I started pacing again. “Molly’s lack of wheels still might be significant,” I said. “She seems nice enough, but we shouldn’t fall for that cute as a button act.”

  Jason made a funny noise. But he did promise to look into the mystery of Molly Donahue’s car. “Why would she kill Judy?” he asked. “And would she know how to tamper with a car?”

  “Paul McGraw answers both those questions. Molly dated Paul, and I bet he taught her about cars, and then she used that knowledge to kill his new girlfriend in a fit of jealous—”

  “Woah! Back up.”

  I stepped back into a rocking chair.

  “How do you know about Paul McGraw?”

  “He called me.”

  “I told him not to talk to you.”

  “Hello. So of course he talked to me.” I sat down, and while Notz claimed my lap, and Charlie found his favorite chew toy, I congratulated Jason on figuring out the Paul McGraw-Evadeen Deyo connection. “He’s a mechanic, of course. You’re a real pro.”

  “The guy’s a murder suspect, Cassie.” Pencil-snap. “Did he threaten you?”

  “Nooo. We met at a crowded bar, and Bambi was with me, and besides, Paul didn’t do it.”

  Jason was kind of whimpering, but I insisted Bambi and I had talked about the ins and outs of both Paul and Molly on the drive back to Montpelier. “We decided Paul’s a nice guy.”

  “Excuse me?” Jason said. “He’s a womanizing jerk.”

  “The playboy stuff is an act,” I said. “Deep down inside, Paul McGraw’s a good guy. I’m guessing Judy saw it, too.”

  “Can you give me something a little more concrete?”

  “He cares about Truman,” I said with confidence.

  Jason asked if anyone I’d met had admitted to not caring about Truman.

  “Maxine Tibbitts, I guess. But she didn’t kill Judy.”

  “So what does this tell you?”

  Darn. It told me someone was lying. Clearly, the murderer did not care about Truman. I shooed Notz off my lap, and got up to check out the window for Joe’s car. Where was everyone?

  “Paul McGraw’s story contradicts Sarah’s,” Jason was saying.

  “He claims she had a crush on him, but she claims she didn’t like him at all.” I turned from the window. “So who’s lying?”

  Jason told me what I already knew—both of them were suspects. “But we didn’t find anything incriminating in McGraw’s apartment,” he added. “Which bodes well for him.”

  “You searched his place? You didn’t find our computers, did you?”

  “He’d be behind bars if I did.”

  Good point. I asked if Paul had mentioned his theory to Mr. State Trooper.

  “Oh yeah. I heard all about his Edward or Eleanor Webb theory.”

  “What if they really did think their son was involved with Judy?” I asked. “Paul made a pretty convincing argument. Personally, I thought Edward was a little hot-headed, but Eleanor was almost too calm and relax—”

  “Whoa. You talked to the Webbs?”

  “Days ago. Ancient history.”

  “Do you ever sleep?”

  I turned and checked for Joe’s car again. “Umm, Jason?”

  “Umm, Cassie?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “What!? Has someone accused you?”

  “Several people.”

  He chuckled. “And they call you Looney Tunes?”

  Chapter 42

  “It’s way too quiet around here,” I told the animals as I loaded my solitary dinner plate into the dishwasher. Notz meowed, and the FN451z beeped a response from next door. I shrugged at Charlie. “It’s still too quiet.”

  The dog didn’t bark, but he did drop his tennis ball into the silverware basket, and I finally got the hint. We were moving to the living room for an indoor game of fetch when Truman stormed through the door, took a flying leap, and landed in my arms.

  I stumbled, but I did not fall.

  “Hi!” he shouted in my ear.

  “Hi!” I shouted back and squeezed tight.

  “Hi,” Joe replied at little less enthusiastically.

  My father came in last and shut the door. “You’ll never guess what happened, girl.”

  “You bought a new computer.”

  Joe held the box up, but Dad had something else in mind.

  “The computer’s great,” he said absently. “But I’m afraid we also have some bad news—Commissioner Dingle has finally caught up with Evadeen Deyo.”

  “Oh, no!” I said.

  “Ask us where!” Truman squirmed to get down, and while everyone took off their jackets, they told me where.

