Unbelievable

by Cindy Blackburn

  “But Maxine doesn’t mention Travis,” I said. “What’s this about Travis?”

  Somehow, no one got the hint that I wanted to talk about Travis, and instead we discussed Maxine.

  “Maxy Tibbitts has been a gossip since kindergarten,” Fanny said. “But she doesn’t know everything, does she? For instance, she doesn’t know about those missing paddles.”

  I stopped short, my teacup halfway to my lips. “How do you know about the missing paddles?”

  “I heard you talking to Joe last night,” she said. “I was getting ready for bed, but my windows were open.”

  Lindsey must have noticed my confusion. “Fanny’s eyesight stinks,” she said. “But she hears everything.”

  I spoke to Fanny. “And yesterday you heard Travis?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But over the phone you said—”

  Lindsey tapped Fanny’s knee. “Tell Cassie what you heard yesterday morning.”

  “Oh, yes. Now, let’s see.” Fanny put down her cup. “The birds, of course. The ducks quacking, the loons calling, the geese honking. Oh, and the robins, and the crows, and—”

  Lindsey glanced at me. “Fanny’s a stickler for details.”

  “Terrific,” I said. “So then you heard Travis?”

  “No,” Fanny said. “I heard you. You kept telling someone to move, move, move.”

  I groaned.

  “I didn’t know it was you at the time,” she continued. “And I certainly didn’t know anyone was dead.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

  “I did. But you must not have noticed.”

  I groaned again. Gabe Cleghorn was right—I missed a whole lot while I was busy being flustered. “And then you heard Travis?” I asked.

  “No. Then I went inside to make coffee, and when I came back out, I heard Miss Rusty.” She pointed in the general direction of the “Doggie Treats” jar on a side table and smiled. “We’re good friends. Miss Rusty comes over for treats every evening.”

  “What about Evert?”

  “We’re good friends, too, but Evert feeds himself. Except on holidays. We’ve had Thanksgiving dinner together for years. And Christmas, and Easter, and—”

  “Fanny,” Lindsey interrupted. “Cassie means did you hear Evert yesterday.”

  “Yes, I did. He scolded Miss Rusty for barking at Oden’s goats.”

  “And then you heard Travis?” I asked.

  “No. Then I sat here like a bump on a log until the sirens started.” She waved a hand. “Noises from every which way. I’m afraid I couldn’t keep track of it all.”

  I shook my head. “So exactly when did you hear Travis?”

  “I never heard Travis.”

  ***

  Fanny slapped her knees and stood up. “Now then, let’s go talk to him, shall we? Get this cleared up.”

  “Fanny, wait.” I jumped up.

  “For what?”

  I whimpered a little. “I don’t understand. Travis was in Montpelier, right? Which is why he’s the only person, or creature, you didn’t hear. Did not hear.”

  “That’s what Sheriff Gabe thinks, too,” Lindsey said. “But Evert and I agree with Fanny.”

  “If something bad happened in Mallard Cove, Travis was involved,” Fanny said.

  “But do you have any proof?” I asked.

  “That’s what Sheriff Gabe asked, too,” Lindsey said.

  Okay, so I actually had to agree with Sheriff Gabe.

  “No, Cassie.” Fanny was firm. “I’ve known Travis his whole life.”

  “And I’ve known him since high school,” Lindsey said. “I was a couple of years ahead of the jerk.”

  “The jerk?” I asked.

  “He’s been hitting on me since he was fifteen.”

  Fanny sighed. “Travis does seem to require some supervision.”

  “More like a lot of supervision,” I said. “He’s dangerous. He must have killed that woman.”

  “What!?” They both jumped.

  I shrugged. “Sorry, but I’m convinced someone killed her. And now you’re telling me Travis is responsible.”

  Fanny reached for Lindsey’s hand. “Travis wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “He’s not violent,” Lindsey agreed.

  “So is he involved, or isn’t he?” I asked.

  “Let’s find out.” Fanny rapped her cane and told me to come along.

  “Fanny, wait!” Lindsey jumped into her path. “You stay here. Cassie and I will go.”

