Great Jolie. See if you can make him angrier.

  Clayton stared at me. “Time for you to leave.”

  Somehow, I didn't think he really meant for me to be able to do that. “How about if you drive away first?”

  He shook his head. “You should have stayed away.”

  “My phone has location software. It’ll show I was here.”

  He smiled thinly. “But by the time someone looks, you won’t be. I, of course, never saw you here.”

  I wished I had stopped at a gas station to go to the bathroom on the way into Allenwood.

  "How'd you get so involved in all this, anyway? Was the money you'd make from selling that new insurance really that much?"

  "You're nosy."

  "Persistent. How much was it?"

  Clayton didn't take his eyes off me. "Over time, enough to pay off my house."

  "And that made it worth killing Sandra?"

  "Accident." Clayton moved a few steps toward the front of the car. I moved a few steps toward the back.

  "How did you get her purse into Wharton's house?"

  He tightened and then loosened his jaw. "You shouldn't talk so much."

  "I've been told…"

  Suddenly, he jumped high and began to scramble across the hood.

  I screamed and made for the lawn. I cleared the garage and ran down the driveway. Could I get to my car before Clayton caught up to me?

  Feet pounded behind me. Clayton was faster, and my slight advantage from leaving the garage ahead of him was almost gone.

  His hand brushed my shoulder. My adrenalin kicked up about ten notches and I ran faster. He couldn't get a good hold on me. Yet.

  My chest burned. I'm not going to make it to my car!

  Tires squealed and a car roared up the driveway. George threw his SUV into park and jumped out, holding the tire iron he keeps under his front seat. “You don’t want to mess with me, Clayton.”

  I veered right, ran to George's Highlander, wrenched open the front passenger door, and jumped in. I sat panting, watching the two frozen figures standing about twenty feet apart.

  "Jolie," George called. "Open my glove compartment."

  I leaned forward and pulled. Sitting on top of the SUV's owner's manual was a gun. In crime novels people know the type of gun and comment on the ammunition or something else. I knew this gun to be black.

  I'd never touched a handgun. "Is this yours?"

  "No, it's the tooth fairy's. Bring it to me. It won’t go off."

  With my left hand, I pulled it toward me by the handle. This sucker is heavy! With my right hand I opened the door and pushed it wide open with my foot. I stood up. "Okay, bringing it to you."

  For a second I thought Clayton would move toward George, but he held the tire iron like a baseball bat. "Come on over."

  Clayton stayed still, breathing hard.

  From down the road, police sirens roared toward us. Perhaps one of the neighbors had been home after all.

  "Put the gun back, Jolie. I'll show them I have it."

  "You do have a license, right?"

  Still looking at Clayton, George smiled grimly. "Private investigators don't leave home without one."

  MOREHOUSE EXPLAINED TO THE Monmouth County Sheriff that George and I were not criminals, just criminally nosy. It didn’t make our questioning go any faster, but it probably made it marginally less unpleasant. It also helped me not get arrested for trespassing. I probably could have been.

  We had been allowed to drive our cars to the police station. When the police let us leave, George and I stood together in the parking lot before we drove back to Ocean Alley.

  “Thanks, George.”

  He shook his head. “I was driving to Lakewood and had this insane idea that you might look for Clayton’s car on your own. If I hadn’t believed you could be so irrational, you could be dead.”

  I sighed. “I’m sure I’ll hear that a lot the next few days.”

  “Did you call Scoobie?”

  “I called Harry and asked him to call him.”

  George laughed. “What a chicken.”

  "Listen, I hate to ask…"

  "What?"

  "Are you going to put a lock on that glove compartment?"

  "When I saw how nimble Lance was with his sand shovel, I ordered a special safe for my car trunk. Should get it in a few days. Don't want the twins to find it, but I could need to have the gun with me sometimes."

  I grinned. "I was worried about you shooting yourself in the foot. Literally, this time."

  "Next time I'll keep driving to Lakewood."

