“Jennifer wanted to be sure Mrs. Abernathy’s knowledge of the Eskews wasn’t askew.” Maxine winked. “Get it? Eskew-askew?”

  “And you did verify?” Joe asked.

  Maxine shook her head. “Nothing in the Hilleville records—I imagine the Eskews made sure of that. But!” She raised a finger and almost jabbed my father in the eye. “You’ll never guess where I went this afternoon!”

  “To Burlington,” Dad guessed.

  “That’s right, Bobby. First stop—the library!”

  I closed my eyes and somehow endured Maxine chattering on and on about library hours. In case you’re dying to know, the Hilleville library closes at two on Fridays, but the Burlington library stays open “clear ‘til eight!” And in case you haven’t quite caught on, Maxine found the records she was seeking in their genealogical archives, and continued her research to learn everything she could about Iris Eskew Abernathy’s half-brother Donald Eskew’s granddaughter.

  “Debra Eskew is a physician!” Maxine exclaimed. “At the medical center right there in Burlington! And you’ll never guess what I did next.”

  “You visited her,” Joe guessed.

  “That’s right, Joe!”

  “Maxi-iiine!” I sprang from my chair. “I thought you learned your lesson. I thought you promised not to jump the gun.” I started pacing faster than Truman Tripp on a sugar rush. “I thought you promised not to do anything without clearing it with me first.”

  “My goodness. Did I say that?”

  “Yes!” I flapped my arms. “You said that!”

  “But I knew you’d be pleased, Cassie. So I went ahead on my own.” Maxine smiled. “Errands, errands, errands!”

  Chapter 44

  “I know you’re spooked,” Joe said the second Maxine left. “But this Eskew person doesn’t necessarily want Truman.”

  “Joe! You heard her!” I flapped in his direction and picked up some speed. “Maxine said they had a ‘lovely chat!’ She said Debra Eskew was ‘pleased as punch!’ She wants to meet Truman!”

  “That’s different than wanting to adopt him.” He backed up to avoid a collision. “And even if she does, her familial tie is very flimsy.”

  “Earth to Dr. Wylie! I have no familial tie. Nada, zero, zip! She’s going to take him from me!”

  “From us,” Dad said quietly, and my head snapped.

  “From us, Dad.” I stood still for a solid minute. “I need to call Ms. Mauve,” I said. I headed to the phone. “I need to tell her the truth, the whole tru—”

  “Cassie, wait.”

  I spun around. “What? What, what, what?”

  “Let’s sleep on it,” Dad said.

  “Old man! You’re the one who keeps insisting honesty’s the best policy.” I grabbed the phone, but Joe stepped over and took it.

  He pointed to the kitchen clock and told me Audrey Mauve wasn’t going to drive to Lake Bess at that hour. “That call can wait until morning.” He handed me the phone. “But your other call can’t.”

  ***

  “This is the third time we talked today,” Jason told me. “Do you ever sleep?”

  “Not much,” I admitted, but told him everyone else on Leftside Lane was at home and in bed.

  I glanced down. Well, not everyone. Charlie and Notz had come upstairs from Truman’s room to keep me company while I paced a trench in my turret floor.

  Poor Charlie was going to miss the child. I glanced sideways. And I was going to miss the ca—I stopped short and scowled. “What did you just say?”

  “I said,” Jason said, “I’m glad you called. I spoke to Molly Donahue.”

  “Who?”

  “About her car.”

  “What?”

  He let out a breath. “Weren’t you concerned about her driving habits?”

  Oh, that. I made another trip around the turret while Mr. State Trooper chattered on and on about how Molly really does walk to work, since she lives close by on Elm Street.

  “She probably can see her office from her house,” I said.

  “Correct. But she does have a car, and before you ask, Paul McGraw’s her mechanic.”

  “Who?”

  “Molly hasn’t brought her car in for service for quite a while.”

  “What?”

  “Cassie,” he said. “You’re not listening.”

  I stared at the lake. The water looked beautiful in the moonlight. “We never got to go swimming together,” I mumbled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Truman.” I sat down. “And you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Truman told me they were headed to see you on Sunday, and we know they were helping his great grandma with her house.” Notz found my lap. “So there’s got to be something fishy about the Hilleville House.”

