I blinked. “I’m the Good Witch of the—” I hesitated.

  “South, of course!”

  “Of course!” I took the straight chair beside her wheelchair and listened to Mrs. Abernathy report all the latest news from Oz—all totally incomprehensible—while I decided how to proceed. How does one communicate with someone living in a world stranger than Whoozit?

  “Yoo-hoo? Glinda?”

  I glanced up.

  “Did Dorothy send you?”

  “She did!” I answered.

  Mrs. Abernathy beamed. “There’s no place like home!”

  I thought fast. “That’s what Dorothy says! She told me she moved into your home recently. The one on Maple Street?”

  “Such a sweet girl. So tidy! Her little munchkin is sweet, too.”

  “Truman?” I asked, and wasn’t all that surprised to learn Truman was one of the Lollipop Kids.

  Mrs. Abernathy leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked, and I reminded her I’m a good witch.

  “A secret about Dorothy?” I asked.

  “No. About the munchkin. He likes cookies more than lollipops.”

  I gasped. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes.” The old lady giggled. “I know another secret.”

  “About Dorothy?”

  “No. About Toto.” She twirled an index finger near her temple. “He’s very confused.”

  Call me Looney Tunes but I caught on right away. “Toto thinks he’s a cat!” I said.

  “Let’s hope the Wizard can set him straight!”

  “But back to Dorothy,” I said. “She had her munchkin, and her dog, but I’m wondering.” I tapped my chin. “Did Dorothy have a boyfriend?”

  Mrs. Abernathy gave it some serious thought. In fact, she gave it so much thought I’m pretty sure she forgot the question.

  “The munchkin mentioned a Paul Something or Other?” I asked, and she clapped.

  “The Tin Man!” she said. “He’s perfect for Dorothy!”

  Chapter 32

  I left Oz with all good intentions of going home. You know, since there’s no place like it. But the Hilleville House and the hospital share the same parking lot. And since I was there anyway—

  I marched into the hospital and asked for Ryan Webb’s room number at the front desk, but my resolve almost faded when I saw all the nurses, doctors, and complicated equipment outside his door. The Hilleville cop standing to one side didn’t exactly perk me up, either. But I nodded silently and peeked inside.

  Ryan looked like he was sleeping peacefully—resting and getting better, like I’d told Truman. His parents sat close to the bed. They, too, were very still, but I doubted they were at peace.

  I knocked lightly, and they both jumped. And both stood up to hustle me back to the hallway.

  “Cassie Baxter?” Mrs. Webb whispered.

  “What do you want?” Mr. Webb snapped.

  “It’s nice of you to visit,” she added.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded.

  Mrs. Webb came to my rescue, and for once I was happy to hear mention of the dead redhead-pajama incident.

  “I’m sure Ms. Baxter’s looking for information about the accident,” she told her husband.

  “It was no accident, Eleanor.” Mr. Webb turned to me. “Are you here to finish the job?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you try to kill my son?”

  I stared aghast.

  “Edward,” Mrs. Webb tried resting a hand on his forearm, but he shook her off.

  “Answer me!” he demanded.

  “No,” I managed. “Do you think I’m to blame?”

  Mrs. Webb offered a firm no, but Mr. Webb wasn’t so sure.

  “Lake Bess Lore said you’re related to Iris Abernathy,” he said and demanded to know how. “I don’t recall ever seeing you at her house.”

  I swallowed. “It’s a little complicated.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Mrs. Webb saved me again, and scolded her husband for being so tiresome. “I’m sure Ms. Baxter is taking excellent care of Truman.”

  “Cassie,” I said, and she asked me to call her Eleanor.

  “I’m afraid we don’t know anyone,” she said.

  “Anyone?”

  “Any other Tripps or Abernathys,” she said. “But I imagine Maxine Tibbitts’ column will yield results.”

  “Perfect, Eleanor.” Mr. Webb snarled. “The media is great at yielding results. I can’t wait to hear the results of that damn press conference.”

  “Edward, darling.” Eleanor spoke calmly. “We’ve been over this. Captain Sterling is trying to find the person responsible.”

