She scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I told the sheriff I had a dentist appointment,” she said. “He didn’t argue.”

  “No one argues with you.” I tilted my head toward my door. “You terrorized poor Amy.”

  “She’s a nincompoop.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t even know her, Sarah. Amy’s incredibly smart, and capable, and efficien—

  I was interrupted by my office phone and reached out.

  “Don’t answer that.” She made as if to stop me. “We have things to discuss, babe.”

  “Have news for you, babe.” I grabbed the receiver. “You’re on my territory.”

  ***

  “I just saw the Herald,” a female voice was speaking. “I’m so happy he’s okay. He is okay, isn’t he? I’ve been so worried.”

  I shook my head. “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Oh! Sorry! Molly Donahue. From the assessor’s office.”

  It took me a minute. “Ms. Donahue?” I said. “You worked with Judy?”

  “Correct. And it’s Molly.”

  “Hello, Molly. I’m Cassie.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes and started making cutting motions across her throat.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked Molly.

  She chuckled. “I could lie and say I’m brilliant, but everyone in Hanahan County knows where Cassie Baxter—the one and only—works.” Molly also informed me the Crabtree College on-line directory is a cinch to use.

  I curled my lip. “Hopefully not everyone is so resourceful.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “The article said you want people to contact you about Truman.”

  “Truman!” I sat up straight. “Do you know someone? Do you know some family?”

  “No. I just called because I’ve been worried about him. Is he okay?”

  Sarah continued making cutting motions across her throat and silent-speak ordering me to hang up.

  I waved to shut her up and told Molly Truman seemed okay.

  “The poor kid,” she said. “Can I see him?”

  Good idea. A little visit to Judy Tripp’s office might prove interesting. I continued ignoring Sarah’s gyrations, and promised Molly I’d bring him by sometime soon.

  “Today?”

  I frowned at the stacks of grading toppling off my desk. “This week,” I promised. “Friday at the latest.”

  Molly thanked me several times. “To be honest, I have no idea what I’ll say,” she said. “But at least I can give him a big hug and tell him how much we care—”

  “Hang up!” Sarah mouthed.

  I said I had to go and hung up.

  “About time, babe.”

  I pointed to the phone. “That was Molly Donahue. She worked with Judy.”

  “Duh. The woman’s a nincompoop.”

  ***

  I told Sarah I wasn’t interested in debating Molly Donahue’s supposed nincompoop-hood. “But I am interested in Judy’s job.” I said. “Did she like it?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Until recently.”

  “What was up with her job?”

  “It’s more like what was up with that building,” Sarah told me. “One day she needed a winter coat, and the next her bathing suit.”

  “The ghosts,” I said, but suggested we stick to real people. “For instance, this Molly person.” I pointed to my phone. “And the boss—what’s her name?”

  “Rebecca Pryce.” Sarah told me the county tax assessor was due to retire soon and had spent the last three years daydreaming about moving to Florida. “Rebecca does no work whatsoever. Nada, zero, zip.”

  “So Judy and Molly did all the work?”

  “You got it. And whether or not you like it, Molly’s a complete nincompoop.”

  “You think everyone is, Sarah.”

  “No. Just cute blondes.”

  I pursed my lips. “What do you have against cute blondes?” I asked, and she squirmed.

  I waited.

  She took a deep breath. “Maybe it sucks that you look like that.” She pointed to me. “And I look like this.” She pointed to herself.

  “Oh, come on!” I said. “You have a lot going for you, and you know it.”

  “Such as?”

  “How about your family, your job, your brains. And you’re not exactly ugly, Sara Bliss.”

  She snorted. “I’m not exactly cute as a button, either.”

  Okay, so I laughed out loud. And I had to agree that wasn’t exactly the term I’d use to describe her. “But cute as a button has its drawbacks, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “The Cassandra Syndrome,” I said and gave a quick lesson in Greek mythology.

