Thread and Buried by Janet Bolin

death and the subsequent peculiar disposal of his body. However, if I
happened
upon more evidence, it would be helpful if I learned as much as possible so I could pass it on to Vicki accurately, wouldn’t it? I had liked Neil. The entire community would mourn him.
    Vicki gently lifted Bow-Tie away from my ponytail, confined him against her bulletproof vest, tickled him under the chin, and commented in tones that were painfully too casual, “I saw your posters. Has anyone phoned about losing the kitties?”
    “No. If no one claims them, would you like them?”
    She pocketed her notebook and rescued me from Mustache, who had apparently decided that one of my dangly earrings was a toy. “They’re tempting, but I’d hate to take them away from Sally-Forth. If anyone does claim them, though, let me attend the reunion. I’d like to see who managed to misplace kittens in your yard around the time someone dropped off a body.”
    Speaking of dropping, I nearly had to pick my chin up off my knees. Surely, whoever dragged Neil into my backyard had not brought kittens along.
    Vicki straightened her own ponytail and resettled her hat on her head. “First yarnbombing,” she murmured to the kittens. “Then quiltbatbombing.”
    I covered my mouth. Despite the horror of Neil’s sudden death, I was finding cop humor funny. Maybe I was coming down with something. I spoke between my fingers. “I wonder if the supposed yarnbomber was wearing that quilt batting when he ran off and hopped into a motorboat.” If only I’d seen that cape on a running person, I might know if it had flapped like quilt batting or like an old sheet or blanket.
    “Neil?” she asked. “And he wasn’t sick after all?”
    “Probably not Neil. On Friday night, he turned green when Tom Umshaw teased him about going out in boats.”
    “Tom Umshaw?”
    “He sells fish down at the wharf. He had the fish fry tent at the picnic.”
    “
Must
you keep reminding me of the things I ate last night? Including the perch I didn’t manage to finish so I’d have room for strawberry shortcake?” She groaned.
    I grinned.
    “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell Gartener. He’ll probably go find Cassie, the two fighting women, and this Tom Umshaw, and have a word with them all.” She pointed her pen at me. “And remember, Willow. Police investigate crimes. Civilians don’t.” She quickly amended that to, “At least they
shouldn’t
.”
    “Sorry for reporting the treasure trove of jewelry,” I teased. “What’s happening with that?”
    “Every item matches something in the insurers’ lists, so all of it will eventually be turned over to the insurance companies. At the moment, the jewelry and the box it was buried in are being kept as evidence during the investigation into Snoozy’s death. Sorting everything out could take a long time.” She cocked her head and gave me one of her police officer assessing looks. “Thirty years ago, rewards were posted for the return of the jewelry, so it’s possible that you and Clay may get a windfall.”
    “I won’t hold my breath.” But I couldn’t help wondering if my dream of a cruise might come true, or if I would be practical, instead, and make early mortgage payments.
    After Vicki left, I phoned Haylee. She was as shocked and sickened about Neil’s death and the disposal of his body as I was. “What killed him?” she asked.
    “If Vicki knows, she’s not telling me. Maybe it was the gastrointestinal whatever that Vicki and Edna had. He must have had it, too. Vicki thinks it was the flu, not food poisoning, since people who didn’t attend the picnic also got sick.”
    “So Vicki won’t be upset if you and I sort of
accidentally
look into the possibility of food poisoning?”
    I played along. “How would we do that?”
    “Visit local asparagus farms, for a start?” I heard the grin in her voice.
    “I’m running low on fresh produce,” I said. “And I’m totally out of those cinnamon rolls from that one