  “No, Love,” Fanny argued. “Travis bothers you too much. Cassie and I can handle this. Isn’t that right, Cassie?”

  I assessed our little tea party. Me—middle-aged and miniscule. Fanny—old and blind. And Lindsey—tall, young, and absolutely the toughest of the bunch.

  “Right,” I mumbled.

  Chapter 14

  “You-hoo? Anyone home?” Fanny called out.

  We navigated the last of the wet lawn to Papa Bear, and she knocked repeatedly while I picked up the Hanahan Herald still laying on the doorstep.

  When Travis finally answered, he held up a beer and burped in Fanny’s face. “Want a brew-ski?” he asked.

  I was stunned, but Fanny took it in her stride and politely declined.

  “You’re not getting any tea.” He burped again. “My mother isn’t here.”

  “We know that, dear. We’re here to see you.”

  “Got news for you, Mrs. Baumgarten. You don’t see-eee anyone.”

  I was moving beyond stunned, but again Fanny remained calm. While she tried to get her foot in the door, I took a closer look at Travis. His hair was rumpled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but let’s face it, you could say the same about me and lots of other Vermonters. He had a short compact physique and came about eye level with Fanny. I had to look up at both of them.

  Eventually, Fanny got sick of pussy-footing around. She used her cane to push him aside, I shoved his newspaper at him and followed, and Fanny led the way into the den. Not exactly my style, but Janet La Barge was probably responsible for the formal furniture and expensive-looking art. Travis, however, had to be the owner of the mess. Sneakers and flip flops littered the floor, tee-shirts and dingy towels hung over every other chair, and an impressive collection of empty beer cans cluttered the coffee table.

  I jumped forward before Fanny’s cane collided with those beer cans and helped her into an armchair. Travis plopped down on one of the couches and opened up the Herald, and I took a spot on the opposite couch. I tried to ignore the stench of stale beer wafting up from the coffee table while Fanny formally introduced us.

  “I know all about Cassie Baxter,” he said without looking up.

  “Do you know she and her father live in the old Tumbleton place?” Fanny asked.

  Travis dropped the newspaper. “That ugly green house?”

  “I’m re-paint—”

  “You’re Paige Wylie’s neighbor? We’re buds, you know. I’m buds with her father, too.”

  “Buds? With Jo—”

  Fanny interrupted to remind us we weren’t there to discuss the Wylies. “We’re here to talk about you, Travis.”

  “Yeah? What about me?”

  “We want to know what happened yesterday.”

  “Too late. I already took care of yesterday.”

  I sat forward. “What do you mean, you took care of yesterday?”

  “I mean, I talked to Sheriff Gabe.” Travis suddenly remembered his beer. He poured what was left of it down his throat and let out a prolonged belch. “Breakfast,” he said proudly.

  I was getting kind of nauseous, but Fanny soldiered on. “What did you tell Gabe Cleghorn?” she asked.

  “Duh. Someone planted that chick out there to get me in trouble and make my father look bad.”

  “So you admit there was a dead woman?” I asked.

  “Nooo, Miss Looney Tunes.” He leered and sneered. “She was only playing dead to mess with my father.”

&n
bsp; “Why?” Fanny asked.

  “Duh. To help the big shots. The Democrats, the Republicans—they’re all scared Dad’s gonna win this time.”

  And people think I’m crazy? Trust me, neither the Democrats nor the Republicans take Ross the Boss that seriously. He runs for governor as an independent every four years, and he must waste gobs of his own money in the process.

  “Let’s get back to you,” Fanny said. “Why did you tell the sheriff you were in Montpelier?”

  “Because I was. I worked at Cars! Cars! Cars! on Monday, had a few brew-skis at Mandy’s that night, and then crashed at my parents’ house. Then it was back to work yesterday.” He leered at me and almost fell off the couch. “Work, work, work.”

  “You’re lying,” Fanny said. “You were here.”

  “Yeah? You have proof?”

  “I know what I know,” she said.

  “Yeah, and I have proof I wasn’t here. My mother’s vouching for me. And the loser-manager at Cars! Cars! Cars!” Travis tried to drink more beer, found the can empty, and slammed it onto the coffee table.