  “Woah, back up. Why did Judy go looking for me?”

  “You’re a cop. Clearly she had something important to tell you.”

  “What was wrong with Hilleville police?” he asked. “Or even better, Sarah Bliss—her supposed best friend, who just happens to work for the local sheriff?”

  I had no idea. “But the point is,” I said. “What did Judy want to tell you? What’s going on at the Hilleville House?”

  “Nothing.” Jason insisted the nursing home had a squeaky clean reputation.

  “But Eleanor Webb is on the board of directors.”

  “She’s squeaky clean also.”

  “Maybe too squeaky clean,” I argued. “Judy worked for the tax assessor, right? Maybe this was tax evasion of some sort.” I gasped and sat forward, and Notz scolded me.

  “What are you thinking, Cassie?”

  “About that old man at the Hilleville House,” I said. “The one who rants and raves about taxes. Did you see him when you were there?”

  “He wasn’t coherent, Cassie.” What a shocker, Jason told me I was getting a little carried away and mentioned Ryan Webb. “He wouldn’t help implicate his own mother in some sort of scandal.”

  But maybe Ryan didn’t understand the ramifications of what he was doing.

  “He’s still a kid,” I argued. “Maybe he simply wanted to help Mrs. Abernathy, because she used to bake him cookies.” I dug a hand into the fur at Notz’s neck. “I never baked cookies for Truman.”

  “That’s nice,” Jason said absently, but he agreed to check the financial and tax records the following morning. “Of both Mrs. Abernathy’s houses,” he said and started chattering on and on about some state regulatory commission on nursing homes, and about drowning in the ten boxes paperwork from Maple Street.

  “Chocolate chip?” I asked Notz.

  “What? You’re not listening, Cassie.”

  No kidding. I took a deep breath and told him Maxine had found the family.

  “Truman’s?” Jason asked. “Congratulations.”

  I let out a sob. “She lives in Burlington.”

  “And you’re upset? Oh, I get it. You’re worried about the kidnapping charge. No worries.”

  “Yes, worries.”

  “Negative.” Jason promised he’d contact Ms. Mauve first thing in the morning. “I’ll put in the good word for you,” he said. “Believe it or not, my word carries some weight in this state.”

  I blinked back more tears.

  “I bet Audrey will have the paperwork finished in record time,” he said. “Truman could be out of your hair by tomorrow night.”

  “But, but.”

  “But what?”

  “But we never got to bake cookies!”

  ***

  “Shush,” I said as Charlie, Notz, and I tiptoed into the room.

  Notz made a graceful leap onto the bed, but Charlie wasn’t so graceful, and the little guy woke up.

  He rubbed his eyes. “Hi, Momma Cass,” he whispered.

  “Hi,” I whispered back. “May I join you?”

  He smiled and scooted over.

  “Why are you sad?” he asked as we snuggled up close.

  “Let’s make cookies tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Chocolate chip?”

  I gave his shoulders a squeeze. “They’re my favorite, too.”

  Chapter 45

  I opened one eye and registered the cow sheets. “What time is it?”

  “A little after five.”

  “Da-aad. It’s Saturday morning.”

  “Yes, but on Whoozit it’s early evening.” He tapped to his new laptop. “And it’s a splendid evening, indeed.”

  “Does that mean good?” Truman asked, and as he and Cosmic Cow scooted off the bed to join him, my father defined the term.

  I scowled at the pink rocking chair and sat up. “What’s so splendid?” I asked as Notz found my ankles. “Last we heard Evadeen Deyo was about to get herself arrested.

  “Not anymore.” Dad chuckled. “She gave Chance Dooley quite a shock when she strolled into the Whoozit Loozit arm in arm with Commissioner Dingle.”

  “What!?” Truman and I exclaimed, and Charlie wagged his tail.

  My father smiled. “Poor Chance Dooley was afraid he’d had one too many Whoozit Boozits.”

  “Was she under arrest?” Truman asked, but Grandpa Bobby said no. “Commissioner Dingle would never arrest the person who helped him capture the notorious leader of the notorious Stars Ajar Smuggling Ring.”

