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  Jason shook his head. “Think back. What else did I tell you?”

  I cringed. “Umm. You said you wanted to catch a few people off guard before Maxine’s column came out. To see their reaction to Truman’s discovery.” I cringed again. “I guess I kind of forgot that little detail.”

  Another pencil broke.

  “So, you didn’t catch Paula Erickson off guard?” I asked, and there went pencil number three. But Jason then picked up his fork to eat his lunch. I did the same.

  “I saw her reaction,” I said eventually. “She was shocked.”

  He looked up. “Gee, thanks for the report.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “How did I even get to her before you?” I asked and learned Mr. State Trooper had begun his investigation in “that odd little town” I live in. I sat forward. “So you talked to the Pearson sisters.”

  “Who also seemed to be expecting me.” Jason put down his fork and sat back. “What did you do, Cassie? Use a blowhorn to spread the news about that skull around the lake?”

  “It wasn’t me who spread the news.”

  “Truman, then?” He shook his head. “You really need to teach the kid the meaning of a secrets key.”

  “Maybe, but he only told one person. And this particular person doesn’t require a key. This person is—magical.”

  Jason scowled. “Who?”

  “He told Santa Claus,” I said, and was rewarded with a loud groan right before Rhonda stopped by. She cleared our plates, dropped the check in front of Jason, and walked away again. And in case you’re concerned about this kind of thing, we take turns paying for lunch.

  Jason reached for his wallet. “Who?” he asked again.

  I told him, and sure enough another pencil broke. “So you remember Hollis?”

  “The busybody at the general store.”

  “That’s him,” I said. “He considers it his civic duty to be Santa every year.”

  “So he can spread the gossip the kids tell him.”

  I shrugged. “Hollis considers it a job perk.”

  ***

  Rhonda retrieved the check and Jason’s credit card, and I leaned forward. “Sooo?” I asked him. “You’ve spoken to Arlene and Pru Pearson?”

  “Uncooperative.”

  No kidding. FYI, uncooperative is the Pearson sisters’ modus operandi. I asked what they weren’t cooperating about, and Jason mentioned DNA testing. “I’d like to know if they’re related to Mr. X, but no go,” he said. “Both sisters still refuse.”

  “Still?” I asked. “So they refused DNA testing before? Back when Pru found the skeleton?”

  He nodded. “It’s just a saliva swipe, but the law considers it a personal intrusion—which it is. Unless we get a warrant and have just cause to consider one or the other of them suspects, we can’t force the issue.”

  Forcing the issue.

  Rhonda returned with Jason’s credit card, and I noticed an odd piece of greenery on her little tray. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

  She smiled and held the mistletoe over Jason’s head. “Tis the season,” she said, and I stood up and leaned across the table.

  Chapter 16

  I got home in the late afternoon and immediately crawled under the Christmas tree.

  My father came over from the kitchen. “What do you have there?”

  “Presents for Truman.”

  “From Bambi?”

  “Bambi and Jason.” I stood up and got rid of my jacket, and of course my father was giving me one of those looks when I turned around.

  “You saw Captain Sterling today? You shouldn’t be flirting with him, girl.”

  “And you should be minding your own business, old man. And we weren’t flirting. We were discussing Mr. X.”

  Bobby raised an eyebrow.

  “Jason’s pleased I’m looking into the loved-ones thing,” I lied, and while my father and the pets exchanged skeptical glances, I asked after my son. “Where is he?”

  “Truman!?” Dad jumped. “He’s, umm. He’s at Prissy’s house! They’re—They’re—”

  “Playing?” I tried.

  “That’s right! Playing.”

  “Good timing.” I mentioned I had an errand to run. “But while Truman’s not here, let’s do this,” I said and headed for the cupboard under the stairs.

  Dad followed. “What are you up to now?”

  I reminded him about the toy drive Sarah’s sons were involved in and started shoving boxes in his direction. “It’s probably best if the little guy doesn’t have to watch,” I said and got down on my hands and knees to delve in farther.