  According to Homer, Cassandra—daughter of Priam, sister of Paris, and princess of Troy—caught the eye of the god Apollo. He gave her the gift of prophecy, but when she refused to sleep with him, Apollo added one small caveat. Yes, Cassandra could foretell the future, but no one ever believed her.

  “Not exactly how Homer phrased it,” I said. “But everyone thought she was a nincompoop.”

  Sarah pointed to me. “You’re a Cassandra. Cassie-Cassandra.”

  I nodded.

  “And people don’t always take you seriously.”

  More nodding.

  “You’re not a nincompoop,” she said quietly, and I thanked her for noticing.

  ***

  Why couldn’t we leave well enough alone?

  “Jason Sterling thinks you’re cute,” Sarah said.

  Yeah, right. I didn’t have any exams that morning, but when she started hounding me for anything he’d told me about the fire, I pretended otherwise and stood up to rummage haphazardly in my filing cabinet. “Jason doesn’t tell me anything,” I insisted.

  “You call him Jason, now?”

  I slammed the drawer shut. “I don’t know anything,” I repeated. “Unlike you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You seem to know everything before it even happens. Why is that?”

  “I’m the sheriff’s secretary, Cassie. I know stuff.”

  “Then tell me why they burned the house down.”

  Sarah shook her head. “That was such a great house, Cassie. Almost a mansion.”

  I thought about the almost-mansion and asked if Judy Tripp had come from money.

  Another head-shake. “Maybe there was some money somewhere, a long time ago,” Sarah said. “But Judy grew up in the house next door to me. Trust me, no money.”

  “Except that house on Maple Street.”

  “Which wasn’t hers. Which is gone.” Sarah swiveled in her chair—make that, my chair—to look out my tiny slice of window.

  I stared at the back of her head. “How did you know the incendiary device was attached to the floor lamp?” I asked. “Jason was real interested.”

  She jumped and twirled around. “You told him?”

  “Of course I told him.” I scowled. But maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell Sarah I told him? While she mumbled a few colorful words, I grabbed an armload of three-year old papers and hoisted them to the top of the filing cabinet. “I let something else slip, too,” I said.

  She skipped a beat. “No.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “He now knows I’m not related to Truman. He knows I’ve—we’ve—been lying.”

  Sarah stared aghast.

  I nodded again. “My sentiments, exactly, but at least he didn’t arrest me.”

  “He has enough problems right now. And I don’t think he considers you a problem.”

  “Nope. He considers you a problem.”

  “Why? Am I a suspect?”

  I blinked. Then I grabbed that stack of old exams, and started arranging them by—nothing.

  Chapter 24

  Jason Sterling poked his head around the door, and I caught a glimpse of Amy giving me a thumbs up from across the reception area. I tossed aside the terrible essay I was grading and asked him to please close the door.

  “You’re frowning again,” he said as he took a seat.

  “Essays.” I found a few pencils and rolled them in his direction.

  He looked down. “Will I need those?”

  “If history dictates. What’s up?”

  “Your father’s right.”

  I hate it when that happens, but I asked about what, and Jason said he’d changed his mind about publicity.

  “Maybe it is a good thing.” He admitted he was ready to ask the media for help. “Newspapers, radio, the Internet, TV. It’s short notice, but I hope to schedule a press conference this afternoon. I want everyone in Vermont to know about Judy Tripp. No more secrets.”

  “Hopefully one secret,” I said. “About the little kidnapping thing. Promise you won’t tell on me?”

  “Tell on you? You’ve been hanging out with a five-year old too long.”

  “Five and a half.”

  He promised my secret was safe, but I didn’t feel much better. More publicity meant more danger for Truman. “He’s had enough trauma,” I said.

  Jason reminded me that Truman was fairly secluded at Lake Elizabeth. “And we have Lynette Riley watching out for him at the Lake School. She’s good, Cassie.”

