mind back to my surroundings. Whatever the reason for the VW being near Snow’s fruit stand, I had to forget the whole thing and concentrate on the current moment. I’d decide what to do about the Volkswagen—if anything needed to be done—later.
By the time I gathered my thoughts, Aubrey had parked the SUV again and had taken Monte out of his crate. He pushed a fancy metal stake into the sandy earth near the corner of the cottage and hooked Monte to it by a long leash. I decided Aubrey must have the back of the SUV packed solid with puppy equipment.
Monte seemed content to frisk about, sniffing around under the bushes. Joe, Aunt Nettie, Aubrey, and I began to prowl in much the same way, peeking in the uncurtained windows of the house.
“I don’t have a key,” Aubrey said.
“I don’t think there’s anything inside but a thick layer of dust,” Aunt Nettie said. “We certainly don’t need to go in.”
The cottage originally had only two rooms, or so I guessed. There was a living room, with a kitchenette separated from it by a counter, and there was a bedroom. A bathroom now opened off the bedroom, but the fixtures and linoleum were forties-style. And the bathroom stood on piers made of cement blocks. The main part of the house had a solid foundation.
The views through the windows revealed only a few sticks of furniture, and they all looked too modern to have been used by Dennis Grundy.
“I’m sure this place didn’t have indoor plumbing when Dennis Grundy rented it,” Aunt Nettie said. “The kitchen appliances and that counter you can eat at were added later, too. At least, I never saw a counter like that in a really old house.”
“The hole where the pipe from the wood stove would have been is still there,” I said. “Up there in the corner.”
“It wouldn’t have been a bad little cottage for a cheap vacation,” Joe said. “In the twenties lots of people still had outdoor plumbing and wood stoves.”
“It would have been like camping.” I gestured at the metal cot frame on the porch. “The porch might have been a really nice place to sleep. If you had plenty of blankets.”
“Where did you and Maia find the money buried?” Joe asked.
“Around behind the house.” Aubrey led the way to a little pile of dirt.
“That’s probably where the old fence corner would have been,” Joe said. He pointed to a stick of wood and a bit of wire. “At least, that looks like the remnants of a wire fence.”
“Did you say the money was in a mayonnaise jar?” Aunt Nettie wanted to know.
Aubrey laughed. “I know that’s a cliché. . . .”
“What else would Dennis have had to bury money in?” Aunt Nettie said. “Maybe a syrup tin. But he would have had to use something he could get hold of easily.”
“Burying the money has always sounded crazy to me,” I said. “Why? Why would he bury money anyway? How much was in the jar?”
“Just about a hundred dollars,” Aubrey said.
“That wasn’t much loot from a bank job, even in 1930. And why was the wallet buried with it? It doesn’t make sense.”
Joe answered. “It makes sense if the wallet was just stage dressing for the antique money.”
Aubrey grinned. “I didn’t say that. That’s strictly your idea, Joe.”
We kept wandering around, with me keeping a careful lookout for poison ivy, until another car pulled in and Chuck O’Riley got out.
Aubrey went to meet him, sweeping off his wide-brimmed hat, and Monte barked a greeting. Chuck shook hands with Aubrey, but then, to my surprise, he came toward me. “Lee, I want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“About finding Silas Snow’s body. When I saw you earlier I didn’t realize you were the one who found him.”
I guess I stared. We all took the Warner Pier Gazette for granted as a source for local news. But Warner Pier news rarely included crime. The Gazette was where I caught up on the school board meeting or the zoning commission. Or about visitors who claimed to
By the time I gathered my thoughts, Aubrey had parked the SUV again and had taken Monte out of his crate. He pushed a fancy metal stake into the sandy earth near the corner of the cottage and hooked Monte to it by a long leash. I decided Aubrey must have the back of the SUV packed solid with puppy equipment.
Monte seemed content to frisk about, sniffing around under the bushes. Joe, Aunt Nettie, Aubrey, and I began to prowl in much the same way, peeking in the uncurtained windows of the house.
“I don’t have a key,” Aubrey said.
“I don’t think there’s anything inside but a thick layer of dust,” Aunt Nettie said. “We certainly don’t need to go in.”
The cottage originally had only two rooms, or so I guessed. There was a living room, with a kitchenette separated from it by a counter, and there was a bedroom. A bathroom now opened off the bedroom, but the fixtures and linoleum were forties-style. And the bathroom stood on piers made of cement blocks. The main part of the house had a solid foundation.
The views through the windows revealed only a few sticks of furniture, and they all looked too modern to have been used by Dennis Grundy.
“I’m sure this place didn’t have indoor plumbing when Dennis Grundy rented it,” Aunt Nettie said. “The kitchen appliances and that counter you can eat at were added later, too. At least, I never saw a counter like that in a really old house.”
“The hole where the pipe from the wood stove would have been is still there,” I said. “Up there in the corner.”
“It wouldn’t have been a bad little cottage for a cheap vacation,” Joe said. “In the twenties lots of people still had outdoor plumbing and wood stoves.”
“It would have been like camping.” I gestured at the metal cot frame on the porch. “The porch might have been a really nice place to sleep. If you had plenty of blankets.”
“Where did you and Maia find the money buried?” Joe asked.
“Around behind the house.” Aubrey led the way to a little pile of dirt.
“That’s probably where the old fence corner would have been,” Joe said. He pointed to a stick of wood and a bit of wire. “At least, that looks like the remnants of a wire fence.”
“Did you say the money was in a mayonnaise jar?” Aunt Nettie wanted to know.
Aubrey laughed. “I know that’s a cliché. . . .”
“What else would Dennis have had to bury money in?” Aunt Nettie said. “Maybe a syrup tin. But he would have had to use something he could get hold of easily.”
“Burying the money has always sounded crazy to me,” I said. “Why? Why would he bury money anyway? How much was in the jar?”
“Just about a hundred dollars,” Aubrey said.
“That wasn’t much loot from a bank job, even in 1930. And why was the wallet buried with it? It doesn’t make sense.”
Joe answered. “It makes sense if the wallet was just stage dressing for the antique money.”
Aubrey grinned. “I didn’t say that. That’s strictly your idea, Joe.”
We kept wandering around, with me keeping a careful lookout for poison ivy, until another car pulled in and Chuck O’Riley got out.
Aubrey went to meet him, sweeping off his wide-brimmed hat, and Monte barked a greeting. Chuck shook hands with Aubrey, but then, to my surprise, he came toward me. “Lee, I want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“About finding Silas Snow’s body. When I saw you earlier I didn’t realize you were the one who found him.”
I guess I stared. We all took the Warner Pier Gazette for granted as a source for local news. But Warner Pier news rarely included crime. The Gazette was where I caught up on the school board meeting or the zoning commission. Or about visitors who claimed to
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