The tea party was in full swing when Derek and I walked into the town hall conference room. There were two long utility tables covered with pretty lace tablecloths, and six wide platters were spread out across the space. They were filled with a variety of finger sandwiches, bite-sized pastries, and dozens of fancy cookies. At one end of each table was an industrial-sized hot water dispenser and three teapots per table. These contained loose tea, ready to be filled with steaming hot water.
Two dozen elegant teacups with saucers were placed next to the tea service, with spoons and napkins spread in neat rows.
My mother stood in a circle with some of the other women on the committee and a stranger I guessed to be the visiting scholar.
I did my daughterly duty and went over to meet her. My mother grabbed my arm and gave me a harried smile. “Professor Trimble, I’d like you to meet my daughter Brooklyn. You might be interested to know that she’s a bookbinder who specializes in rare book restoration.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Professor,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, too.” She wore a severe navy suit with a skirt hanging well below her knees and a wrinkled white blouse, with what my mother would call sensible heels. She wasn’t much for smiling, I noticed. It was a trait I’d seen in other academics through the years. They took their jobs very seriously. Nothing wrong with that, I supposed, but this was a tea party. Maybe she would lighten up as we all got to know her better, or maybe she was simply a permanent frowny face.
“So. You’re the bookbinder.” Why did she sound so suspicious?
I gave her a smile. “That’s me.”
“Lawson told me about you.”
Now that was a surprise. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
“How did you and Lawson know each other?”
“We went to college together.” She leaned in closer. “I heard that he was killed.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Before he died, did he show you the exquisite copy of Little Women I sent him?”
“I did see it,” I said carefully, not wanting to say too much. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but I thought she seemed cold. I didn’t trust her. “You sent him the book?”
“Well, not for free,” she was quick to explain. “It was a business transaction.”
“Of course. Would you mind telling me how much he paid for it?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.”
She scowled. “The money shouldn’t matter.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” I said, not certain what tack to take with her. She was so unpleasant, but since I wanted information, I kept going. “It’s simply an intellectual question. In working with rare books, I’m often asked to track the provenance of a book. Where was it made, who owned it first, what their occupation was, where they lived, who they gave it to next, and down the line. For me, the cost of a book plays a part as well in creating an overall picture of a book’s life.”
“Well,” she said. She seemed mollified, if not completely sold on my explanation. “For Lawson, the cost truly didn’t matter. He was willing to pay any amount, so I quoted him what I thought was an extremely reasonable price of ten thousand dollars. As soon as I received his check, I sent him the book.”
I nodded. “He certainly was a big fan of Little Women.”
“I should say so. He literally begged me to sell it to him.” She frowned again. “He’s always been a bit obsessive.”
“A bit,” I agreed.
“And he was truly obsessed with obtaining the book. Wanted it for his mother. He called her Marmee, you know.” She rolled her eyes at that. “Apparently she was a big fan, too.”
“That’s nice,” I said weakly. Marmee? Who knew? But still, Trimble didn’t have to be so rude!
She continued, “He was quite proud that he’d convinced the festival committee to honor Louisa May Alcott and Little Women.”
“I did hear that the choice of Little Women was his idea.” I tried a smile. “So can you tell me more about the book?”
“If you’ve seen it, you know.” She huffed impatiently. “But all right. It’s very old, a first edition, with a delightful illustration of the four sisters on the cover. The paper is good quality and with a few nips and tucks, it could be worth even more. I happen to believe that Lawson got quite a bargain.”
“It will take more than a few nips and tucks,” I said. “The book was in very poor condition.”
“I wouldn’t call it poor,” she said, with a disapproving sniff. “It might need a few pieces of tape here and there, but that’s the sign of a well-read book.”
I stifled a gasp. “Yes. Well, enjoy your visit.” I walked away in a daze. A few pieces of tape? The woman was a barbarian! She might know all about Louisa May, I thought, but she knows very little about caring for books.
But now I knew where Lawson had found that book. I also knew that Lawson didn’t have a lot of money. In fact, he lived on social security. But if his obsession had kicked in and he absolutely had to have the book, as Professor Trimble claimed, he certainly might’ve stolen the festival funds to buy it. Except he only would’ve needed ten thousand dollars, so why was the entire amount of seventy thousand dollars missing?