  Maybe. But I still had a problem and asked him to hold off on the media angle until later that evening. “It’s Wednesday,” I said. “It’s Bingo at Lake Bess night.”

  “Everyone in that town goes to Bingo.”

  I nodded. “And everyone will have enough questions after seeing Maxine’s article. I’m already concerned Truman will overhear something.”

  Jason agreed to postpone the press conference to coincide with Bingo. “That way it will make the eleven o’clock news and tomorrow’s papers—”

  “—but won’t keep everyone buzzing at Bingo.” I agreed to the new plan and asked what he thought the publicity would accomplish.

  His answer was a lot. In particular, he hoped someone had seen Judy’s car on Sunday, or knew why Ryan Webb was with her.

  “Even better, maybe someone knows where they were going,” he said. “And there’s the boyfriend angle. In a perfect world, the mystery man, if he’s not Ryan, will come forward.”

  “I keep telling you, Sarah says there was no boyfriend.”

  “And Ms. Tripp’s co-workers keep saying otherwise.”

  “The co-workers believe in ghosts,” I said. “Have you heard about that? About the supposedly haunted office?”

  He shrugged. “They’re just joking, Cassie.”

  “And maybe they’re just joking about the boyfriend. Maybe they make things up. Are you going to believe gossip or Judy’s best friend?”

  Jason grabbed a pencil. “Maybe Sarah Bliss is the one making things up.”

  “About what?”

  “About their friendship. If they were so close, why wasn’t she named as next of kin, instead of you? A complete stranger.” The pencil snapped. “As you finally saw fit to tell me.”

  I squinted at the pencil parts. “Sarah has children of her own,” I said. “Judy didn’t want to burden her.”

  “So she burdened you instead.”

  “If you’re implying there’s some other reason, you’re wrong. Sarah wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “People lie, Cassie.” He raised an eyebrow. “Look in the mirror.”

  Ouch.

  Ouch.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you confide in me before this morning?” Jason asked me.

  I shrugged. “Fear of jail.”

  “Do you really think I’d throw you in jail?” He smiled. “Let’s make a deal, okay? From now on, you promise to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and I promise I’ll never arrest you.”

  “Deal.”

  “Make me one other promise. Promise you’ll be cautious with Sarah Bliss.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. I threw my hands up and argued, again, that Sarah was not—not, not—the murderer. “Sarah is a very nice person.”

  “Excuse me? She’s a bully, and you know it.”

  “It’s a façade,” I insisted. “To cover up for her insecurities.”

  Jason shook his head. “As you would say, yeah right.”

  “No, really. I’m guessing Judy saw it also. Deep down inside Sarah’s a sweet person.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Deep down inside.” I blinked. “Like, really, really deep.”

  He stared at a pencil. “There’s something else I’d like you to agree to.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The murder investigation. I know how you like getting involved and running errands, but I don’t need your help.”

  Yeah, right. I told him point-blank that I was involved. “I have Truman,” I said. “And you do too need help—that’s why you’re holding a press conference. And FYI, you’re in my office. You keep visiting me, Captain Sterling. Not vice versa.”

  A true shocker, he agreed I had a valid point.

  “I do?”

  “And since you have the boy, could you talk to him?” he asked. “Maybe he knows where they were going on Sunday, maybe he knows why Ryan Webb was with them, and maybe he knows who the boyfriend was.”

  I thought about it. “Even if Truman won’t tell me, Cosmic Cow might.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I explained Dr. Settle’s advice.

  Jason nodded. “And don’t forget your other priority.”

  I scowled at the essays waiting to be graded and admitted I was kind of losing track of my priorities.

  “Finding his real family,” he reminded me.

  I scowled some more. “Oh. That.”

  Jason smiled and stood up. “How about lunch?”

  ***

  “Yuck!” I stepped into the biology lab and pointed to the tray of— “What is that?”