  “Where did you hide the body?” Fanny asked him.

  “How about the bathtub?” He stood up and kicked her cane away. “Go check.”

  “That’s it!” I jumped up, grabbed the cane, and told Fanny it was time to go. I helped her to her feet and tried leading her out, but she didn’t budge.

  “Relieve an old lady of one worry.” She was nose to nose with Travis, and it was gratifying to see him back up a step. “Did you kill that girl, Travis?”

  “No, Mrs. Baumgarten.” He actually swallowed his next burp. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter 15

  “You-hoo,” I hollered through the screened door. “Anyone home?”

  Dammit, this was not the plan. I had wanted to march over to Joe’s, bang on the door, and maybe give it a few kicks, until he was forced to open up and face me.

  “You-hoo,” I repeated.

  The FN 451-z beeped, burped, and chirped. But evidently Joe couldn’t hear me over the racket.

  I muttered a colorful word and walked in. “Are you up there?” I shouted at the ceiling.

  “Cassie?” I heard a bunch of clinking and clanking, and Joe rushed down the stairs. “What a nice surprise,” he said as he reached the landing.

  I folded my arms. “You know Travis La Barge,” I said. “And so does Paige.”

  “Didn’t I mention that last night?” He gestured me farther into the room, but I stood still. “Are you mad about something?” he asked.

  “Very good! I just got back from a little visit with Fanny Baumgarten.” I raised an eyebrow. “And Travis.”

  “How is Fanny? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She’s fine. She heard the whole thing yesterday.”

  “But that’s fantastic.” He waved me toward the couch. I gave up and took seat. Joe took the easy chair opposite.

  “I’m not here to discuss Fanny Baumgarten,” I said. “I’m here to talk about you. You and Travis, Paige and Travis, what Travis said about you, what Gabe said about you.” I pointed. “You, you, you.”

  He blinked. “Why don’t you start with what Travis said about me?”

  “He said you’re buddies!” I practically jumped out of my seat. “Buds to be exact. He told me he’s ‘buds’ with Paige also.”

  “None of us are ‘buds.’ Would it mean something if we were?”

  “Yes it would!” I threw up my hands. “Last night you said he and your daughter were not—not!—friends. And now I figure out he’s a murderer at the exact same time I find out you’re friends with him? Yes!” I said, and Joe flinched. “It does mean something!”

  He stared at me. “Have I missed something? Why don’t you tell me about your entire day.”

  “Okay, fine!” I snapped. I gave a summary of my infuriating visit to Gabe, my enlightening visit with Fanny, and ended up back at Travis. “He’s a complete jerk,” I concluded.

  “Was he sober?”

  I thought about it. “I think we caught him on his first beer of the day,” I said. “So he was quite clear when he told me he’s ‘buds’ with all you Wylies.”

  Joe shrugged. “Paige went to school with him—K through twelve. First at the Lake School, and then at the schools in Hilleville.”

  “So they were good friends.”

  “No, but you have to understand small towns, Cassie. Their kindergarten class had seven children in it, and their senior class at Hilleville High only had something like sixty kids.”

  “They know each other well,” I said.

  “Yes. But they’re not buddies.”

  “Travis thinks they are.”

  “Travis is dreaming.” Joe got up, took a photograph from the mantle, and handed it to me.

  “She’s cute as a button,” I said.

  “No kidding.” He sat back down. “She was also the valedictorian of her senior class, and at the top of her class at MIT, and she’s doing just as well in graduate school.”

  “She has some internship in Boston this summer, right?”

  “A Pendergrass internship.” Joe waited until I looked up. “And what was Travis doing today?”

  “Drinking beer and belching.”

  “Figures. I don’t mean to brag, but Paige is out of his league. She doesn’t tell me everything, but we’re close—like you and your father. If she were ‘buds’ with Travis, I’d know.”

  “And you?” I asked. “Are you ‘buds’ with Travis?”

  “No, but I know everyone around here. I’ve lived here my whole life, except for when I was at MIT.”

  “Ah-ha!” I sat back and folded my arms. “You went to MIT.”

