too. Before we got
there. That oh-dear-I'm-so-shocked act didn't fool me. Neither did that little
business with the coffeepot."
I had to agree.
Donna's imitation of surprise hadn't been very convincing. "So what do you
think happened yesterday?"
Blackie slid down in the seat and tipped
Similar Books