  “Eleanor, darling.” Still the snarl. “He mentioned our son’s name on TV, implying who knows what.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Why must you be so tiresome? A little publicity is a good thing.”

  “My father agrees,” I interjected, and Edward spun on me.

  “Who asked you?” he snapped.

  No one. And before I made matters even worse for these totally distressed people, I apologized for disturbing them, wished Ryan my very best, and turned to leave.

  Eleanor reached out and grabbed my arm. “Sit!” she said. She indicated the seating area a few steps away, and I would have obeyed, but a crash at the nurses’ station caught our attention. The Hilleville cop had knocked over—something.

  “What the hell,” Mr. Webb rushed away.

  Eleanor sighed, and the two of us watched as a nurse took hold of the cop and pushed him away.

  “Sit!” she ordered, and the cop sat in a chair provided by another nurse.

  Another sigh from Eleanor Webb.

  “Have they been here since Sunday?” I asked.

  “Only sporadically.” She reminded me the Hilleville police force was quite small. “I suppose we should feel grateful for whatever protection Ryan gets,” she added doubtfully, and we listened to her husband share some not-so-grateful words with the cop.

  “Edward, darling,” she called over. “Be a dear and hop down to the cafeteria for coffee?”

  Edward looked up, and I was a little surprised when he asked if I’d like some also.

  “No, thank—”

  Eleanor jabbed my ribs.

  “Coffee would be nice,” I said, although I doubted I’d need caffeine to stay awake for whatever Eleanor Webb had to say.

  ***

  “Your husband’s not happy with me.” I stated the obvious.

  We took seats, and Eleanor told me Edward wasn’t happy with anyone that week.

  “Captain Sterling’s press conference didn’t improve matters.” She tilted her head toward Ryan’s room. “Not to mention the rumors about Judy and our son.”

  “You’re not upset by the rumors?” I asked.

  “I have enough real problems, thank you.”

  I asked how Ryan was doing, and his mother smiled. Evidently Ryan’s latest brain scan had been encouraging.

  “The doctors won’t commit,” she said. “But he could wake up any minute, good as new.”

  “I hope so,” I said, and she reached for my hand.

  “How is Truman?”

  I told her he seemed to be recovering. “For instance, he’s started begging for this.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the kiddie computer Jason had returned to me during lunch, and Eleanor let out a sob.

  I dropped the computer back where it came. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Ryan.” She swallowed. “If I know my son, that’s the first thing he’ll ask for when he finally wakes up—his computer.” She made sure to catch my eye. “That’s why he was in Judy’s car. He was helping Judy with some computer issues. And yes, I know it sounds like a flimsy excuse, and yes, I know Judy’s job required a great deal of computer skill, and yes, I know I sound as defensive as Edwar—”

  I waved a hand to stop her. “I believe you, alright? Truman told me the boyfriend’s name, and it wasn’t Ryan.”

  She sat up straight. “Who?” she demanded. But then she caught herself. “There I go, sounding like Edward again.” She thought a second. “Who?” she asked again.

  For once in my life I thought before speaking. “I just know a first name,” I said.

  “And I’m sure Captain Sterling has asked for your discretion?”

  I shrugged in answer, and Eleanor chuckled.

  “Personally, I’m far beyond discretion,” she said. “Ask me anything, Cassie. I know you want to help.”

  I asked where Judy and her son were headed that day, and she stared in the direction of her son’s room.

  “If only I knew,” she whispered.

  “Truman’s mentioned his great grandma’s house,” I said. “Was there anything unusual about the house on Maple Street?”

  “Not until it exploded.”

  ***

  Speaking of explosions. The Hilleville cop stood up just as Edward Webb stepped off the elevator, and let’s just say, Eleanor and I weren’t going to get our caffeine fix.

  We tuned out whatever insults Mr. Webb was hurling at the cop, and talked about the bomb.

  “Fortunately the Hilleville fire department is not nearly as inept as the police department,” Eleanor said and reported that the Webbs’ house had suffered no damage.