  Needless to say, Truman and I were thoroughly confused. But my father claimed that deep down inside Commissioner Dingle was a reasonable man, and while interrogating Evadeen, had finally realized she’s a good guy.

  Dad wiggled his eyebrows. “With good information.”

  “What, what?” we asked.

  Evidently, Evadeen remembered something the little old lady at the beauty parlor—a.k.a., the notorious Bridget Brittle—had said.

  “She let slip the whereabouts of her hideout!” Mr. Sci Fi Author informed us.

  “Where, where?” we asked, and learned of Bridget Brittle’s charming cottage at Lake Slaton.

  “Is it like our lake?” Truman asked.

  “Similar,” Dad said. “But the autumn colors on Plucket are silver, purple, and blue, instead of yellow, orange, and red.”

  I scowled. “Her hideout is on Plucket?” I winked at Charlie. “How. Convenient.”

  “Indeed,” Dad agreed. “Commissioner Dingle nabbed Bridget Brittle lickety-split, and now it’s only a matter of time before he rounds up the rest of the notorious Stars Ajar gang. And as everyone knows, where there are Stars Ajarers, one almost always finds their arch rivals the notorious Juggler Smugglers.”

  “Evadeen’s a hero!” Truman concluded.

  Which was why Commissioner Dingle gave her a lift to Whoozit, where he personally escorted her into the Loozit, ordered a round of Boozit for everyone in the house, and proposed a toast.

  My father raised an imaginary glass and spoke for the commissioner. “To Evadeen Deyo and Whooters everywhere,” Bobby Baxter-slash-Commissioner Dingle said. “The good guys of the Hollow Galaxy!”

  Truman giggled. “That’s splendid!”

  “And unexpected.” I looked at my father. “I assumed we’d be in for a few more pickles before this got wrapped up.”

  “Well, girl,” he sang. “I decided we needed a happy ending sooner, rather than later.”

  ***

  The Cosmic Cow-Twirly Twine Twister tangent of the story proved to be a little harder to bring to a happy conclusion.

  While Dad and Truman debated the possibilities, I stared out the kitchen window at what promised to be a splendid day at Lake Bess. The water glistened in the sunshine, and the distant mountains were still in their fall color—orange, not purple.

  “Girl.”

  I looked up, and Dad pointed. “You haven’t touched your French toast.”

  “Why are you so sad?” Truman asked.

  “Not sad!” I lied. “I’m saving room for cookies.” I glanced at my father. “Truman and I plan to bake cookies today.”

  “Excuse me? You’ve never baked a cookie in your life.”

  I shrugged. “So teach us.”

  “Ple-eease, Grandpa Bobby? Chocolate chip?”

  Dad suggested we worry about cookies later. “Right now you two kids should go out and enjoy this splendid day.” He scooted Truman from the table. “Upstairs to brush your teeth.”

  ***

  Truman and Charlie ran up the stairs, and my father stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Don’t pout.”

  “Okay then, I’ll sigh,” I said.

  Dad kept frowning. “What did Captain Sterling have to say about the latest?”

  “He’s doing my dirty work for me.” I sighed again. “He’s calling Ms. Mauve.”

  Bobby cringed.

  “Yep. My sentiments exactly,” I said. I shooed Notz aside and got up to pour more coffee. “She’s going to storm in here any minute, Dad. She’s going to take Truman away, and maybe throw me in jail. Prison. Whatever.” I banged the coffee cups around. “At that point I won’t even care.”

  “Well I care, so stop it.” Dad glanced ceiling-ward.. “You heard Joe last night,” he said. “We’re not even sure Ms. Mauve will place Truman with his real family.”

  “This isn’t one of your stories, old man. This isn’t going to have a happy ending.” I handed him his coffee, plopped back down, and stared at the lake. “There are so many things we never got to do,” I whined. “We never even went swimming together. Truman told me way back on Sunday he’s a good swimmer.”

  Dad rolled his eyes and reminded me the lake was way too cold for swimming.

  “Okay, so let’s bake cookies.”