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m supposed to buy groceries for Aunt Madge’s surprise victory party tomorrow night.”

  “You okay to drive home?”

  “Yes. What do you think happens now?”

  George shrugged. “To us, probably nothing. I’d say Morehouse and Tortino have their work cut out for them.”

  I nodded, wishing it were tomorrow, because everyone would be a little less angry with me. Probably.

  “If I were you, I’d buy Scoobie flowers.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT’S A GOOD DAY WHEN you know your husband won’t leave you no matter how angry he is. He did like the flowers, a mix of multi-colored carnations and roses.

  I don’t think of myself as a sleuth, just a concerned person. But knowing the right person would be charged with Sandra's death was definitely a good feeling. Dropping off the kids at daycare and thinking of little more than doing an appraisal and picking up surprise party goodies were also good.

  I gave myself the luxury of sitting in Java Jolt Tuesday morning to drink coffee and read the paper. The editor had asked George to write the article questioning who killed Sandra Cartwright – based on new information.

  He mentioned that "some people" were angry with her because she would not support investing hospital endowment funds in the resort. George avoided saying that Borman may have made securing the money an important part of developing the resort. My guess was we would start to hear about more requests from Shoreline Investments to local firms.

  For the first time since everything started, the paper covered the car that attempted to hit Kevin. The article then described my connecting it to Clayton, though "as yet there is no information on who was behind the wheel." Ocean Alley Police were directing questions about Clayton's car to Monmouth County.

  Bottom line, Prosecuting Attorney Milner was reconsidering charges to file against Quentin Wharton. I figured he'd at least be accused of obstructing the investigation. What was not yet certain was whether he asked Clayton to go talk to Sandra or if Clayton, wanting a big commission, went on his own.

  I said goodbye to Megan and headed to the courthouse. My phone chirped as I entered the building, and Sergeant Morehouse's name appeared on caller ID. "Hi, Sergeant, or should I say Matthew?"

  "What you should say is you'll butt out of police business."

  Irritation welled. Hadn't I just helped figure out Quentin Wharton probably didn’t kill Sandra Cartwright? "Excuse me?"

  "We got the print results from that letter we found under Sandra's blotter." When I said nothing, he added, "Don't you want to say 'what letter'?"

  "I suppose I could."

  "There bein' no prints at all, not even hers, means someone else looked at it and probably made that copy, wearin' gloves. I think I'm talking to that someone."

  I decided not to throw Lester under the bus. "I figured you'd be mad that I touched it, and you'd find it in a few minutes anyway."

  "Knowing potential motive matters, and delay could keep a killer on the street. You do that kind of bunk again and those cute twins'll be visiting you behind bars!" He hung up.

  I thought being jailed was unlikely at any point, but Morehouse had certainly put a damper on my day.

  I unlocked the door to the appraisal office and checked the fax machine as soon as I'd placed my purse on my desk. No new Lester requests.

  Uh oh. I should have called Lester to tell him about my run-in with Clayton. Lester got Morehouse to let us into Sandra's house under false pretenses. If we hadn't been able to do that, I would not have found the copy of Sandra's resignation letter. That letter made me realize Wharton could have been even angrier with her than I had thought.

  I called Lester.

  "Oh, Jolie Gentil. I know that dame. I thought she forgot her buddy Lester."

  "Jolie got herself in trouble and had her phone taken away."

  Lester barked his laugh, but he didn't sound like he thought anything was funny. "And George rescued you? How'd he know you were there?"

  "He, uh, decided I was crazy enough to look for Clayton's car, and followed a hunch."

  "You owe me coffee for a month." Lester hung up.

  I thought I got off easy. He could have asked me to support the price on one of his more ludicrous sales.

  Even though there were fewer than ten hours before we’d know if Aunt Madge would be the next mayor of Ocean Alley, I still had work to do.

  I collected information I needed to conduct the appraisal visit at one of the ritzy houses on the north side of town. Usually those went to our competitors at Stenner Appraisal. We were a little cheaper. My father used to say rich people got that way by saving pennies.