I crossed the room and slipped my arm through Derek’s. I couldn’t wait to tell him what I’d found out, but I couldn’t do it here.
“Have a nice chat with the guest of honor?” he asked.
“It was enlightening,” I murmured. “Isn’t this a nice party?”
“I don’t see any beer,” Derek whispered.
I laughed, just as Gabriel walked up and shook hands with Derek. He turned and gave me a warm hug. “Babe,” he said.
“Hi, Gabriel. Thanks for watching out for Mom.”
“Not a problem. Your mom’s a kick in the pants.”
“She likes you, too.” I pulled him off to the side of the room and Derek followed. “Have you talked to the police about Jacob Banyan’s death?”
“We had a conversation,” he said cryptically.
“Well? How was he killed?”
“Why do you ask?” he responded, his tone suspicious. Then he grinned. “Just kidding, Babe. Banyan was killed by a knife across the throat. He bled out.”
“Sounds familiar,” Derek said cynically.
“Yeah,” Gabriel muttered. “There’s a pattern for sure.”
“Was it a different kind of knife?” I looked at Derek and frowned. “Because I told Detective Willoughby that I thought Banyan was killed with a knife to the throat and he gave me grief. So what gives?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t enjoy having civilians come up with their own theories,” Derek surmised.
“I don’t see why not,” I said. “Inspector Lee always enjoys my input.”
Both men laughed until I had to elbow them. “People are staring.”
“Can’t help it, babe,” Gabriel said. “You’re a laugh riot.”
“Did they leave the knife at the scene?” I asked, ignoring the comment.
Gabriel grinned. “Not very proper tea party conversation.”
“That’s okay.”
“No knife was found at the scene.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Gabriel looked at Derek. “You want a beer?”
“Why, yes.” He shot me a look. “But not right now.”
“I can’t believe you aren’t excited about Darjeeling,” I said.
“Be right back,” Gabriel said, giving us another glance. “You guys stay here and watch your mom.”
I knew Derek was dying to go with him, but he made the heroic sacrifice to stay with me and my mother.
“Let us know what you find,” I whispered, knowing he was actually going to go out and do a perimeter check.
He gave a quick lift of his chin in agreement. “Be back soon. Enjoy the crumpets.”
I laughed as he dashed out of the room. Slipping my arm through Derek’s, I leaned my head against his shoulder. “My hero. Thanks for hanging in.”
“Darling, I wouldn’t want to hang anywhere else.”
“Sure.” I had to laugh. “So. You want a crumpet?”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“I have something to tell you,” I murmured.
Derek was still smiling. “Is it related to that woman I saw you talking with?”
“Yes. I found out that she sold Lawson the book for ten thousand dollars.”
“What?” he almost yelled.
I would’ve told him the details but his mother walked in at that moment and we greeted her with happy hugs.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered. “Mom will be thrilled to see you.”
“I’m thrilled as well,” Meg said. “I’ll just pop over to say hello.”
After everyone had mingled and had their fill of finger food, cookies, and tea, Mom stepped to the head of the table. With one deep breath in and out to center herself, she spoke, “I’m so pleased to introduce Bettina Trimble, our very special guest from New Jersey. As most of you know, Professor Trimble is a distinguished professor of American literature at Princeton and a renowned scholar of Louisa May Alcott’s life and literary works. She is the current president of the Alcott Collective and travels the country on its behalf.”
Mom extended her arm toward the visitor. “Professor Trimble, would you say a few words? Let’s give her a warm welcome.” Mom began to applaud and everyone joined her as Bettina Trimble walked over to stand by my mother.
Professor Trimble stood with her hands clasped together tightly as she peered out at the crowd. Her short hair was a nondescript shade of brown and she wore no makeup. She frankly looked worn out, as though she’d been traveling across the country for the past month in a covered wagon. But who was I to judge her appearance, just because she didn’t know how to take care of books?
Yes, I was holding a grudge.
I thought she looked a bit like one of Louisa May Alcott’s war-weary characters from Little Women. Perhaps that was the world she aspired to live in.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wainwright, for the warm welcome,” she said, bowing slightly toward my mother. “I’m so pleased to be here in your wine country.”
“And we’re so pleased to have you,” Mom said. “I hope you’ve had a chance to look over the short list of festival events we’ve scheduled for you.”
“Yes, of course. The panels and workshop subjects sound fascinating. I hope to do them justice.”
