For some reason, all eyes—the old guy’s, little guy’s, and the pets’—landed on me. I shifted in my seat and stared out at the lake. But the kitchen light was on, so I saw only my own reflection.
***
“Go upstairs to play,” Dad told Truman as I got up to clear the table. He used his, very rare, I am your grandfather voice, and the child and the dog skedaddled, no questions asked.
But my father? What a shocker, he had a lots of questions. He began with my lunch date with Paige. “I hope you two girls discussed Joe.”
“We did. In fact, we discussed Joe, Oliver, and Nate.” I caught his eye. “And we discussed Olivia DeMuir.”
Dad shook his head. “You’re losing me, Cassie. What does she have to do with Oliver and Joe?”
I told him we should start with what she had to do with Nate Wylie. “Then we should probably move on to Olivia’s last name.”
“DeMuir? What does that obviously fake name have to do with—”
“Her real name was Olivia Earle, Dad.”
The old man stared aghast.
I nodded. “Olivia Earle-Oliver Earle? Do you get it?”
Well. Not quite.
“What?” he asked me. “Who?”
“Let’s add ‘when’ to that list of questions,” I told him and delved into Theories A, B, and C. In case you’re not quite sure, this took a while, and I was able to finish all the dishes while I explained. Meanwhile, Bobby sat in rapt silence, staring at his reflection in the kitchen window.
“Dad,” I called over as I squeezed some soap into the dishwasher. “I’m done now.“
He looked up. “That’s a lot of theories, Cassie.”
“No kidding, but the basic arithmetic really does work.” I stood up from the dishwasher and summarized all the math while my father continued to scowl. “Do you need me to write this down?” I asked him.
“No, I’m following the math.”
“Mom would be proud of you.”
“So Oliver Earle’s grandmother was a prostitute?” he asked.
“Yep. And his grandfather was Nate Wylie.” I took my spot at the table, and Notz jumped into my lap. “By the way, thank you. You’re the one who got me thinking about Olivia DeMuir’s bogus name.” I shook my head. “Daphne DeMuir? You really are brilliant, old man.
The old man laughed. “Hardly. Me and my silly sci fi stories.”
“Not silly.” I scowled. “Well, yes. Silly. But this latest is your best so far.”
He waved a hand, but clearly he wasn’t thinking about science fiction at the moment. “Fanny Baumgarten actually confirmed all this?” he asked, and I admitted she had advised caution.
“But she does think I’m onto something,” I added. “And maybe Jason does also.”
Dad tilted his head in the direction of the driveway. “That’s why you were out there talking to him for so long.”
“That’s right. He’s going to look into who killed Nate, since Paige, and Maxine, and I couldn’t figure it out.”
“Sooo.” My father kept thinking. “If this teenager of yesteryear is still alive, clearly he’s not Mr. X.”
“And Cockamamie Theory C goes kaput,” I agreed. “Theory C also doesn’t work if the teenager of yesteryear is dead, and there’s an official death certificate.”
“Because then he’s clearly not the as-yet-to-be-identified Mr. X.” Dad was following the logic. “But if the teenager of yesteryear is a missing person—”
I sat forward. “—and if he’s been missing about twenty years, then he could be Mr. X.”
“He could be.” Dad let out a breath. “I don’t like the idea of anyone dying before their time,” he said. “But Mr. X has to be somebody, doesn’t he?”
I nodded silently, and we stared at our own reflections in the window.
“Cassie.” Dad spoke eventually. “If Mr. X does get identified as that teenager of yesteryear, any theories on who might have killed him? Mr. X, that is.”
I jumped up. “Nope!” I said. “None whatsoever!”
Dad insisted on catching my eye. “There’s a Theory D, isn’t there? And knowing you, probably a Theory E.” He squinted. “What aren’t you telling me, girl?”
“That it is well past Truman’s bedtime,” I said and hustled up the stairs while my father told me it wasn’t even a school night.