  Bobby pulled at the boxes I pushed out. “Are you sure about this, girl?”

  “I am.” I re-emerged with the last box and opened it to see what we had. “Truman gave me permission.”

  “Slow down and be careful, Cassie. Please.” Dad pointed to the little kid pop-up books I had in hand and mentioned the missing Ray Bradbury novel. “I inadvertently gave that away when I was rushing to pack and move up here, and now I’m sorry,” he said. “And poor Truman has so little from his life before he came to us.”

  You know what? Every once in a while the old man makes sense. I agreed to hold onto a few things.

  “Things with sentimental value,” Dad said, and he and the pets began digging around in the closest box. “Oooo!” He held up a little robot toy. “I like this!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sentimental?”

  Bobby shrugged and carefully placed the robot on the coffee table. “It’s a keeper,” he insisted, but he did agree Truman had definitely outgrown the tricycle we found in the largest carton.

  “Irony,” I said. “He’s too big for this, and too little for a snowmobile.”

  “Thank goodness.” Dad held up a very simple puzzle Truman must have outgrown long before he moved in with us.

  “To Sarah,” I said. “Oh, but look at this!” I held up a plastic giraffe on wheels and pointed to the Boston Zoo logo on the giraffe’s neck. “It’s probably a nice memory.”

  “It’s a keeper, girl.”

  I placed the giraffe with the robot, and picked up a few coloring books. “We’re definitely keeping these.” I smiled. “The little guy’s earliest artwork.”

  “A keeper,” Dad repeated.

  I placed the coloring books beneath the giraffe, stacked the last give-away box near the door, and grabbed my coat again.

  “Cassie, wait.”

  “What? I told you I have an errand to run.”

  Dad pointed to the boxes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Maybe, but I would have to take the toys to Sarah some other time. Right then, I had something else in mind.

  ***

  I had in mind to visit the Fox Cove Inn. But even I’m not that nuts. As I turned off Elizabeth Circle onto Fox Cove Lane, I caught a glimpse of Oden Poquette’s farm up the hill and decided to procrastinate. Trust me, when it comes to talking to the Pearson sisters, procrastination is always a good idea, and I hadn’t seen Oden and his goats Rose and Ruby for a while. Kind of surprising, since in non-snowy weather Oden’s goats roam the Lake Bess community twenty-four-seven. Winter weather cramps their style.

  I managed the steep incline to the farm with only one minor skid, parked near the woodpile, and poked my head in the barn. “Do you have a minute?” I called from the doorway, and Oden looked up from beside Ruby.

  “Sure,” he hollered. “But give us a minute. We just finished milking.”

  I waved to ‘the gals,’ Rose and Ruby bah-ed a response, and the three of us watched the farmer take care of his stainless steel equipment and buckets. For the record, and much to my son’s delight, milking at the Poquette farm is an entirely non-mechanized process.

  Oden finished his chores and beckoned me farther into the barn. “No Truman?” he asked.

  “Not today.” I reached a hand toward Ruby’s floppy ears, and Rose butted my other hand for some equal attention. “We miss you gals on Leftside Lane,�
�� I told them.

  “The gals miss you also,” Oden said. “They get lonesome this time of year. You want we should go up to the house?” he asked, but I told him I could only stay a minute, and he led me to a couple bales of hay. Barns, by the way, can be pretty cozy places in the winter—not exactly warm, but tolerable.

  “I’m here about Mr. X,” I said as we took our seats.

  “Figured as much.” No great shocker, Oden had been to the Lake Store several times since Sunday, and had heard the news about the skull. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  I nodded. “But I’m wondering about what happened back when Pru found that skeleton. I understand you were there?”

  “I was. Good thing, too.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They wanted to hide it.”

  I skipped a beat. “The Pearson sisters? The skeleton?”

  “Headless skeleton,” Oden reminded me. “Arlene kept saying it was bad for her business, and Pru kept saying it was giving her one of those migraine headaches.”

  At the risk of getting one of those myself, I asked Oden to back up and start at the beginning.