“Of course you will,” Mom said jovially. “And we can’t wait for you to see our musical production based on Louisa May Alcott’s major work, Little Women.”
The crowd burst into spontaneous applause and Professor Trimble was taken aback. “Oh my.” She patted her chest nervously.
“I do think you’ll enjoy the musical,” Mom said with even more than her usual perkiness in order to cover up the professor’s awkward reaction to our excitement. “I’ve seen the rehearsals and they are doing a wonderful job.”
I moved a little closer to the woman. “Are you all right, Professor? Can I get you some water?”
“I-I was just a bit thrown off,” she said. “I hadn’t heard that you were performing a musical version of Louisa’s master work.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” I said quickly.
“It’s very clever,” Mom added. “The costumes are authentic to the time period and the cast is so talented. I believe their work would make Louisa May Alcott proud.”
“Oh please.” The woman sniffed again, then made a tsk-tsk sound of disapproval. “Ever since they performed the work on Broadway, we’ve had nothing but problems with these backwoods small-town performances.”
There was utter silence in the room.
“I’m not sure I understand your point,” Mom said, though it sounded as if she understood all too well.
The professor twisted her lips into a tight frown of annoyance. “The Alcott Collective has set up very strict guidelines for the theatrical use of Ms. Alcott’s works. I’m going to have to view your musical presentation of Little Women to make sure it is deemed acceptable by the Collective. I’ll let you know my findings.”
I exchanged a look of concern with Mom, then glanced up at Derek, who was obviously irritated by the woman. A quick scan of the room showed me that almost everyone was feeling the same.
Mom cleared her throat. “I don’t quite get what you’re talking about, Professor.”
“It’s very simple, really.” Her tone implied that as simple as it might be, we wouldn’t understand because we were all too dumb to breathe. “Unless supervised by a member of a scholarly organization such as mine, the common person will rarely give the work the proper respect and reverence it deserves. A small town like this, with your little community-theater types cast in the roles of Ms. Alcott’s beloved characters?” She threw up her hands. “It simply never ends well.”
Mom straightened her shoulders and smiled at the professor. “You’re right. This won’t end well.”
“But—”
“Nevertheless,” Mom continued quickly, “we would love to have you view our small-town performance. However, we have no interest in hearing your opinion of our quaint little theater group, nor do we wish to win your organization’s acceptance. Frankly, we’re all just here to have a good time and maybe learn a little something. If you’d like to be a part of that, you’re more than welcome to stay. But if you’re here to critique and judge us—which, I must admit, it’s pretty obvious that you are—then you should probably call a cab and head on back home.”
The room was silent again, except for the professor’s loud “Harrumph!”
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly the entire room joined me, laughing and applauding Mom’s words as she gently took hold of the woman’s arm and led her out the door and down the hall.
Naturally, Derek and I followed them out of the building, not knowing what might happen out there.
Standing out in front of the town hall, Mom pointed toward the Lane and Professor Trimble clomped away.
“Mom?” I said. “Where is she going?”
“She’s going back to her hotel, packing up and leaving.”
“Didn’t you pay for her flight out here and her hotel room?”
“Sure did,” she said bluntly. “Don’t care.”
I frowned at the uptight professor and her sensible shoes as she hobbled down the brick sidewalk toward the Lane. “Did she just expect to show up and automatically be put in charge of everything?”
“Apparently so.” Mom shrugged. “And I just couldn’t let that happen. I know I’m going to have to apologize to the committee, but I’m over it. They’ll just have to deal.”
“Yay, Mom,” I said. “But I really don’t think they’ll mind.”
“No.” She sighed. “And I sure don’t care. Maybe it’s because someone tried to kill me the other day, but I figure life’s too short to put up with overbearing people like that.”
“You’ve got the right of it, Rebecca,” Derek said.
Meg had followed us out and now she wrapped her arms around my mother in a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom said. “Don’t you know I’m just a country bumpkin?”
“Then so are we all,” Derek said, using his most erudite tone.
Our moms laughed and suddenly aware of the target we all made, I said, “Let’s go back inside where it’s a little less wide open.”
“Excellent idea,” Derek said.
“Besides,” Meg said, locking arms with Mom. “I want another biscuit.”
Back in the conference room, Mom made the announcement that the Alcott scholar wouldn’t be attending the festival.