***
Truman reached for my hand as I was getting him and Cosmic Cow tucked in. “I have to tell you something,” he said.
“What’s up?” I asked, but the kid became awfully quiet. I tilted my head. “What’s wrong, Sweetie?”
He concentrated on petting Notz. “I was naughty today,” he said quietly.
I had a pretty good idea what about, but let Truman be true to his name and confess his supposed naughtiness. “I listened when I wasn’t supposed to,” he told me. The big blue eyes looked up. “When I was supposed to be finding pencils for Captain Jason.”
Maybe other mothers would have scolded, but let’s face it, this mother really couldn’t fault anyone else for snooping. I tried to recall what he might have overheard, and clearly the kid read my mind.
“I didn’t hear anything bad,” he said.
“Okay, but did you hear anything upsetting or scary?” I asked him. “Do you understand why I sent you upstairs?”
“You think I should be scared of skulls and skeletons, but I’m not.” The crew cut shook back and forth. “I promise, Momma Cass. I think bones are interesting.”
I asked what other ‘interesting’ things he had overheard, and he mentioned Sally Tumbleton. “Was old Mr. Tumbleton her grandpa?”
“Probably her great, great grandpa,” I said and explained that concept.
“Do you think Sally Tumbleton left Mr. X’s skull here?” he asked.
I answered, honestly, that I didn’t know. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Paige!” He smiled. “Whatcha have for lunch?”
Wow. That was almost too easy. And sure enough, it was too easy. After hearing what Paige and I had eaten, the child quickly moved on to what we had talked about. “Uncle Joe?” he asked. “Did you tell Paige why you’re mad at him?”
I tried my I am your mother look.
“Did you ask Paige why he’s moving away? Is Uncle Joe still your boyfriend?”
I kept up my I am you mother look and insisted we talk about something else. “I know.” I nodded to Cosmic Cow and grabbed the secrets key off the nightstand. I dangled the key in front of the kid’s nose. “You were going to use this on Grandpa Bobby, remember?”
Truman’s face dropped, and he pushed my hand away.
I dangled the key at Cosmic Cow. “You remember,” I told her. “It was your idea to use the key with Grandpa Bobby.”
Cow offered a very quiet “Moo.”
I turned back to Truman. “Sooo?” I asked.
“I was supposed to ask Grandpa who he wants to be his girlfriend.”
“Who?” I jingled the key. “Who, who, who?”
“I don’t know! I didn’t talk to Grandpa Bobby hardly at all today.”
I tilted my head. “What about making cookies? I thought you made cookies together.”
No answer and some pretty heavy breathing for a five year old.
I smiled and poked his belly. “It’s okay. I know you and Grandpa Bobby didn’t make cookies today.” I smiled again. “But what were you up to?” I leaned in with the secrets key, but the kid was fast. He reached up, grabbed the key, and shoved it under his pillow.
“Can we turn off the lights now?” he asked.
Chapter 35
I retreated to my turret, plopped onto my purple rocking chair, and called Bambi. “I’m a coward,” I told her the minute she answered.
“Join the club,” she said and explained why she had answered on the first ring. She was in her bedroom with a glass of wine and her dog. “Hiding from the various Vixens.”
“And I’m hiding from my father.”
; “What’s Bobby done this time?”
“Nothing in particular,” I said. “But if I go downstairs, I know he’ll insist on hearing Cockamamie Theories D and E, and they’re way too upsetting to even think about.”
“D?” Bambi asked. “E?” she squeaked, and I told her it had been a very long day.
Hers also. Evidently, the various Vixens had been very “vexing.”
Notz came upstairs to join me, and Bambi reported on the various vexing Vixens. “My mother-in-law has dictated ’tis the season to kiss and make up,” she told me. “So now everyone’s trying to get along.”
“Sounds positive,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” My friend, for the record, didn’t sound all that positive. “You can cut the underlying tension with a knife,” she told me. “Can I come over and watch you and Bobby bicker? You guys argue so openly, it would be refreshing.”
