was thinner around the house than near the road, but saplings were growing next to the foundation and the grass and weeds in the yard were high. Trees hung thickly above the cottage, and its roof was speckled with patches of moss. It looked lonely and uncared-for, but it wasn’t falling down.
“I’d have expected Silas Snow to sell this place,” Joe said. “The house isn’t worth anything, but the lot is. Walking distance to the lake, after all. It should bring a good price.”
“Snow apparently continued to rent the cottage to vacationers up until about ten years ago,” Aubrey said. He got out of the SUV, and the rest of us followed his lead.
“It’s spooky,” I said. “Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if Dennis Grundy’s Model A came chugchugging down the drive.”
Aunt Nettie gave a nervous laugh, but before she could hit her third “hee-hee,” I heard a strange sound. I clutched Joe’s arm and gasped.
It was the chug-chug of an old motor.
Joe laughed. “I believe you summoned up Dennis Grundy’s ghost, Lee. Or at least the ghost of his car.”
“What is it?”
“I think,” Joe said, “that it’s actually a Volkswagen.”
And sure enough, a red Volkswagen came down the lane from behind the house. It was a real, antique Volkswagen, not one of the new ones. And behind the wheel was Ken McNutt. He stopped when he saw us. The VW was nose to nose with Aubrey’s SUV.
Aunt Nettie, Joe, and I all laughed and waved. “I’ll have to move the SUV so he can get out,” Aubrey said. He got behind the wheel again and backed out onto Lake Shore Drive.
Joe spoke to Ken. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I had an hour’s break, and I wanted to see this place.” Ken nodded toward the cottage. “This is the site of Maia Michaelson’s big romance novel, isn’t it?”
Joe’s voice was curious. “How’d you find it?”
“The high school custodian drew me a map,” Ken said. “And now I’ve got to hurry, or I’ll be late for a parent conference.”
He drove on out the lane and waved to Aubrey. The VW gave a cheerful beep-beep as it turned onto Lake Shore Drive.
“I’d forgotten that Ken McNutt is a VW hobbyist,” Joe said. “I understand he has four of them. At least two are in driving condition.”
I stared after Ken. His Volkswagen was shiny and cared-for. It might have come straight off a production line of the late 1950s. The only modern thing about it was the Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the back window.
Why did that seem familiar?
I caught my breath. I’d seen a red Volkswagen like that one. The night before, right after I discovered Silas Snow’s body, I’d pulled out onto Haven Road in a big hurry. And I’d nearly rear-ended a red VW with a Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the back window. The sticker hadn’t been on the bumper. It had been inside the back window, just the way Ken’s sticker was, the way people who are picky about their cars’ finishes display bumper stickers.
I hadn’t gasped loudly, but Joe had heard me. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just remembered a prone call—I mean, a phone call! I forgot to call the bank. I’ll do it when I get back to the office.”
We walked toward the house, but my mind was racing. Was it Ken McNutt’s VW that I’d seen the night before, close to Silas Snow’s fruit stand? Right after Silas was killed?
If it had been, who had been driving? Ken? Or Maggie? Or was there another red Volkswagen in Warner Pier with a high school bumper sticker in the back window? After all, I hadn’t bothered to look at the license plate.
And why hadn’t I wanted to tell Joe I’d seen it there? The answer to that one wasn’t hard. If I told Joe right at that moment, I’d probably have to tell Aubrey. And I didn’t want to tell Aubrey anything that might involve Maggie.
I realized Joe was looking at me closely. He had said something, and I hadn’t even heard it. I pulled my
“I’d have expected Silas Snow to sell this place,” Joe said. “The house isn’t worth anything, but the lot is. Walking distance to the lake, after all. It should bring a good price.”
“Snow apparently continued to rent the cottage to vacationers up until about ten years ago,” Aubrey said. He got out of the SUV, and the rest of us followed his lead.
“It’s spooky,” I said. “Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if Dennis Grundy’s Model A came chugchugging down the drive.”
Aunt Nettie gave a nervous laugh, but before she could hit her third “hee-hee,” I heard a strange sound. I clutched Joe’s arm and gasped.
It was the chug-chug of an old motor.
Joe laughed. “I believe you summoned up Dennis Grundy’s ghost, Lee. Or at least the ghost of his car.”
“What is it?”
“I think,” Joe said, “that it’s actually a Volkswagen.”
And sure enough, a red Volkswagen came down the lane from behind the house. It was a real, antique Volkswagen, not one of the new ones. And behind the wheel was Ken McNutt. He stopped when he saw us. The VW was nose to nose with Aubrey’s SUV.
Aunt Nettie, Joe, and I all laughed and waved. “I’ll have to move the SUV so he can get out,” Aubrey said. He got behind the wheel again and backed out onto Lake Shore Drive.
Joe spoke to Ken. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I had an hour’s break, and I wanted to see this place.” Ken nodded toward the cottage. “This is the site of Maia Michaelson’s big romance novel, isn’t it?”
Joe’s voice was curious. “How’d you find it?”
“The high school custodian drew me a map,” Ken said. “And now I’ve got to hurry, or I’ll be late for a parent conference.”
He drove on out the lane and waved to Aubrey. The VW gave a cheerful beep-beep as it turned onto Lake Shore Drive.
“I’d forgotten that Ken McNutt is a VW hobbyist,” Joe said. “I understand he has four of them. At least two are in driving condition.”
I stared after Ken. His Volkswagen was shiny and cared-for. It might have come straight off a production line of the late 1950s. The only modern thing about it was the Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the back window.
Why did that seem familiar?
I caught my breath. I’d seen a red Volkswagen like that one. The night before, right after I discovered Silas Snow’s body, I’d pulled out onto Haven Road in a big hurry. And I’d nearly rear-ended a red VW with a Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the back window. The sticker hadn’t been on the bumper. It had been inside the back window, just the way Ken’s sticker was, the way people who are picky about their cars’ finishes display bumper stickers.
I hadn’t gasped loudly, but Joe had heard me. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just remembered a prone call—I mean, a phone call! I forgot to call the bank. I’ll do it when I get back to the office.”
We walked toward the house, but my mind was racing. Was it Ken McNutt’s VW that I’d seen the night before, close to Silas Snow’s fruit stand? Right after Silas was killed?
If it had been, who had been driving? Ken? Or Maggie? Or was there another red Volkswagen in Warner Pier with a high school bumper sticker in the back window? After all, I hadn’t bothered to look at the license plate.
And why hadn’t I wanted to tell Joe I’d seen it there? The answer to that one wasn’t hard. If I told Joe right at that moment, I’d probably have to tell Aubrey. And I didn’t want to tell Aubrey anything that might involve Maggie.
I realized Joe was looking at me closely. He had said something, and I hadn’t even heard it. I pulled my
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