“She was right,” Clyde grumbled. “That did not end well.”
“Well, hip hip hooray,” Winston Laurie said.
“Right on!” Sue yelled.
And once again, most of the group began to cheer and applaud.
“She was dreadful,” Derek whispered, “but at least her presence served some purpose. We now know where Lawson got the book.”
“And we also know why he stole the festival money,” I said. “At least, part of the money. I’m guessing that someone found out about it and blackmailed him for the rest.”
“It’s quite possible,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should look more closely at the committee members who assisted Lawson with the finances. They would be first to notice that the funds had been depleted.”
“Are you thinking that Winston might be involved?”
“Or the others.” He thought for a moment. “There were four hands raised when your mother asked who else had helped Lawson with his various duties.”
“Yes.” I stared at him. “Winston, Ryan, Saffron, and Marybeth. Guess we’ll move them all up on the suspect list.”
“Indeed.”
Derek and I watched the way everyone in the group interacted with my mother and Meg as well as each other. We had talked about how anyone could kill under the right circumstance, but I couldn’t see how these committee meetings and the book festival were the right circumstance.
Saffron was avoiding my mother, a good thing since I was ready to punch her if she said one word against her.
The woman was definitely capable of murder and the most likely suspect, simply because she hated everybody and everything. It was ironic that she had accused my mother of murder, but maybe that was just a ruse. We had to figure out what her motives were and how she, as a woman of about five feet four inches tall, had managed to cut the throats of two much taller, very heavyset men. I didn’t see how she could’ve done it, but stranger things had happened.
“Who’s in charge here?” a woman’s voice demanded from the doorway.
Ryan perked up. “Shandi!”
Mom looked at me with wide eyes, but recovered quickly. “Come in, Shandi. Help yourself to a cup of tea and a snack.”
Derek and I exchanged looks, and then I turned to study the woman walking into the room.
From across the room, Shandi Patrick looked beautiful, with a clear peaches-and-cream complexion and thick blonde hair with lustrous waves tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a lovely formfitting black jacket over tan stretch pants fitted into knee-high brown boots.
She was stunning. But as she walked closer, I started to see the flaws. Not that I minded flaws, personally. But Shandi knew how to work a room just the right way so that people didn’t notice the imperfections. She knew where every lamp and light was and how to angle her face to show off her best attributes. It was amazing to watch. She’d had a nose job somewhere along the line and probably some augmentation here and there. Not that I cared about that, either. She was simply fascinating and a little bizarre.
She didn’t lead with her left side, I noticed, instead keeping her right side toward the crowd. I strolled over to the tea kettle to fill up my cup and that’s when I saw why she turned her left side away.
Her left cheek had a barely discernable vertical scar from her eye to the curve of her mouth, but you had to be in the right light to see it. And her left eye was slightly droopy. I wondered if she had been in an accident or if she had always been able to work it out so that only her best features were accentuated.
“It’s nice to see you again, Shandi,” Mom said. “Can I introduce you to some people?”
“I’m not here to socialize,” she said sharply.
Mom didn’t flinch despite the woman’s rudeness. And now I knew I could happily hate her. She was definitely on the suspect list because she had a mean streak and I didn’t like it. It didn’t seem fair that Mom had had to deal with a frumpy know-it-all and now, a glamorous one.
Shandi strutted farther into the room. “I want to know what happened to Lawson Schmidt.”
“Lawson was murdered the other night,” Mom said candidly. “His throat was sliced with the broken edge of a wine bottle.”
Shandi cringed at the picture Mom had painted and I was glad to see it. Who did she think she was, coming in here and making demands? This wasn’t a Hollywood soundstage. How dare she try to throw her weight around and diss my mother!
“Do they have a suspect yet?” she asked.
“Maybe,” was all Mom would say.
“Everyone’s a suspect,” Winston said.
Shandi looked horrified. “Are we all suspects?”
“Did you know Lawson?” Jan asked.
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Then chances are, you’re a suspect.”
“Don’t be rude to Shandi,” Ryan said.
“Hey, kid,” Jan said. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
Shandi gave an amused smile. “Ryan’s my protector. He’ll beat you up if you’re mean to me. He’s a lot stronger than he looks.”
“Yeah, we got that,” I muttered.
Shandi whirled around and stared at me. “Who are you?”
