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IN THE CAR, CALVIN tried to explain. “Well, the cops think you’re a little, well ...” he seemed to be searching for the right word.
“A little what?” Gertrude snapped.
“Tilted?” he tried.
“Tilted?! Why on earth do they think that?”
“I don’t know, but be grateful. They called your boss, and she told them you are disabled, and so they went easy on you. I mean, you’re really lucky, Gertrude. You tried to steal a forklift!”
“I didn’t steal anything! Well, except the Elvis salt shaker. Did you buy the pepper shaker, by the way?”
“Yes.”
“How much was it?”
“Thirteen cents.”
“Fabulous,” Gertrude said, gleefully. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Gertrude! Can we talk about what really matters here? Why were you driving a forklift?”
“I found it, Calvin. I tried to tell you through the cop car window. I really found the lamp. It was in the back, but I couldn’t reach it. But I found it! It’s still there!”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead certain.”
Calvin sighed. “Well, I guess you’ve just got to tell the cops when we get home. I mean, you can’t go back in there.”
Gertrude was quiet.
“Why are you being quiet? You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m just tired. And I don’t know what to do. I’ve already tried to tell Hale about the murder weapon, and he ignored me. He made fun of me. I don’t want to talk to him again. He’s so mean. I really wanted to be the hero, and now I just don’t know if that’s going to happen.”
“Ah,” Calvin said, “being the hero is overrated.”
“How would you know?”
Calvin chuckled. “I don’t. I was just trying to help you feel better.”
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GERTRUDE SAT ALONE in her trailer that night. The lights were off, except for the TV, which was on Antiques Roadshow. Blizzard and Cyclone were curled up on her lap. This was odd, as Cyclone wasn’t usually much of a snuggler. She must have sensed that something was amiss.
And something definitely was. Gertrude’s determination was flagging. Maybe Calvin was right. Maybe she should just let the cops figure it out. She had tried to help. They had made it clear they didn’t want her help. Golly, she disliked Hale. She really wanted to prove him wrong.
A man on the screen was getting an antique headlamp appraised. This gave Gertrude an idea. She stood up abruptly, sending her two feline friends tumbling to the floor. Blizzard landed gracefully and sauntered off. Cyclone gave Gertrude a dirty look and sat down in front of her walker, like a little kitty roadblock.
Gertrude paid her no mind and skirted around her on her way to the kitchen. She flipped on the light over the sink and reached for a box on top of a cupboard. If she remembered correctly, which she always did, the box was full of camping supplies. Gertrude had never been camping in her life, but she was always impressed with those preppers, those folks who were ready for anything. This box was her way of being ready. She pulled out handful after handful of matchbooks, fondly remembering the days when restaurants and stores gave away free matches. They never gave away anything free anymore. She pulled out a water filter, batteries, gauze, latex gloves, antiseptic, fifty feet of rope, a Swiss army knife, a large package of freeze-dried cat food, and then finally, found what she was looking for: an L.L. Bean headlamp. She flipped it on. The batteries still worked. She grabbed a few spare batteries just in case and then slid the big box back into its spot. Then she put the headlamp on her head, put on her coat, and headed out into the cold.
She pounded on Calvin’s door.
He didn’t answer.
She pounded again. “Calvin!” she hollered as loud as she could.
The door flew open.
“Gertrude! What is wrong with you? It’s after midnight!”
“I know! Look!” she said, pointing at her head.
“What?”
“The headlamp!”
“What about it?”
“I was watching Antiques Roadshow and I got an idea!”
Calvin stared at her.
“You have to take me back, Calvin. I’ll break in. I’ll use the headlamp to see. I won’t get caught, I promise. I know exactly where the killer lamp is. I’ll be in and out, easy-peasy.”
“And just how do you plan to break in?” Calvin asked.
“You’ll see!” she said, pushing past him into his house. “Come on, put some pants on. We’ve got to get going so we can be out of there before the sun comes up.”
Calvin grudgingly shut the door and followed her into his living room. “Gertrude, I am not, I repeat, I am not driving you back to Gorham tonight, or ever for that matter. I don’t want you to get into trouble, and even more importantly, I don’t want to get into trouble. So you go home and go to bed.” He turned and headed toward his bedroom. “You can show yourself out. Don’t forget to lock the door.”
“If you don’t take me, I will hitchhike.”
Calvin went out of sight, but she heard him grunt. She took a step closer to his dark bedroom. “I swear I will! I will hitchhike!”
“Fine by me. You go have fun,” Calvin said. “Try not to get picked up by a serial killer.”
It sounded like he had crawled back into bed.
“Fine! Be that way! I’m going! I’m going to hitchhike all the way to Gorham! Maybe I’ll live, maybe I won’t! Have a nice life, old man!” She turned and stomped down the hall.
She’d gotten all the way to his door when she heard him behind her. “Fine. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
She didn’t turn around, so he couldn’t see the giant smile spread across her face.