  I scowled at my father. “I can’t believe she’s still on Plucket.”

  “Stucket on Plucket!” Truman grabbed Cow from the coffee table and raced around and around, repeating and repeating.

  So much for too quiet.

  Joe waited to catch my eye. “Wine?”

  I pointed to the bottle on the counter, and while he served, Dad reported the details of the Dingle-Deyo confrontation.

  “Evadeen was stucket at the Plucket Spaceport, to be precise.” Bobby spoke up to be heard over the kid-noise. “Still looking for a ride, when Commissioner Dingle’s Beta 9000 Spaceship touched down.” Dad shook his head. “The poor girl looked like a deer caught in the headlights.”

  Truman, on the other hand, was not acting like a deer caught in headlights. He, Cosmic Cow, Charlie, and Notz continued racing around the living room.

  I held my wine aloft. “Is this a sugar rush?” I asked, and Joe told me they’d stopped for creamies on the way home.

  “Girl! You’re not paying attention.”

  I turned and dutifully asked my father what brought Commissioner Dingle to Plucket.

  “He had to make a pit stop.”

  “He ran out of gas?” I asked.

  Mr. Sci Fi Author dismissed that apparent absurdity and told me another. Evidently Beta 9000 Rockets require a three hour break every five hundred light-years of travel.

  “Evadeen’s in big trouble now!” the kid shouted and headed for the kitchen.

  “Speaking of trouble.” Dad gave me one of his I am your father looks. “What have you been up to?”

  “Same old, same old,” I said and yelled to Truman that it was way past bath time.

  ***

  Truman reached for my hand and stepped into in the tub.

  “I missed you today,” I said.

  “I missed you, too.”

  Really? I smiled at the pets, and the little guy began chattering on and on about Burlington.

  “Uncle Joe took us to a science museum!” Truman grabbed a space sweeper and flung a load of bubbles across the bathroom, and I watched them land on the mirror and slide downwards.

  The space sweeper tapped my shoulder. “What did you do today?”

  “I visited some of your momma’s friends.”

  “Aunt Sarah?”

  I shook my head and mentioned Paul McGraw, and the kid’s face lit up.

  “How’d you find out his name?”

  “Paul found me,” I said. “He wanted to know how you’re doing.”

  “Can he visit us, like P.T. does?”

  I nodded. “I also stopped by your momma’s office.”

  “Ms. Pryce is returning.”

  I looked up from my space sweeper. “Returning from where?”

  “From work. Like Grandpa Bobby.”

  “She’s retiring,” I told the pets and turned back to Truman. “I was hoping someone could tell me where your momma was headed on Sunday,” I said. “But no one knows.”

  “I know!” He flicked some bubbles onto my head, then he flicked some at Charlie and Notz.

  I reached out, and he handed over the space sweeper. “Where?” I asked. “Please tell me, Truman.”

  Of course he told me it was a secret, locked his lips, and dropped the key into the remaining bubbles.

  But Cassie Baxter had learned the secret to unlocking secrets. I wiggled my eyebrows and reached down. “Ah-ha!” I pulled my hand up. “Look what I found.”

  Truman sat very still and let me unlock his lips. I made sure to hold the key out in case he wanted to re-lock and asked again. “Where were you going?”

  He stared at the pretend key. “My momma told me it’s a secret.”

  I considered the dilemma, but eventually told him I was sure his mother would want me to know.

  “Promise not to tell anyone else?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t do that, Truman. But I still think your momma would want me to know.”

  “Momma was different than Evadeen.”

  Yep. I think we already covered that. I reminded myself patience is a virtue and once again asked how they were different.

  “Evadeen ran awa-aaay from the policeman.”

  Ooo-kay. I thought about the geography of the Hollow Galaxy. I thought about Route 19.

  Holy. Moly.

  “Your mother was running to-ooo the policeman.”

  “That’s right!” he said, and bubbles splattered everywhere.

  ***

  “I have another secret,” he told me as I helped him dry off.

  What a shocker, I was all ears. But in typical Truman-fashion, he kept squirming and hedging.

  “About your mother?” I asked.

  “Nope.” He hid his head under the towel. “This is my secret.”

  I pulled the towel away and tossed him his pajamas. “About Grandpa Bobby or Uncle Joe?”