  Another eye roll, and he asked why the sudden interest in baking. I told him about Mrs. Abernathy and Ryan Webb and listened to the kid and the dog racing around overhead doing—something. I heard something like a chair topple over.

  I pointed up. “I should have bought him his own Truman-sized rocking chair. I should have painted it not-pink.”

  “So go buy him a chair!” Dad said impatiently. “Work on it after he leaves us, and you’ll have an excuse to go visit him.”

  “Old man! You’re brilliant!”

  He also promised we’d bake cookies before the day was through. “In the meantime, go give that child a happy, happy day.”

  I shooed Notz down and stood up. “We’ll take a bike ride over to Oden’s farm. He liked that.”

  “Good,” Dad said.

  “And for lunch we’ll go to Hilleville for Santucci’s pizza, and then over to the antiques shop to find him a rocking chair, and then—Then whatever he wants.” I bit my lip. “But what if Ms. Mauve shows up? Can you stall her, Dad?”

  “Can I stall her. What do you think, girl?”

  “You’ll ask her for help plotting Chance Dooley’s next pickle.”

  Bobby smiled. “Duh.”

  ***

  The phone rang, and I jumped ten feet. “It’s her!”

  “Would you relax?” Dad got up to answer while I silent-screamed, “I’m not here, I’m not here, I’m not her—”

  “She’s right here,” he said and held out the phone.

  I refused to take it.

  “Cassie,” he said calmly. “It’s Sarah.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” I grabbed the receiver, pointed him toward the stairs, and told him to keep the child occupied.

  “Who’s been occupying your time?” Sarah asked me. “Why didn’t you call me last night?”

  “Jason Sterling told me not to talk to you.”

  “Like that ever stopped you?”

  I skipped a beat. “Judy Tripp didn’t call you, either,” I said.

  “Say what?”

  Something banged upstairs, and I decided to move out to the porch to report the latest.

  “If she needed the cops, why didn’t she go to you?” I asked. “You do work for the sheriff.”

  Dead silence.

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “Duh. Because of you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Who did you go to last summer, babe?”

  I stared at the cardinal on the birdfeeder. “Jason Sterling.”

  “You got it. So back to yesterday. I take it you talked to Paul McObnoxious?”

  “I did.” But I told Sarah that deep down inside Paul wasn’t obnoxious. “He sincerely cares about Truman.”

  “Oh, yeah. Paul’s the king of sincerity. Who else has been lying to you?”

  Maybe you, I thought to myself, but instead mentioned my visit to the tax assessor’s office. Sarah wasn’t too impressed by that errand, either.

  “Rebecca Pryce is too lazy to kill anyone,” she said. “And Molly Donahue is too stupid.”

  “If you disapprove so much, why did you call them?” I asked.

  “Call who?”

  “You called Rebecca Pryce after the accident.”

  “No, I called you.”

  I frowned at the cardinal. “Molly told me you called Rebecca, and then Rebecca called her.”

  “Wake up!” Sarah banged her phone on something. “I had enough problems that day. Like dealing with you.”

  Speaking of problems. I took a deep breath and reported on Truman’s long lost relative. “Ms. Mauve’s going to take him from me,” I whined.

  “No.” Sarah spoke firmly. “Judy named you as next of kin. Not this Eskew person.”

  “Judy can’t fight for me, Sarah.”

  “But I can. I’m a good fighter.”

  I smiled. “You really are on my side.”

  “Duh.”

  ***

  Truman popped out to the porch. “Can we go see Rose and Ruby now?”

  “Not quite.” I promised I’d only be a minute, and ran up to my turret. I found Molly Donahue’s number in my purse and dialed.

  “Captain Sterling questioned me like I’m some kind of criminal last night,” she told me in not the most friendly tone. “Apparently some people consider walking to work suspicious.”

  I cringed. “Sorry about that.”

  “Did you really think I killed Judy? I liked Judy.”

  I apologized again and reminded Molly I’m Miss Looney Tunes. “Don’t take me seriously,” I said. “No one else does.”

  Luckily, she decided to forgive me. “No one takes me seriously, either,” she said. “I’m too damn cute.”