  “Were you home when it happened?” I asked.

  “Just Edward.” She pointed to her son’s room. “We take turns staying the night with Ryan.” She shook her head, “Iris would be so upset if she understood what happened.”

  “It’s nice that you visit her so often. Ryan, too.”

  She scowled. “You know about that?” she asked, but then answered her own question. “Of course you do,” she said. “You’re Cassie Baxter—super sleuth.”

  I shrugged modestly, and Eleanor told me her family and Iris Abernathy had been close neighbors.

  “Rather unexpected, perhaps,” she said. “But Iris and Ryan adored—adore—each other. When Ryan was Truman’s age, they bonded over a batch of chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Iris baked him cookies.” Eleanor smiled. “Don’t tell his high school friends, but Ryan loves to bake. Iris taught him.”

  “Your son sounds like a very nice young man,” I said.

  She nodded and told me Ryan had been the first to recognize that Iris had a problem. “He came home one day and reported that he and Mrs. Abernathy had just baked a batch of cookies for the Wizard. Soon after that she started mistaking Maple Street for the Yellow Brick Road.”

  I cringed. “She got lost?”

  “She sure as heck didn’t find the Emerald City.” Eleanor shook her head and apologized for the sarcasm. “Alzheimer’s is nothing to joke about. Poor Judy didn’t know what to do. I hope I gave her sound advice.”

  “The Hilleville House?” I said. “Mrs. Abernathy seems happy there. I just saw her.”

  “Of course you did.” Eleanor shook her head at me.

  “It was just one little errand,” I said.

  “Of course it was.” She looked me up and down. “One assumes you’re the Good Witch of the South?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Most women are. Except for Judy and myself.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I’m Auntie Em, Ryan is the Scarecrow—” She glanced up as her husband joined us. “And Edward is none other than the Wizard himself.”

  We thanked the Wizard for attempting a coffee run, and he actually smiled. But about then, something else occurred to me, and my head snapped in the direction of the Hilleville House.

  “What are you thinking?” Eleanor asked me.

  “About Oz,” I said. “I wonder if Mrs. Abernathy calls anyone the Wicked Witch.”

  Chapter 33

  As previously mentioned, there is no place like home. But since I was already in errand-running mode, and since I’d already ignored that little non-errand running deal I’d made with Jason, and since Fanny Baumgarten lives at Lake Bess, all convenient-like, and since she and Iris Abernathy were lifelong friends, and since I’d seen Fanny’s name on the Hilleville House guest register—

  I waved to Leftside Lane as I passed, drove the extra half-mile around Elizabeth Circle to Mallard Cove, and paid a visit to our oldest Elizabethan.

  I apologized for dropping by unannounced, but Fanny was her usual gracious self and insisted on serving tea. While I poured, I also apologized for not bringing Truman along. “I’ve been kind of busy,” I said.

  “Kind of? Cassie, honey, I expected a five and a half-year old would keep you on your toes, but little did I know.”

  Actually, Fanny knew a lot. She had seen—make that, heard—Jason’s press conference, and her companion Lindsay Luke had read her the most recent Lake Bess Lore.

  “And I called Bobby this morning,” Fanny added. She knew I’d be at work, but wanted to “stay abreast of the latest developments.”

  “So you know about the bomb scare?”

  “I’m glad everyone’s safe. Bobby told me the little boy is doing well?”

  “Everyone’s helping,” I said. “And Dr. Settle gave me some pointers on how to talk to Truman. I’m supposed to be patient.”

  Fanny almost spilled her tea. But she recovered quickly and set down her cup. “Why don’t you tell me about your errands?” she suggested.

  “How do you know I’ve been running errands?”

  “I know you, don’t I?”

  Okay, so I confessed to looking into things just a little, and mentioned my visit to Iris Abernathy. “I learned all about Oz,” I said.

  “Are you the Good Witch of the South also?”

  “You, too?”

  Yep. Fanny, too. She cautioned me to take anything Iris Abernathy said with a grain of salt. “Perhaps an ocean of salt,” she added. She asked what I’d hope to accomplish talking to Iris, and I told her Truman had mentioned the house.