  “Undergraduate, graduate, and post-doc.” He tilted his head. “Is that a problem?”

  “It’s in Boston. And isn’t it interesting that Arlene and Pru Pearson are from Boston?”

  “Why?”

  “Jo-ooe!” I jumped. “Try following me, here! I think you’re buddies with Arlene Pearson. More than buddies.”

  He laughed. A lot. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “Didn’t you hear her last night? She hates me.”

  “Why? Was it a bad break up?”

  More laughter. “Who put this idea into your gorgeous head?”

  I gave him my most withering look until he apologized. “Who put this idea into your average, run of the mill head?” he asked.

  “Gabe Cleghorn.”

  “What?”

  “Gabe told me you’re biased when it comes to the Fox Cove Inn.” I nodded. “Why is that?”

  Joe stared at me a long time.

  I stared back. “You have skeletons in your closet, Dr. Wylie.”

  About then, the FN451z let out a cacophony of beeps, burps, and chirps.

  I kept my eyes on Joe and pointed to the ceiling. “And that’s one of them.”

  ***

  “Wine?” Joe pointed to the clock. 5:02.

  “Why not?” I said. “It might help me pry something useful out of you.”

  “You can try.” He left for his kitchen, and I stood up to replace the picture of Paige on the mantle.

  It was crowded up there—pictures of Paige skiing, Paige hiking with friends, Paige playing the piano. I moved two steps sideways and looked at some older shots—Paige at about ten, laughing with her mother Helen on their pontoon boat, Helen and Joe, also on the boat, Helen and Joe, their wedding photo.

  “I’ve thought of taking some of those down.”

  I jumped and turned.

  “But Paige likes them.”

  “I don’t blame her.” I took the glass he offered, he tapped mine with his, and we each took a sip. Whatever the skeletons in this guy’s closet, they were resting beside a very nice stash of wine.

  We returned to our seats, and of course Joe shifted the subject away from himself. “Fanny really thinks Travis was involved yesterday?”

  “She’s does. B
ut she refuses to say he murdered the woman.” I sighed. “And she didn’t actually hear Travis, and obviously she didn’t see him, and therefore Gabe Cleghorn doesn’t believe her.”

  Joe scowled. “At the risk of making you angry—”

  I held up a hand. “I know, I know. You agree with Gabe. So did I until I talked to Travis. What a jerk.”

  “At the risk of making you angrier, Travis isn’t violent.”

  “Oh, come on! So you agree with Gabe, then? He was in Montpelier?”

  Joe held up a hand. “Not necessarily, okay? But we need proof, other than Fanny’s intuition, that he was in Mallard Cove.”

  “Well, don’t count on the sheriff,” I muttered. “Until the body shows up and tap dances on his doorstep, Gabe’s dropping the case.”

  “That’s what he says, but Gabe will figure it out. He’s a smart guy.”

  “I’ve already figured it out. Travis killed that woman.”

  “What if she wasn’t murdered?” Joe asked.

  “What!?” I put down my wine. “I thought we already established that fact. Last night on your pontoon boat. No oars, remember?”

  “But let’s look at the facts.” While I sputtered and pouted, my annoying neighbor calmly stated the facts. “We know she was dead, and we know someone moved her around. But we can’t know much more until there’s a body, and an autopsy.”

  “Travis La Barge knows,” I said. “Miss Rusty knows, and Rose and Ruby know.”

  “Do you know you’re nuts?”

  “Wacko and Looney Tunes,” I added. “What can you tell me about Lindsey Luke?”

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Terrific, but what else? She told me she also went to high school with Travis. Which means she went to school with Paige, right?”

  Joe pointed to the ceiling. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Whyyy?”

  “Trust me,” he said. He stood up and gestured for me to do the same.

  I reminded him I most definitely did not trust him and followed.

  ***

  Quantum Physics in the Nuclear Age: Theoretical Considerations, Trouble-Free Calculations of Equilibrium Linear Velocities, The Big Book of Sudoku Puzzles: Level 5. I read the titles on Paige Wylie’s bookcase and concluded we had nothing in common. Even if we both lost our mothers when we were children and had both been raised by our fathers.