“Anytime.”
“Or maybe I could watch you and Joe go at it.”
I rocked forward. “Joe and I aren’t bickering, thank you very much. We’re not talking at all.”
“Oh, Cassie. Are you still mad at the poor guy?”
“Poor guy!? He put his house on the market, Bambi.”
“What!? When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
Bambi let out a breath and told me, sincerely, how sorry she was. “This is really bad news.”
“No kidding.” I got up, turned out the light, and stared out the window—down at the stupid “For Sale” sign of course. And of course the stupid thing was perfectly illuminated by the light in our living room, and of course the FN was serenading me—
“Cassie?”
I shook myself. “Everyone claims I’m impulsive, but let’s get real. Joe’s the impulsive one.”
Bambi sighed. “Let me guess. He’s doing this to give you your supposed space?”
“And you know what? Good!” I said. “It’s a good thing he’s moving. I’m sick of him spying on me.”
“You spy on him, too.”
“That’s different.” I turned away from the window and began pacing circles around the room. Notz hopped onto the desk to keep from getting trampled. “Joe spied on Jason and me this afternoon,” I said.
Bambi groaned. “Of course he found an excuse to visit Lake Bess today.”
“Earth to Dr. Lovely-Vixen. We’re trying to solve a murder, remember?”
“I thought you weren’t trying to solve the murder,” she said. “I thought you were interested in the loved ones.”
“Well, yeah. But.
“But either way, Jason Sterling is interested in way more than that hundred year old murder, Cassie.”
I stopped short. “Wow. You’re really behind the times.”
“Why?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you kissed him again? One teeny-tiny innocent kiss, my foot.”
“Would you stop worrying about that stupid kiss? If you must know, that kiss felt completely and totally wrong.” I sat down, and Notz hopped into my lap. “What you should be asking about is Mr. X,” I said. “I have some theories.”
She skipped a beat. “You said something about D and E?”
“Yes, but let’s start with A, B, and C,” I said and suggested she pour herself another glass of wine.
***
And Bambi had probably finished that glass by the time I explained A, B, and C. Actually, I started way before Theory A even, and mentioned Mr. X’s dental work, and the new timeline we were dealing with. I then touched on Olivia DeMuir, Nate Wylie, and Nate Wylie’s death, and only after that did I delve into Cockamamie Theories A, B, and C. Eventually, I stopped talking to catch my breath.
“Do you ever have an uneventful day?” Bambi asked me.
“Not recently.”
“And you actually had lunch with Paige Wylie during all this—theorizing?”
“Why not?” I asked. “It’s her father I’m not speaking to. And in case you’ve forgotten, you refused to be my sidekick this time around.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what are your Theories D and E?”
“D and E are not my theories,” I protested. “Cockamamie Theories D and E belong to Jason, and Jason alone.”
Bambi skipped a beat. “Jason Sterling has cockamamie theories?”
“The cockamamiest.” I warned her to brace herself and then outlined Theories D and E.
“Say what?”
“You heard me. Mr. State Trooper insists on insisting that D and E logically follow from A, B, and C.”
“Logic?” Bambi, in case you haven’t quite caught on, was as indignant as I about Theories D and E. “Let’s start with D,” she said. “Your state trooper—”
“He’s not my state troop—”
“Your state trooper thinks Oliver Earle—the guy you call Mr. Lake Elizabeth—is a murderer?”
I told her not to blame the messenger, and then explained Jason’s supposed logic. “Oliver is our local realtor, so he definitely had access to this house when it was unoccupied,” I said. “And if anyone around here had access to the Fox Cove Inn, it would have been him.”
“But Oliver wasn’t even born when all that happened with Nate.”
“Hello. I know that,” I said. “But if Theory B is correct, Nate Wylie was Oliver’s grandfather. Jason claims that gives him some sort of motive.”
I could almost hear Bambi shake her head at that absurdity. “And Theory E?” she said. “I’m afraid to ask why Joe’s a suspect.”