  ***

  Of course, the beginning of any story involving Oden Poquette means goats. “I’d just finished milking the gals.” He smiled at Rose and Ruby. “Not them, but their predecessors, when I heard screaming from down yonder.” The farmer jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “It was one of those blood-curdling screams, Cassie. I thought for sure my new neighbors had seen one of those ghosts.”

  “So you ran down there,” I said.

  Oden wrinkled his nose. “That skeleton was a lot more gruesome than any ghost, Cassie. Not that I’ve ever seen a ghost.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I argued with them, that’s what.” He shook his head. “I argued with my brand new neighbors.”

  I blinked. “Because they wanted to hide the skeleton.”

  “That’s right. Arlene wanted me to help her bury it, but I told her we had to call the sheriff. It was the right thing to do, Cassie.”

  No. Kidding.

  “I told Arlene I would call him if she didn’t,” Oden continued. “I reckon I was mighty insistent about it, and so she finally did call Sheriff Gabe.”

  “Gabe Cleghorn,” I clarified. “And?”

  “And Sheriff Gabe, and the Hilleville cops, and even the state police showed up. They had a lot of questions.”

  No. Kidding.

  “Did you tell them Arlene wanted you to bury the thing?” I asked. “Did you tell them Pru was too busy worrying about her headache to care? Did you tell the cops they almost didn’t get called?”

  Oden frowned. “I know I should have, but I didn’t want to cause trouble for my new neighbors. You understand.”

  Well. I was trying. “So you’re the only one who knows about their reluctance to call the authorities,” I said.

  “And now you. Until this skull come up, I haven’t talked about that day hardly at all. The police told me not to.”

  I smiled. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  “I trust you, Cassie. You’re real civic-minded.” He shot a glance toward Fox Cove. “That awful day got me off on the wrong foot with the Pearson gals. Arlene still says I put that skeleton in the Honeymoon Cottage to hurt her business.”

  I told the poor guy he wasn’t alone. “She accuses me of the same thing,” I said. “She insists I planted that body in the lake last summer just to harm her business.” I stood up. “Speaking of Arlene, I have another errand.”

  Oden stood also. “You paying a call on the Pearsons?”

  “Wish me luck?”

  “If you’re lucky they’ll be out Christmas shopping.”

  Chapter 17

  No such luck. And in fact, as I pulled in behind the woodpile and between Pru and Arlene’s cars, I noticed that mine was the only non-Pearson vehicle in the lot. Lake Bess isn’t too far from one of Vermont’s major ski resorts, and the idea of a winter holiday vacation in a cozy country inn could be appealing. Cozy and appealing, however, do not exactly describe Arlene Pearson. I braced myself and got out of the car.

  “You-hoo, anyone home?” I tried sounding all perky-like as I entered the lobby, and just my luck, Arlene was the Pearson sister behind the registration desk.

  “We’re busy,” she greeted me.

  I smiled all pleasant-like and waved toward the parking lot. “But apparently your guests are out for the evening.” I smiled again. “I was hoping we might chat.”

  She folded her arms and glared. “What about?”

  “About the skull my son found.”

  Arlene stood up and walked toward me. “Of course it had to be your son,” she said. “I’m so sick of you trying to ruin my business. This is just like your ridiculous dead redhead-pajama—”

  “Who is it, Arlene?” Pru appeared at the top of the staircase. “Oh!” she said. “Cassie. What are you doing here?”

  At the moment I was studying the stair banister as Pru descended. “The architecture,” I said. I glanced at the crown molding overhead. “I understand this place and my father’s house were designed by the same person.” I looked back and forth between the sisters. “Did you know that?”

  “Nooo.” That was Arlene. “And don’t try to pretend the crown molding is why you’re here.”

  “We’ve already agreed I’m here about the skull, Arlene. About Mr. X.”

  “We’ve agreed on nothing.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m hoping you’ll agree to a DNA test.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  I took another breath and appealed to Pru, but she also shook her head.

  “Please, you guys?” I asked. “How can it hurt?”