  The property owner turned out to be Hardin Grooms, a current member of the city council. We had worked together on the first election campaign of the county's Prosecuting Attorney, Annie Milner, more than five years ago. I wondered where Grooms stood on the resort.

  I called Aunt Madge at the Cozy Corner. "Is Hardin Grooms someone you're in cahoots with?"

  "Actually, I think he's on the fence about the resort. At least he won't say if he's made up his mind. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm heading over to his place to appraise it."

  "That's…odd," she said. "I haven't heard he's moving away."

  "Aren't he and his wife close to sixty? Maybe they're downsizing."

  "Could be." Her cell phone rang in the background. "Please be on your best behavior."

  I looked at my now quiet cell phone. "I behave." Mostly.

  I studied the front of the residence for a minute after I pulled up. Two stories, pale blue vinyl siding over the prior frame construction, yellow shutters, and a beautifully manicured lawn. With sandy soil throughout much of town, I bet they'd had a lot of topsoil brought in.

  Hardin opened the door himself. "I hoped it would be you instead of Harry."

  At my questioning look, he laughed. "I wanted to see how Madge's campaign is going. He's her manager, so all he'll tell me is great."

  I entered the large foyer and glanced up the center-hall steps. Almost majestic. "I don't think they're doing polls or anything. She's been getting more invitations to speak to groups."

  He shut the door. "Sandra’s death, now the council hears talk about Borman asking local businesses to invest. Some people are rethinking their support for it."

  How about you? "I'd love to have more hotel rooms, but I'd rather see them in smaller chunks."

  Grooms nodded. "I'm kind of coming to that conclusion, too. We'd have to give Borman's resort some tax incentives, then the town would lose a fair bit of property tax revenue from the businesses they might buy out for space to build. Plus, there'd be a lot of street work to do."

  I took my notebook and measuring tape from my purse. "And I'd hate to lose Mr. Markle's grocery."

  When Grooms offered to show me around, I said I'd work faster alone, if he didn't mind. He picked car keys off a table by the door. "I hoped you'd say that. I have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow’s council meeting. Just make sure the front doorknob is locked when you leave."

  As soon as he pulled out of his driveway I called Aunt Madge. "I think you have an ally."

  "Ah, good. He and one other member haven't come down either way. We may win that council vote yet."

  I have a lot of confidence in Aunt Madge. To be honest with myself, I didn't anticipate people electing a mayor in her eighties, but I could see her doing the job.

  Then I felt guilty because if she won I would have lots more afternoon teas to serve. Stop being selfish.

  AFTER LUNCH, I STOPPED AT the Cozy Corner to drop off an ice cream cake I’d ordered for the party. For a change, Aunt Madge sat at her kitchen table. She acted as if me putting an ice cream cake in her freezer was an everyday occurrence.

  I placed my hand on her forehead. "You aren't campaigning?”

  "Harry and I decided we would rest on the big day." She stood to put her teacup into the sink. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “I’m mad at me, too. I didn’t think it was dangerous, but I took a big risk going up there.”

  She stood, hands on hips, to regard me. She never stands like that. “Okay, that’s good. You’re trainable.”

  “Where’s Harry? At the office?”

  “I think he’s out getting things for the party.”

  “Oh, I thought that was a surprise.”

  She shrugged. “It is. Don’t tell him I know.”

  I grinned. “You want to be a lady of leisure and go to Java Jolt for lunch?”

  “Can’t. I'm busy."

  The quiet of her great room did not support her statement. "Doing what?"

  She pointed to the sliding doors and walked to them. The dogs and Jazz sat quietly on the back porch, watching a teenager paint the side of Aunt Madge's garage.

  "Who is that boy, and why is Jazz here?"

  Aunt Madge blew a kiss to Miss Piggy. "Jazz is here because she roamed from window to window in your house, trying to see what was going on back here. I decided your curtains would be in better shape if I brought her over here."