  “Guess again,” he said and hopped onto the stool to brush his teeth.

  “Paul McGraw, Ms. Donahue, Ms. Pryce?” I asked as I followed him into his bedroom.

  “Guess again.”

  “Sarah Bliss?”

  “Guess again!” He climbed into bed.

  I sat down on the edge as Charlie, Notz, and Cosmic Cow got themselves situated around Truman. “Is your secret about Chance Dooley or Evadeen Deyo?” I asked.

  “They’re pretend.”

  I was running out of guesses but tried Ryan Webb, or Mr. and Mrs. Webb.

  No, no, and no.

  Cosmic Cow suggested Great Grandma Abernathy.

  “Guess again!”

  Okay, so it finally, finally dawned me. “It’s about me,” I said.

  “That’s right!” He clapped his hands and reached for mine. “You have good hands.” “Come on, Truman!” I pulled away. “That’s your big secret?”

  He frowned. “My momma promised I’d be in good hands.”

  Perfect, Cassie! Great time to be impatient.

  I reached out and took his hands and apologized. “Your momma loved you very much,” I said. I told him it was way too late for a bedtime story, gave him a kiss, and stood up to leave.

  “But I didn’t tell you my secret.”

  I sat back down. “Why is this so hard?” I asked. “You can tell me anything.”

  “It’s about what I want to call you.”

  “Oh!” I smiled. “Oh, oh, oh! You want to call me Aunt Cassie. Or maybe Auntie Cassie? Either is fine with—”

  “Nooo!” he said impatiently.

  I shut up.

  “I want to call you something else.” He stared at my hands. “Promise you’ll say yes?”

  Hello. I promised.

  “Can I call you Momma Cass?”

  Chapter 43

  I waltzed into the living room, twirled around, and landed in a rocking chair. “Guess what Truman wants to call me.”

  “Miss Looney Tunes?” Dad asked, and Joe laughed.

  I smirked. “How about Momma Cass?” I said, and both guys laughed some more. “What’s so funny?” I asked indignantly.

  “You,” my father said. “You do know who Mama Cass was?”

  “The 60s, right? The Mamas and the Papas.”

  Joe tapped my rocking chair with his foot and set it in motion. “She was about five times your size, Cassie.

  “But the point is, Truman likes me. Or even loves me. Wow!” I scowled. “That’s Looney Tunes.”

  “Tell me about it,” Joe said.

  Huh?

  ***

  “Earth to Cassie Baxter.”

  I looked up. “Huh?”

  My father rolled his eyes. “Tell me about your day. I’m sick of Joe doing your dirty work for you.”

  “Dirty work?”

  “I told Bobby your P.T. Dent theory,” Joe said.

  “Cockamamie even for you, girl.”

  No kidding. I waved a hand and stood up. “It wasn’t P.T., and I need to call Jason.” I headed toward the phone. “Truman just told me—”

  “Cassie, wait,” Dad interrupted.

  “For what?”

  “Tell me about your day.”

  I told him. But I kept it short. “Bambi was with me, we went to see where Judy worked, and met her co-worker Molly Donahue, and then after freezing to death, we met Mr. Mystery Man Boyfriend Paul McGraw, who ended up not being a fugitive from the law like Evadeen Deyo, but instead a mechanic like Evadeen Deyo, and who is not the jerk Bambi and I first thought he was, even if he does claim to be the playboy of Hanahan County.” I came up for breath. “That’s it. Satisfied?”

  I think I lost my father back at Molly, but Joe had kept up. “Hanahan County has a playboy?” he asked.

  “Not the point.” I picked up the phone and pointed it at the ceiling. “Truman just told me his mother was headed to Montpelier that day. To Jason Sterling.”

  “What!?” Both guys jumped.

  I nodded. “He didn’t say Jason in particular, but they were headed down Route 19. To the Vermont state policeman.”

  Both guys stared aghast.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Why did she need the state troopers?” Joe asked.

  “If I knew that, Jason would put me on staff.”

  ***

  Maxine Tibbitts sprang into our living room with as much energy as Truman Tripp on a sugar high. “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?” she asked, a little on the late side.