“Nobody.”
“Shandi, this is Brooklyn Wainwright,” Ryan said. “She’s London’s sister.”
She scanned me—with her good right eye—from my toes to the top of my head. Was she trying to intimidate me? Or was that just how she got to know people?
“So that makes you China’s sister, too.”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“You have two very talented sisters,” she said, almost grudgingly, and shook my hand. That’s when I realized that the woman might’ve been fifty years old, but her grip was solid and I could tell that she was strong.
“Thanks. I think so, too.”
Mom took a step forward. “Brooklyn’s also very talented. She’s a bookbinder.”
“Ah.” Shandi seemed to be considering this information. “Do you know anything about a book Lawson was holding for me?”
I caught a glimpse of Clyde. He looked suddenly panic-stricken and I took the hint. I gazed back at Shandi and said, “I don’t know anything about any of Lawson’s books. Sorry.”
“Too bad. It’s supposed to be a beauty.”
It would be when I was finished with it, I thought. “Do you collect books?”
“Not really.” She waved one hand regally. “This one sounded interesting though, because it’s Little Women and that’s the musical we’re doing. Lawson told me about it and said he’d sell it to me.” She shrugged. “I thought it would be a fun takeaway.”
“That’s a nice idea,” I said. A ten-thousand-dollar takeaway?
If she was trying to raise money for a Hollywood comeback, would she really pay ten thousand dollars for an old copy of Little Women?
“Yeah.” She ambled toward the door. “Well, see you all at the festival.”
“See you, Shandi,” Saffron said, and it was the first time I’d heard her sound happy.
Were they friends? I didn’t believe it. What an odd woman Shandi was. She had swept in furious, then left as if she were the queen.
As soon as Shandi left, someone else walked into the room.
“Robson!” I said, completely shocked to see him.
“Hello, gracious,” he said, taking both of my hands in his and squeezing lightly. “It is so good to see you.”
“It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Are you working with your mother?”
“Not really working. I just like spending time with her.”
“That is a lovely thing to hear.” He turned to Derek and the two men shook hands. “And you will stay close by Brooklyn and her mother?”
“Absolutely,” Derek said quietly.
I was amazed as always that Robson had his finger on the pulse of everything that occurred in Dharma, from the major losses of life down to the smallest disruptions.
Robson nodded his approval and smiled at Derek. “I am glad to see your mother is here.”
“Yes, so am I.” Derek grinned, and moved aside so that his mother could come closer.
“Hello, Margaret,” Robson said. “I met you at the wedding of Derek and Brooklyn.”
“Yes. What a lovely day that was.” She held out her hand and he shook it gently. “My friends call me Meg.”
“Then I shall be honored to call you Meg,” he said. “It is so nice to see you again.”
“Lovely to see you too, Robson.”
“Derek is a fine man.”
“Oh.” She touched her heart. “Thank you. I think so, too.”
He glanced toward my mother then and extended his hand. “Rebecca, gracious.”
She grabbed his hand as though it were a lifeline. And maybe it was. He had been her teacher and mentor and guru and friend for over twenty-five years and being in his presence was always special for her. And for many of us, too.
Robson was the person my parents had followed from San Francisco to Sonoma all those years ago. He was the head of the Fellowship for Spiritual Enlightenment and Higher Artistic Consciousness. He was Guru Bob. And just seeing him here made me angry all over again that Saffron had dared to call our group a cult. Robson was just a man, but he was highly spiritual and kind, and he had devoted his life to helping others.
He was the one person I had gone to when I had started finding dead bodies. I thought of his words all the time because the dead bodies kept on coming.
He’d said, “Have you not considered the possibility that the dead seek you out? In each of the instances of which you speak, even when the victim was not your friend, you have been compassionate, as well as passionate, in leading the charge for justice. Do you not think the universe recognizes this?”
“Wait a sec,” I had protested. “The police are pretty good at this, you know.”
“Ah, but in many of these situations, it is my understanding that you have led them to several clues they might not have otherwise uncovered.”
Guru Bob had helped me out, and remembering everything he had said to me kept me sane, mostly, in the middle of murder investigations.
“Robson,” Mom said, interrupting my memories. “Would you like a cup of tea or a pastry?”