  Arlene took another step forward. “It hurts,” she said, “because this is just like last time. Pru and I were new in town, we’d never even heard of this godforsaken place until Daddy died, and we’re immediately asked for our DNA. No. Way.”

  Okay, so I had to agree that might not have been the most cordial welcome Lake Bess ever offered anyone. “But this time is different,” I tried.

  “No way,” Arlene repeated. “My sister and I are innocent.”

  Pru coughed. “I think Cassie knows that, Arle—”

  “In-no-cent! Someone planted that skeleton here to drive us out of business before we even got started, and now we’re dealing with the same issues because of that stupid skull your stupid kid—”

  “Arlene!” Pru jumped forward and tugged her sister’s arm, but Arlene pulled away and took another step towards me. “I think I’m getting a migraine,” Pru murmured.

  Arlene spun around. “You and your stupid migraines! Go upstairs.”

  Pru hesitated, but nursing a migraine all alone had to be more enjoyable than listening to Arlene and me bicker. She retreated upstairs, at which point Arlene informed me I could leave also.

  “I don’t get migraines,” I said. “And back to Mr. X. Aren’t you just a little curious about him? Or about the connection between our houses?”

  What a shocker, I think she was actually considering it.

  “I don’t want to drive you away,” I said firmly. “I want your business to succeed, Arlene. But I also want to know the truth. Don’t you?”

  She squinted. “Why just us?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not following.”

  “Let’s test everyone.”

  “You mean, like, DNA samples from all Elizabethans?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Let’s see who’s related to Mr. X, because here’s an idea—maybe he wasn’t a Pearson.”

  Fair’s fair, and so I gave Arlene’s suggestion some thought. “You’re right,” I said.

  “I’m always right. Why can’t someone else in this town—someone with a name other than Pearson—have a skeleton in their closet?”

  Okay, so I asked whose DNA would be of particular interest.

  She snarled. “Oden Poquette has always hated us.”


  Oh, please. But I swallowed that answer and asked who else, and Arlene raised an eyebrow. “The Fox Cove isn’t your boyfriend’s favorite place, either.”

  “Joe?”

  “Yes, Joe.” Another snarl. “His father was killed here, as you well know.”

  Yes, but Joe Wylie? A murderer? In a word, ludicrous. But I swallowed that thought also and moved on, and asked who else had it in for the Fox Cove.

  “How about your pals at the Lake Store?”

  “Like Oliver Earle?” I asked.

  “Why not?”

  That time I visibly rolled my eyes. “Or maybe Oliver and Joe are in cahoots,” I said sarcastically. “Maybe they both had something to do with Mr. X.”

  “Why not?”

  “Come on, Arlene. Oliver and Joe?”

  “Oliver Earle is too good to be true,” she insisted. “Shop-keeper, postmaster, Avon lady, realtor. What’s he trying to hide with all his good deeds?”

  I rolled my eyes again. “If you’re accusing upstanding citizens, why not include Fanny Baumgarten?”

  “Why not?”

  “Arlene! Fanny?” I mentioned Fanny’s absolutely stellar reputation. “Not to mention she’s over eighty, and blind.”

  “She wasn’t always over eighty. She wasn’t always blind. And that blind old lady has lived a few hundred yards from this place her entire life.”

  I smirked. “You’re just spouting off names to distract me, because you—” I nodded “—do not want to solve the Mr. X mystery.”

  “Bingo. I couldn’t care less.”

  “Oh, but you do care,” I said. “You like the Mr. X mystery.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Because it’s good for your business.”

  “Looney. Tunes.”

  “Mr. X is like the ghost-guys.” I looked her in the eye. “He adds to the legends and lore of this place.”

  Arlene stepped forward and pushed me toward the door.

  She’s bigger than I am, but I kept talking. “All these ghosts and skeletons and mysteries are very intriguing for your guests.”

  “Guests!?” she shrieked. “You try renting out supposedly haunted rooms. Better yet, try renting out a haunted Honeymoon Cottage, haunted by the ghosts of men poisoned by their wives. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”