Right?” I looked at Derek, who nodded. “Any evidence would be long gone by now.”
“Not necessarily,” Brandon argued. “The house has been empty. Chances are no one’s been down in the crawlspace for years.”
“There were squatters there a couple of years ago,” Venetia said. “And a few years before that, the neighborhood teens would come over and hang out to prove to their girlfriends how brave they were.” She was making rather a point of not looking at Lionel. He sent her a dirty look anyway.
“I remember that,” Brandon said with a grin. “I even came here once myself, back when I was young and stupid. Or younger and more stupid. With Holly White. Remember her, Lionel? The brunette, with the big . . .” He remembered that Venetia Rudolph and I were there, and finished, rather lamely, “Feet.”
I rolled my eyes. So did Wayne.
Lionel nodded, his face void of expression.
Brandon added, “She went to Hollywood to be an actress. Or was it Las Vegas to be a showgirl?”
“Big feet are a real asset for a showgirl,” Derek agreed, his face solemn but his eyes dancing.
Brandon grinned but abandoned the subject. “There were squatters here?” he addressed Venetia. She nodded. “When?”
She thought back. “Must be two or three years ago now. The house has been sitting empty since the early ’90s, you know. After the Murphy murders. They stayed for a few days, and then they were gone again.”
“Do you think the body belongs to one of the transients?” I asked.
Brandon opened his mouth to answer, then deferred to Wayne, who said, “Could be. We’ll know more when we’ve gotten it out. You’d better get busy, Brandon.”
Brandon nodded and excused himself. After rooting around in the trunk of his car, he pulled out a roll of yellow crime scene tape and started stringing it around the perimeter of the yard, from tree trunk to tree trunk and bush to bush. It was just a matter of time before our small group was either corralled or asked to leave, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
“I’m going to take off for a while. If that’s OK with you, Wayne.”
Wayne nodded. “I know where to find you. And I’m not worried that you had anything to do with this body. This poor fella’s been down there longer than you’ve been in town.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, only half kidding. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Bring some pizzas,” Derek said.
“Gack!” I answered, as Lionel turned a paler shade of green. “How can you be hungry at a time like this?”
“Digging is hard work. And Brandon’s still a growing boy.” He bent to kiss me on the cheek. “Drive carefully. And I wasn’t kidding about the pizzas. Three ought to do it. Unless we get company.”
“Better get four,” Wayne said, pulling out his wallet to give me a couple of twenties. I stuck them in my pocket. “We’ll start seeing Josh and his friends in about a half hour, most likely. I really have to get that police band radio away from him. And once Josh knows, then Shannon knows, and then Kate knows, and soon everybody knows.” He shook his head, wandering toward Brandon’s car, talking to himself.
7
My adopted hometown has two newspapers. There’s the Waterfield Clarion , established in 1915, and the Waterfield Weekly , established in 1912. Because it’s a weekly, the latter isn’t quite as timely when it comes to reporting hard news as the Clarion , but it does a much better job with human interest stories, like reports of the Garden Tour and the school bake sale. The offices of both papers are located on Main Street, each in its own turn-of-the-last-century Victorian commercial building. I started at the Clarion , and if I couldn’t find what I was looking for there, I figured I’d cross the street and try the Weekly instead.
OK, so I know it seems a little odd that I’d shoot off so quickly, leaving Derek to handle the mess back at Becklea, but it’s not like
“Not necessarily,” Brandon argued. “The house has been empty. Chances are no one’s been down in the crawlspace for years.”
“There were squatters there a couple of years ago,” Venetia said. “And a few years before that, the neighborhood teens would come over and hang out to prove to their girlfriends how brave they were.” She was making rather a point of not looking at Lionel. He sent her a dirty look anyway.
“I remember that,” Brandon said with a grin. “I even came here once myself, back when I was young and stupid. Or younger and more stupid. With Holly White. Remember her, Lionel? The brunette, with the big . . .” He remembered that Venetia Rudolph and I were there, and finished, rather lamely, “Feet.”
I rolled my eyes. So did Wayne.
Lionel nodded, his face void of expression.
Brandon added, “She went to Hollywood to be an actress. Or was it Las Vegas to be a showgirl?”
“Big feet are a real asset for a showgirl,” Derek agreed, his face solemn but his eyes dancing.
Brandon grinned but abandoned the subject. “There were squatters here?” he addressed Venetia. She nodded. “When?”
She thought back. “Must be two or three years ago now. The house has been sitting empty since the early ’90s, you know. After the Murphy murders. They stayed for a few days, and then they were gone again.”
“Do you think the body belongs to one of the transients?” I asked.
Brandon opened his mouth to answer, then deferred to Wayne, who said, “Could be. We’ll know more when we’ve gotten it out. You’d better get busy, Brandon.”
Brandon nodded and excused himself. After rooting around in the trunk of his car, he pulled out a roll of yellow crime scene tape and started stringing it around the perimeter of the yard, from tree trunk to tree trunk and bush to bush. It was just a matter of time before our small group was either corralled or asked to leave, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
“I’m going to take off for a while. If that’s OK with you, Wayne.”
Wayne nodded. “I know where to find you. And I’m not worried that you had anything to do with this body. This poor fella’s been down there longer than you’ve been in town.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, only half kidding. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Bring some pizzas,” Derek said.
“Gack!” I answered, as Lionel turned a paler shade of green. “How can you be hungry at a time like this?”
“Digging is hard work. And Brandon’s still a growing boy.” He bent to kiss me on the cheek. “Drive carefully. And I wasn’t kidding about the pizzas. Three ought to do it. Unless we get company.”
“Better get four,” Wayne said, pulling out his wallet to give me a couple of twenties. I stuck them in my pocket. “We’ll start seeing Josh and his friends in about a half hour, most likely. I really have to get that police band radio away from him. And once Josh knows, then Shannon knows, and then Kate knows, and soon everybody knows.” He shook his head, wandering toward Brandon’s car, talking to himself.
7
My adopted hometown has two newspapers. There’s the Waterfield Clarion , established in 1915, and the Waterfield Weekly , established in 1912. Because it’s a weekly, the latter isn’t quite as timely when it comes to reporting hard news as the Clarion , but it does a much better job with human interest stories, like reports of the Garden Tour and the school bake sale. The offices of both papers are located on Main Street, each in its own turn-of-the-last-century Victorian commercial building. I started at the Clarion , and if I couldn’t find what I was looking for there, I figured I’d cross the street and try the Weekly instead.
OK, so I know it seems a little odd that I’d shoot off so quickly, leaving Derek to handle the mess back at Becklea, but it’s not like
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