  “We’re here,” I said, a little on the late side. I held up the phone. “But I have an important phone call to ma—”

  “I have news, Cassie!” Maxine literally jumped up and down. “Exciting news!”

  “That’s nice, but I have this important phone call—”

  “Offer Maxine some sherry, girl.” My father spoke loud and clear.

  Okay, so I dropped the phone, found the bottle we keep in the cupboard expressly for our nosiest neighbor, and poured some sherry. Meanwhile the guys got Maxine settled on the couch.

  “I already heard,” I said as I handed her the glass. “Percival Theobald.”

  She slumped. “Dent the Third. I thought you’d be so pleased.”

  “Who?” Joe asked. “What?” Dad asked.

  “P is for Percival,” I said. “And I am pleased. We can now cross P.T. off our list of suspects.”

  Maxine’s eyes got wide. “Was he on our list?”

  “Maybe.” I walked back to the phone. “And now I have an important phone call—”

  “Cassie, wait,” she said.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake! I turned around. “What, Maxine?”

  “You haven’t heard my other news. You’ll never guess who stopped by the library this afternoon. Go ahead, guess.”

  Joe saved me the trouble. “Tell us who,” he said firmly, and she finally spit it out.

  “Jennifer Epstein!”

  It took me a minute, but then it dawned on me. “She works at the Hilleville House,” I told the guys as a few others things also dawned on me. The Hilleville House is Great Grandma’s Abernathy’s house, and Judy Tripp was helping Great Grandma with her house on Sunday. Before she headed to the State Troopers, before she was murdered—

  I sat down. “Your other news?” I asked.

  “The Eskews news!” Maxine put down her sherry and raised two triumphant fists. “My column worked, Cassie! I have found Truman’s long lost family!”

  I blinked at my father.

  I blinked at Joe.

  “I think I need to sit down,” I said.

  Maxine blinked. “Cassie, honey, you’re already sitting.”

  ***

  “I can’t take full credit,” Maxine was saying as I tried breathing again. “Your little errand to the Hilleville House is what got Jennifer Epstein thinking.”

  “Stupid, stupid errand,” I muttered.

  “Not stupid, smart!” Maxine said and explained how Ms. Epstein had wondered about the Eskew connection when she had me sign in. “Evidently Iris Abernathy’s full name was right there at the top of the page,” Maxine said. “Iris Eskew-Abernathy.”

  “Stupid, stupid errand,” I muttered.

  “Not stupid, smart! Especially since my column didn’t make mention of the Eskew link.”

  My father whined. “Esk-who?”

  “Eskew is Great Grandma Abernathy’s maiden name,” I told him.

  FYI, the old man looked about as stricken as I felt. And FYI, I have no idea how Joe was looking. At some point he had stood up, and was behind my chair holding onto my shoulders. Which, FYI, were shaking.

  “Isn’t it wonderful Mrs. Abernathy is so clear about the past?” Maxine asked. “Jennifer’s a geriatric nurse so she could explain that to me. Recent events tend to confuse Alzheimer’s patients, but they can be quite lucid about their ancient history.”

  Joe squeezed my shoulders. “Eskew history?” he asked, and Maxine gleefully filled us in on what Iris Abernathy had told Jennifer Epstein—Jimmy Eskew, Iris’s father, had fathered an illegitimate son, meaning Iris Abernathy had a half-brother.

  “Back in those days, this was considered a skeleton to be left in the proverbial closet,” Maxine said. “The mother was paid a rather large sum of money, and sent away to have her baby and live elsewhere. Iris, who was a teenager at the time, was admonished never to reveal the family secret.

  “Stupid, stupid secrets,” I muttered.

  “But the son took the Eskew name?” Joe asked.

  “That’s right!” Maxine practically shouted. “And Donald Eskew—Truman’s great grandmother’s illegitimate half-brother’s granddaughter is still alive. She lives right here in Vermont! In Burlington! It’s so unexpected!”

  “Tell me about it,” I whimpered.

  Maxine scowled. “I am telling you about it.”

  Yep. And somehow I managed to keep breathing as Maxine kept explaining. Evidently Jennifer Epstein had stopped by the library during her lunch hour to see if Ms. Research Librarian could verify Iris Abernathy’s story.