“No thank you, gracious.” He smiled and gazed around the room. “I simply wanted to see you all and thank you for generously giving your time and energy toward making this book festival a wonderful experience for everyone who visits.”
“Thank you, Robson,” Mom said. The others chimed in their thanks, too, and Robson waved and left the room.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“A powerful force,” Derek murmured.
“I’ll say.”
Mom found her tote bag and pulled out her gavel. She probably hadn’t thought she would need it at a tea party, but apparently she did. Banging on the table, she brought the room to order. “As some of you may have guessed, our Louisa May Alcott scholar has decided to go home early.”
“Aw, such a shame,” Clyde muttered, and the rest of the committee clearly felt the same.
Mom smiled and said, “With that done then, as the last official act of the committee today, I would like us to have a moment of silence for Lawson.”
“Good idea,” Sue said.
“B-but what if he stole that money?” Saffron said in her usual whining tone.
“He’s dead,” Clyde said in a flash of anger. “Show some respect.”
“Yeah,” Sue said. “We’ll do the same for you when somebody knocks you off.”
Outside on the Green, Derek and I walked on either side of my mother and Meg while they chatted together.
We scanned the workers who were setting up the booths, watching for odd behavior of any kind. Nothing seemed out of line.
The four of us walked over to the north end of the Circle where the porta-potties were being set up. We had a fascinating conversation with Buck, the self-proclaimed “porta-potty king,” and learned all about the workings of those handy contraptions. Mom had ordered twenty deluxe toilets—“deluxe,” meaning that they flushed. Woo-hoo. Two of those were ADA-compliant and actually quite large. Buck showed us how all of them worked. It was a revelation.
After that, we ran into Gabriel by the festival entrance where the sculpture still stood, thank goodness. He had some news for us.
“Derek, dear,” Meg said. “Becky and I are going to have a sit-down on the bench right here and chitchat for a few minutes.”
“All right, Mum,” Derek said, noting that the bench was barely ten feet away. “We’ll be right here.”
I pounced on Gabriel. “You were gone forever. Did something happen?”
“Babe,” he said, amused by my enthusiasm. “No, I was just checking things out.”
I was almost disappointed. I wanted something to happen. I wanted answers.
Glancing over at Meg and my mom, I was pleased to see them giggling about something Mom was holding in her hand. Happy to have a distraction, I left the men to commiserate and walked over to talk to the ladies.
“What’s going on with you two?” I asked.
“Oh, sweetie. We both picked a card from the tarot deck. Meg drew the Sun.”
I’d learned a bit about tarot a few years ago. “Doesn’t the Sun indicate joy and happiness, among other things?”
“Yes, it does,” Meg said with a big smile. “Isn’t that lovely?”
“Yes,” I said, “and it suits you, Meg.”
“Aren’t you sweet to say so?” Meg sniffed a little and Mom patted her shoulder.
“Your Brooklyn is such a dear,” Meg whispered.
Mom beamed at me and reached for my hand. “She certainly is.”
I grinned. “What’s your card, Mom?”
“I drew the World.”
“Wow,” I said, nodding. “Success and balance. Wholeness and achievement.”
“The beginning of one cycle and the start of another,” Meg added.
“Both of you drew Major Arcana cards. That’s huge. Mom, I’m sure all that success and achievement is referring to your work with the festival. It’s going to be tremendously successful.”
“And there will be great success in your personal life as well,” Meg added.
“Well, our Robin is having a baby,” Mom said.
“That’s right,” I said, and laughed. “So many changes. So many cycles.”
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Meg said.
“That was great fun.” Mom slipped the cards back into the box and leaned down to put them into her tote bag.
Just then, something whizzed past Mom and hit the side of one of the booths that had just been erected. The pretty yellow cloth lining that draped down the side of the booth recoiled from the impact, but managed to bounce back and stay upright.
“Derek!” I shouted.
“I’m here,” he said. “Get down!”
He’d already drawn his gun and Gabriel had taken off running across the green lawn.
I grabbed Mom and Meg and shoved them toward the booth behind us. The cloth hanging down on the sides won’t protect us from a bullet, I thought. Still, we’ll be hidden, which is better than remaining out in the open like sitting targets.
“Let’s hunker down here for a minute,” I said, trying to keep my tone level.
“Yes, this is a good place to hide,” Meg said agreeably.
“It couldn’t have been a bullet,” Mom said decidedly. “The cloth on that booth didn’t tear.”