  “Frog parts in formaldehyde,” Bambi said. When she’s wearing her lab coat and safety glasses that’s exactly the sort of thing she’s likely to say.

  I got a strong whiff of frog parts in formaldehyde. “Yuck,” I repeated.

  “Aren’t you getting used to yuck?” she asked. “Don’t little boys thrive on mucking around with bugs, and mud, and unidentifiable goo?”

  I watched her muck around in what looked like a combination of the three. “No yuck factor thus far,” I said. “But Truman is interested in biology. Ornithology, in particular. He loves filling the birdfeeders.”

  “Hopefully the freshmen taking their lab practicum today are interested in biology.” Bambi pointed a latex-gloved finger around the room and told me she had twenty lab stations to prepare by four o’clock. “You can help,” she said.

  “You can dream,” I said, and we moved to station number two.

  “At least entertain me.” She looked up to wiggle her eyebrows. “What were you and Jason Sterling doing behind closed doors in your office this morning. Studying biology?”

  I rolled my eyes and suggested the formaldehyde fumes were starting to get to her. “Let me guess,” I said. “Amy called you.”

  “She says you were all flustered when you sashayed out of your office with him. Another fancy lunch?”

  “Maybe.” But I reminded her that I do not sashay. “And I had a right to be flustered.”

  While Bambi used an X-Acto knife to prepare—something—for microscope number two, I reported the latest developments—Maxine’s article, the arson on Maple Street, Truman’s increasing danger, and Jason’s upcoming press conference.

  “And last but not least,” I said. “I finally told him about that little kidnapping thing.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t arrest you,” she said, and I tagged along to lab station three.

  “Ditto,” I said. “But he promised he won’t arrest me as long as I tell him the truth from now on.”

  “That’s about as likely as these frogs jumping up and performing a synchronized jig.” She spilled frog parts onto a slide. “What else have you lied about?”

  “Well,” I sang. “Somehow I forgot to tell him how Sarah Bliss was sitting behind my desk when I got here today. Did Amy mention that?”

  “Amy only reports on hunky-boo sightings. What did Sarah want?”

  “The inside scoop on Jason’s investigation.”

  Bambi pointed out that Sarah could have called me. “She sat at your desk? She’s trying to intimidate you, Cassie.”

  “You sit at my desk all the time.”

  “That’s different. Why didn’t you tell your state trooper about it?”

  “He’s not my state trooper, and I guess I’m trying to protect her.”

  “Protect Sarah?” Bambi sliced into a frog leg. “Has this woman done anything to protect you?”

  Well. No. I promised I’d tell Jason all about Sarah’s visit the next time I saw him, and we moved to station number five or six. “I’m pretty good at telling some people the truth,” I mumbled, and Bambi groaned.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You told Sarah she’s a suspect.”

  “It sort of slipped out,” I told the tray of slimy stuff.

  Bambi groaned again. “Did she panic?”

  “Ohhh, yeah. She pleaded with me to use my supposed sex-appeal to get Jason to change his mind about her.”

  “I’m curious, Cassie. In all this panicking and pleading, did Sarah ever once tell you she’s innocent?”

  I bit my lip, and Bambi dropped the next glob of goo onto the next slide.

  Chapter 25

  “Watch out for the falcons,” Truman shouted as I emerged from my Honda. I looked up to see some barn swallows gliding over the sugar maples.

  “Don’t let their diminutive size fool you,” Dad said from the porch. “The falcons of Flickle become quite spunky when provoked.”

  I said something about little things packing a big punch and watched the latest round of the Cosmic Cow-Twirly Twine Twister game.

  Sides had changed since the day before. Truman and Cosmic Cow were still a team, but instead of Prissy Ott and Princess Juliet, Rose and Ruby had joined the fun. Charlie seemed to be siding with the goats, and Deputy P.T. Dent had Twirly Twine Twister on his side.

  “Oh, nooo!” P.T. and Twine Twister ran past me. “The dreaded Flickle falcons!”