  “Maybe that house on Maple Street has some bearing on the murder,” I suggested, and Fanny related what she knew—the house had been in the Abernathy family for generations.

  “Iris’s husband Georgie grew up there. Remember, Iris was an Eskew before she married Georgie.”

  “Georgie inherited the house?” I asked.

  “That’s all that was left.” Fanny sighed and delved into some ancient history of the Abernathys and Eskews. Evidently both families had been wealthy. “But both Jimmy Eskew and Eddie Abernathy—they were Iris and Georgie’s fathers—were what we used to call ne’er do wells.”

  “They lost the family fortunes?”

  “Leaving their children no better off than the rest of us. I believe it was what drew Iris and Georgie together all those years ago.”

  While we finished our tea, we debated if Judy’s great grandfathers might have any bearing on her murder. None that we could understand.

  “What about the other house?” I asked. “Maybe Truman meant the Hilleville House. You know, where Eleanor Webb is on the board of directors?” I stopped and let the question hang, but Fanny insisted that line of thought would get us nowhere.

  “I know many of the residents, and their families,” she said. “But I know of no scandals, gossip, or mismanagement.”

  I frowned. “No dirt?”

  “Not one iota. Which means I’ve been about as useful as Iris Abernathy.”

  ***

  “Look what I found!” I pulled Truman’s computer from my purse, and he dropped Cosmic Cow to come get it. Then he remembered Cow and ran back to grab her. Then he didn’t know what to do. I’m guessing the computer, at least for the moment, was more interesting than the ongoing battle between Cosmic Cow and Twirly Twine Twister. But Cow had never forfeited a battle.

  P.T. Dent solved the dilemma. He set Twine Twister on the coffee table and asked to see Truman’s computer gizmo, and the two of them instantly got into some incredibly loud game.

  “The FN has competition in the noise-making department,” I hollered at my father when he walked in from the kitchen.

  He cupped his hands to his mouth and announced dinner was ready, and P.T. jumped up and said he had to be going.

  “I do wish you’d stay for dinner,” I told P.T. as I walked him to his car. “May I at least take you out to dinner when things settle down? I’ll bring Joe, and you can bring your girlfriend.” We stopped at the driveway. “Do you have a girlfriend, P.T.?”

  “Not right now.” He shot me a goofy grin. “Know anyone?”

  I gave him the once over—mid-thirties, on the skinny side, but nice looking when he lost the goofy grin. “The administrative assistant at my job is cute,” I said. “Amy’s also kind of boy crazy.”

  “Just the way I like them.” He lost the goofy grin and asked about the press conference. “Has Captain Sterling found the mystery boyfriend?”

  I shook my head, but P.T. told me he wasn’t surprised.

  “Sarah says there was no boyfriend.”

  “Truman says there was,” I argued. “So you can tell Sarah she’s wrong.”

  P.T. pointed. “Maybe you can tell Sarah she’s wrong.” He tapped his skinny chest. “Not me. I’m a coward.”

  “I hear you.” I glanced at the lake. “Maybe that’s why Judy kept her boyfriend a secret. Maybe she thought Sarah would disapprove.”

  P.T. grinned. “As Sarah would say—duh.”

  Chapter 34

  “Can I ple-eease have my computer?” Truman asked five times during dinner.

  “No,” I answered five times. On that fifth refusal, I glanced at my father. “Help me,” I mouthed.

  Dad banged his fists on the table. “Chance Dooley is headed to Whoozit!” he announced, and sure enough, the kid’s eyes got wide.

  “Cuz that’s where Evadeen is going?” Truman asked.

  Dad tapped his temple. “Once Chance considered the basic layout of the Hollow Galaxy, it made perfect sense.”

  I put my fork down and considered the basic layout. “The Nubu Nebula and Planet Plucket are on the way to Whoozit?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about Committer Dingle?” Truman asked.

  “Commissioner.” Dad cringed. “Chance Dooley continues to defy the commissioner’s orders, making him a fugitive from the law, just like Evadeen.”