  "Thanks." I pointed to the boy. “You hired him to paint the wood you replaced after the fire?”

  "That's Paul Holley's nephew."

  My head jerked from the view outside to Aunt Madge. "He started the fire?"

  "He lives with Paul and his wife. His father has severe PTSD after service in Afghanistan. The boy, James Holley, was mixed up about how to best help Paul. He was apparently trying to scare me into backing out."

  I stared at the James' back as he painted. “How’d you find out?”

  “Yesterday he told Paul that he really wanted him to win. He then said what he did to help. Paul called me.”

  “Wow. Will you call the police?”

  She shook her head. “He needs more positive adults in his life, not a serious legal situation.” She grinned. “I told Paul that’s how we treat people in close-knit communities.”

  “Subtle.” We turned to go back to the table. "Is he, uh, safe to have around?"

  "I believe so. He quite likes the dogs. More important, they seem to like him. He's going to stop by from time to time to do some chores for me."

  I remembered Jazz breathing hard the night of the fire, as if she had run after someone. "Is he good to Jazz?"

  "Now that was odd. She really hissed at him. Miss Piggy had to reprimand her."

  I laughed. "Reprimand her?"

  "She nudged Jazz toward the B&B a couple of times. Eventually she sat on Mister Rogers' back for a while and calmed down."

  I didn't offer my theory about Jazz chasing James. She's very protective, but most people don't believe cats are like that.

  WITH EXAMS COMING UP, Terry had no track practice. When I got home, he was sitting at the living room table with a pile of books.

  "I’m heading over to get the twins at daycare in a few, if you want to come. I think they want to show you a bunch of new drawings on the bulletin board."

  He smiled slightly. "After exams."

  When he said nothing else, I began to cut up a head of broccoli and pour ranch dressing into a bowl for the kids' afternoon snack. When he still hadn't said anything as I was almost ready to go, I sat down across from him. "Everything okay?"

  He finally flashed a grin. "Mostly good, but I figured you could give me some advice."

  "That's a switch. It's usually Scoobie."

  He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat, facing me. "So, Kevin and Cathy Giacomo broke up before all the stuff. You knew that, right?"

  "I remember you saying she was mad at him. You think it's permanent?"

  He looked toward the backyard and back to me. "I'm thinking of asking her out. You think that's fair?"

  "To Kevin, you mean?"

  "Yeah. I mean, he's my best friend."

  Terry had never asked me such an important question. I didn't want to mess up. "I think it's good you consider Kevin's feelings, but don't you think Cathy can make up her mind on her own?"

  "Yeah, and I think she likes me. The first couple days Kevin was missing, we spent a lot of time together looking for him."

  That explains why he didn't need so many rides from us. And probably why he's been on the phone a lot lately.

  I nodded. "Kevin's been back for a few days. Has he talked to you about making up with her?"

  He shrugged. "Not really. I think he might even be waiting for her to say something."

  "Was she the one who acted kind of…off?"

  Terry grunted. "Nope. He just stopped talking to her."

  I twirled the pepper shaker that always sits on our table. "If tomorrow Kevin walked down the hall holding hands with Cathy, how would you feel?"

  "Like I really blew it."

  I grinned. "I think you just answered your own question."

  I STOPPED BY THE In-Town Grocery before I went to vote.

  Mr. Markle nodded at me from his spot at the cash register. "Afternoon, Jolie. Hearing a lot of people saying they're voting for Madge."

  I walked to him and leaned against the conveyor. "Soon we’ll know."

  He leaned against the register. "You want her to win?"

  "Life would be different, but if she wants it, I want it."

  He grinned at me.

  I squinted at him. "Okay, you have some kind of good news."

  "Borman rescinded his offer. I’m not selling."

  "That's great! I mean, you seem fine with it."

  He nodded. "It's like that old saying with the penny. As soon as you flip it you know which side you want it to land on. I didn't really want to sell, but turning down good money was bugging me. I didn't have to decide."