Chapter 29

I picked up the bedside phone and heard Joe’s voice. “Hey, Chip! Go Blue!”

“A great first game for the boy kid,” Chip said. “Did you watch?”

I knew that at least five minutes of football would follow that remark, so I took my time going to the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee, and heading to the dining room, where I knew Joe would be ready to quiz Chip.

As I had expected, Joe had the phone on speaker, and I could hear the two guys talking about the fourth-quarter kick that saved the game for “our” side. I had barely taken a seat at the table when Joe changed the subject.

“Thanks for calling, Chip,” Joe said. “Did I explain that Hogan Jones—the police chief over here—asked Lee and me to get some details on that long-ago fake holdup?”

Chip groaned. “That stupid stunt is going to haunt me the rest of my life.”

“Maybe not.”

Or maybe so, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut. Chip had been warned that I was on the phone, but he was a lot more likely to talk if his old pal Joe asked the questions.

The answers were more important than the questions, of course, and Joe asked for a lot of those.

Chip’s answers were pretty much the same as the ones Sharpy and Tad had offered. Yes, Spud had suggested the prank. Everybody had gotten hold of a hoodie, a bandanna, and a pistol. They had hidden the cars in the Larkins’ drive. No outsider had come into the Country Convenience Store while the whole thing was going on. No, Chip hadn’t suspected that there was anyone in the restroom.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Then Joe asked another question. “How about Digger? Did you tell him about the prank ahead of time?”

There was a pause before Chip answered. “No, I didn’t tell him.”

“Was there any way he could have known?”

“Sure. We lived in the same house—in fact, we shared a bedroom. All he had to do was pick up the telephone extension at the right time, and he could have known something was in the wind. But I don’t think he knew any details in advance. Not from me.”

“How about afterward?”

“Afterward, we told everybody. Bragged all over town.”

“Yeah, I heard it myself at the Corner. But one detail seemed to be missing. The pistol. What became of it?”

“What do you mean? I assume Brad just stuck it back under the counter. Or else he took it home and put it back in his dad’s gun safe.”

“Actually it didn’t turn up again until last week.”

Joe let the silence grow. We could almost hear Chip thinking, wondering about that pistol.

Finally he spoke. “You don’t mean—that wasn’t the gun that went off when Digger and your wife were in the cellar?”

“I can’t say that. We don’t have an example of a bullet from the gun Brad fired during the fake holdup.”

“But—nobody ever said anything about that gun, the gun he used that night—nobody ever said it was missing.”

“Apparently it was, Chip.”

“Who says? Who claims it was missing?”

“Dr. Davis. He identified it as his gun. It was reported to the national registry as a missing weapon. Possibly stolen. Dr. Davis isn’t sure who reported it.”

“Where was it for all these years? And why would anyone keep it? It would be easy to toss it into Lake Michigan. Bye-bye, pistol.”

Joe didn’t answer his questions, and Chip took several deep breaths before he spoke again.

“Are you thinking Digger might have taken it? But that’s impossible! For one thing, he can’t keep a secret! And why would he hang on to it, anyway? It’s not as if it were used for a crime. It wouldn’t be evidence of anything.”

“I don’t know. But I have one more question that could really be important.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did all the Sharks get so down on Spud? Even now, twenty years after all this happened, not one of you will say anything good about him.”

“Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with all this, Joe.”

“It still had to do with something, Chip. What was it?”

Another long silence followed. Then Chip spoke.

“You know, Joe—I don’t think we got down on Spud. Looking back, I think he got down on us. He just quit showing up. I’ll think about it, and maybe I’ll figure it out. But right now—I guess I’ve got to go.”

The line went dead.

Joe’s face also went dead.

I began to bluster senselessly. “What? He hung up? What in the world is going on? Is Chip crazy?” Nothing I said made sense, really. But I kept rattling on.

Joe ignored me. The more I chattered, the more he was silent. He still wasn’t saying anything as he leaned over and gave me a huge kiss, right on the mouth.

That made me quit talking, of course. When the kiss ended, we sat there at the dining table, nose to nose.

“What brought that on?” I asked.

“You just looked kissable,” Joe said. “I’m glad I have you.”

“Or maybe you were wishing you could shut me up.”

“In that case, I’d just say ‘please.’” He gave me another kiss. “How about some breakfast?”

“Sure. But one question first. Do you think Digger took the pistol?”

“I’m beginning to think it’s a strong possibility.”

“But when did he take it? And from where?”

“I have no idea.”

I considered the possibilities for a moment. “Joe,” I said somberly, “do you think Digger is the killer?”

“I don’t see him in that role.”

“Do you want to talk to him before Brad? Or to Brad before him?”

“Maybe Brad first.”

“I’ve got some refrigerator biscuits.”

“Bring ’em on. I’ll call Brad.”

Naturally that didn’t work out. No one answered the phone at Brad and Felicia’s house.

So Joe called Digger. He answered promptly, and to my surprise, Joe invited him to breakfast.

Digger gave a deep sigh when he heard the invitation, and I began to rack my brain about a menu. A guest, even Digger, would require more food than a roll of refrigerator biscuits and a jar of preserves. Did we have any bacon? Any eggs?

Why had Joe extended an invitation to a meal? Why an invitation at all? We’d questioned everyone else on the phone.

But when Digger replied, I began to understand. “I guess it is about time we talked things out,” he said.