There were so many ways I wasn’t with Grady that I would need extra fingers and toes to count them. I still couldn’t place the expression that had crossed his face when I mentioned the costumes, but his attention had been hijacked—assuming I’d ever had it to begin with—and I had to agree with him. Something was going on across the street and I wanted to know what it was.
I set my helmet on the floorboards of my scooter. Grady was almost to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I jogged to catch up with him. A small crowd of neighbors had spilled from their respective houses and created a gathering by the perimeter of the Cannon house. Grady joined them. Black Jack kept his arm around his wife, and I crouched down by the end of his car. A man in a checkered shirt and straw fedora turned his back on Black Jack and walked across the driveway to the crowd.
“What happened?” Grady asked.
“Robbery. Black Jack says the place was trashed. The police are going through it now, mostly to make sure nobody’s still in there,” said Checkered Shirt.
“What did they take?”
“Mrs. Cannon said her jewelry was missing. Other than that, I don’t know.”
An image of Amy Bradshaw wearing a giant diamond engagement ring flashed into my head and I felt my eyes go wide. “Grady,” I said, stepping out from behind Black Jack’s car. Several heads turned toward me. “Can I talk to you?”
“Who’s she?” someone asked.
“I think the better question is what is she doing here?” asked the detective.
I turned around. Detective Nichols stood facing me with her hands on her hips. “Unless my records are incorrect, you live on the other side of Proper City, don’t you?”
“I came out here to talk to—” I scanned the crowd for Grady, but he wasn’t there. “I wanted to talk to a friend,” I finished.
“Does this friend have a name?” she asked.
“Grady O’Toole.”
“Ms. Tamblyn, how long have you and Grady been friends?”
“I only just met him a few days ago.”
She studied me for a second and I wished I’d taken the time to put my captain’s hat back on. Silly as it sounded, elements of costume made me feel more invincible than I was as my regular self.
“Ms. Tamblyn, I can appreciate the fact that you’re trying to make new friends, but I caution you against using a murder investigation as grounds for common interests. What happened to Blitz Manners was a crime, both literally and figuratively. I would hate to find out that you’re hindering a homicide investigation so you can expand your social circle.”
“Does the robbery at the Manners house have anything to do with the murder?” I asked.
She studied my face for a second before answering. “Cannon, not Manners. And it would be premature to comment on that.”
“But you’re not ruling it out.”
“Ms. Tamblyn, I want to make myself perfectly clear. If you know something about the murder at the fire hall or about the robbery here, I want you to tell me. If you don’t have anything new to contribute, then I suggest you leave.”
My phone rang, interrupting her. She scowled. The screen said Don Digby. I held up an index finger and answered the call.
“This is Margo,” I said.
“Margo, this is Don. Are you at the shop?”
“No, I’m out. Why? Is everything okay?” The immediate silence that met my question told me the answer was no. I felt light-headed and dizzy, and the view of the strangers on the yard in front of me blurred and distorted.
“I think you should sit down,” Don said.
“Did something happen to my dad?”
“I need you to try to stay calm. We’re in a hospital about two hundred miles outside of Proper.”
“A hospital? What’s wrong?”
“Margo, I’m so sorry. Your dad had a second heart attack.”
Chapter 16
I MUST HAVE screamed, though I don’t remember. The phone fell from my hand. My heart rate doubled in a second and my knees gave way underneath me. I landed on a patch of grass to the side of the driveway. Detective Nichols repeated my name, but I couldn’t answer. Every fear, every nightmare, every ounce of helplessness I’d ever felt over what had happened when I was born magnified. I couldn’t lose my dad too.
Numbness radiated from my heart and traveled to my fingertips. I became aware that the detective was talking. I forced myself to look at her. She pointed to the house and then to me. I grabbed Black Jack’s bumper and pulled myself up until I was standing. Slowly, methodically, I looked for my phone. Detective Nichols returned to my side and held it out.
“How about I give you a ride home?” she said. The edge of her voice had been replaced with compassion. I nodded, the only thing I was capable of.
I followed her to the police car. “Sit in the front,” she said. Before I climbed in, I looked across the street at my scooter. “I’ll make sure it’s safe,” she said.