It figured Mom would be reasonable even under attack.
“No, it didn’t.” Meg pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps it was a rock or something like that. I wonder where it came from.”
“Both Derek and Gabriel have quick reaction times, don’t they?” Mom commented.
“Yes, they’re both excellent,” Meg agreed. “Very well trained. I feel quite safe with them nearby.” She patted my knee. “You, too, Brooklyn. Thank you for whisking us out of harm’s way.”
Once again, Mom and Meg had come out of this fiasco with their nerves and sensibilities intact. I imagined I would’ve been shaking and whimpering if I’d been here by myself. But these two had nerves of steel, calmly discussing reaction times and whether or not it had been a bullet or a rock. But then, they’d both survived raising multiple children. That made them plenty tough. They would be pretty good companions in a foxhole.
“We’re clear,” Derek announced, having slipped his gun back under his jacket.
“Thank you, dear.” Meg grinned at Mom. “Well, wasn’t that exciting?”
“Very. I’m all out of breath.”
Gabriel came running up, gave Derek a pointed look, and shook his head. Which meant that they hadn’t caught the guy.
Meg looked up at Derek. “What was it exactly that was flung at us?”
“It was a good-sized rock,” Derek said, opening his hand to reveal a rock only slightly smaller than a golf ball. “And it was indeed flung. Probably by a slingshot.”
That size rock coupled with its speed was enough to kill, I thought.
“I knew it couldn’t be a bullet,” Meg said. “Becky and I were just guessing that it had been a rock.”
“That’s right, Derek. Your mom thought of it first.” My mom said with pride in her voice.
“Well done, Mum,” Derek said, looking a little flustered, and who could blame him?
“Didn’t anyone out here notice a person flinging a rock from a slingshot?” I asked.
Derek pointed to the roof of the town hall directly across the Circle from where Mom and Meg were sitting. “He was probably perched right there on the roof. Then he likely dashed behind the clock tower to avoid being seen.”
“There’s easy access from the roof down into the kitchen,” Gabriel explained. “Then out the door on the other side and he disappears into the crowd.”
“He has pretty good aim,” I mused.
“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “Maybe we should be looking for a major league pitcher.”
I shook my head in wonder. “How can anyone send a rock that size so far and so accurately?”
Gabriel shrugged. “The right person using a good slingshot can shoot the distance of more than four football fields at a speed up to one hundred miles an hour.”
“How do you know this stuff?” I asked.
“I’m a man of many talents.” He just grinned and I realized that Gabriel was probably one of those people who could achieve that distance and speed. And that same accuracy. Whew. And looking at Derek, I figured he couldn’t be far behind in those skills.
“Never mind,” I muttered. “Hey, Gabriel, did you get a chance to ask Detective Willoughby about the security cameras on the Lane?”
“Yeah,” he said, and grimaced. “They got nothing. Plenty of sidewalk action, but very little of the street itself. Sorry, babe.”
“That’s okay. I guess I wasn’t expecting much.” But I had been hoping. “Oh, and did anything ever come of that missing button you guys found in the meeting room?”
He chuckled. “It belongs to one of the housecleaners.”
“Ah. Well, okay.” So much for my top-notch investigative skills. I sighed and turned to my mother. “Are you all right, Mom?”
She had to have been shaken up, even though the rock hadn’t made contact with her. And seeing the way Derek had whipped out his gun and I had shoved them back behind the booth, it couldn’t have been easy for her or Meg.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I didn’t even know what was happening, until you got us up and out of there.”
I gazed at Derek and he put his arm around my shoulder. “I think you’re more shaken up than our mothers, darling.”
I blew out a breath. “I heard that rock whizz by. It sounded like a missile.”
“I heard it, too, dear,” Meg said. “But since it quickly became clear that none of us was hurt, I refused to worry.” She glanced at the booth. “I suppose that booth got a bit shaken up, though.”
“The booth will be fine,” I said with a smile.
Gabriel said, “I’m going to call Steve Willoughby and report this.”
“But no one was hurt, dear,” Meg said.
“No, but somebody might’ve noticed a person carrying a slingshot.”
“That’s something you don’t see every day,” Mom observed. “So you’d probably remember if you did.”
“That’s the hope.” Gabriel grinned. “I’ll have the cops check it out.”