I summarized Jason’s logic on that one also. “First of all, Nate was Joe’s father, so supposedly he’d be avenging his father’s death.”
“Joe Wylie? Vengeance?” Bambi remained incredulous. “Does Jason Sterling know how much Joe hates guns.”
I swallowed. “But Mr. X wasn’t killed with a gun.”
She groaned.
“My sentiments exactly,” I told her. “It’s ironic, but Joe’s aversion to guns could actually make him look guilty in this particular instance.”
“Oh, come on, Cassie!” she said, and I reminded her not to blame the messenger.
I shooed Notz off my lap and stood up to look out the window. “According to Jason, even this stupid house for sale thing looks suspicious.” I sighed. “Jason insists the timing, right when everyone’s thinking about Mr. X, is—interesting.”
“You tried to talk him out of this, Cassie?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m thinking what if—” Bambi stopped herself. “No, never mind.”
I blinked. “Never mind what?”
“I just came up with a new theory.”
“What? What, what, what?”
“It not about who killed Mr. X. It’s about Jason Sterling.” A long pause. “Brace yourself.”
“What?” I demanded. “Stop pussy-footing around.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay, what if—what if Jason Sterling’s trying to pin this on Joe because of you? You know, to get rid of the competition.”
I jumped and scared poor Notz to the other side of the turret. “What!? Absolutely not! That is completely and totally cocka—”
“Okay, okay, okay.” She told me to forget she had even mentioned it, and was repeating the word cockamamie a few dozen times, when I noticed Joe Wylie across the way. He was upstairs in his lab, putting the FN to sleep for the night. And—oh goody—as he switched off the light, he noticed me. He smiled and waved.
I waved back as curtly as humanly possible and turned from the window, and about then, I realized I had another call waiting. “Paula?”
“Who?” Bambi asked.
“I’ve got to go,” I said and wished her, her husband Pete, and all the various Vixens a very Merry Christmas before hanging up.
***
“I know it’s late,” Paula said after a brief greeting. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”
“What’s up?” I asked, and she apologized for the day before.
“I know I startled you yesterday,” she said.
“You seemed quite upset when we hung up.”
I scowled. “Oh!” I said as it occurred to me. “You mean about Joe’s house.” I waved a hand and mumbled something about getting used to the idea, and Paula told me that was a good thing.
I scowled some more. “Why?” I sang.
“Because I think I have someone who’s interested.”
More scowling. “Interested in what?”
“Cassie. In the house, of course.”
I stumbled back to my rocking chair. “Joe’s house?” I took a breath. “You have a buyer? Already?”
“I think I might.”
“But, Paula!” I tried thinking fast. “You’re retired, right? Why would—” I stopped and remembered to breath again. Then I told her she really, really didn’t need to worry about selling Joe’s house.
She agreed she didn’t, but also insisted old habits die hard. “And I am interested in your little town.” She hesitated. “Especially in light of—”
I rolled my eyes. “You can say it, okay?”
“Say what?”
“The real reason you called. You want to hear the latest about Mr. X and his skull.”
She sighed. “I do think I have an interested party for Mr. Wylie’s house, but yes,” she said. “I’m also interested in this whole undisclosed nightmare.” Paula informed me Jason Sterling had visited her again that day. “Your state trooper can be rather intimidating, Cassie.”
“He’s not my state trooper.”
“He made a point of telling me how the timeline for Mr. X has changed. Something about dental work?”
“That’s right.”
“And then he mentioned the sale of your house again, and then he stared at me as if—” Another sigh.
“As if what?” I asked.
“As if I purposely left that skull in your house. Back when I had access to the property.”
I told her not to take it personally. “If it makes you fell any better, Jason Sterling suspects all kinds of people.” I stared Wylie-ward. “Not just realtors.”
“Well, if he suspects a realtor, he better be suspecting a broad range of my colleagues. Your father’s house is prime lakefront property, Cassie. Plenty of us must have shown that house.”
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