rope and kept getting tighter and tighter and tighter. I put a hand up and was almost surprised that my neck wasn’t tender to the touch. It didn’t take much to figure out where that nightmare came from.
“Way too real.” I said the words out loud, and was reassured that my voice sounded the same as it always did. Never had a little too high and a little too nasal sounded so good.
I slid back down between the sheets, disturbing George just enough to get him to start purring, and tried to find some sleep. But just as I started the long, slow fall into slumber, my eyes snapped open.
Sam. Did he normally wear scarves in winter? Some people did, but many people—especially men—didn’t even own one. Did Sam? I couldn’t remember. If he didn’t normally wear one, how did the killer know a weapon would be so handy?
Ideas tumbled around in my head, and it was a long, long time before I found any sleep.
Chapter 6
Thanks to an unusual fall class schedule, Paoze often worked on Thursdays, so the next morning I gathered Lois and Paoze in my office and told them as little as possible about my new hire. Yvonne herself was at the computerized cash register, studying the software manual.
At the end of my narrative, Lois slurped at her tea. “Why did she move here? To Wisconsin.”
“Why not?” I turned up my palms. “This is a beautiful state. We have scenic beauty galore, the excitement of four seasons—”
“Four seasons. Right.” Lois counted on her fingers. “Fall, winter, spring, and construction season. Or”—she held up her other set of fingers—“winter and three months of poor sledding.”
I ignored her. “We have opportunities in every market sector and we have a great educational system.”
Lois scrunched her face. “Great? Have they taught our youth anything about sled dogs?” She swung around and faced Paoze. “Well, have they?”
Oh, dear.
“Sled dogs?” he asked.
Lois smiled and I could almost hear her thinking,
“Sled dogs are what settled the West,” she said.
He looked at her. “It was the covered wagon and the plow and the oxen. I do not believe in sledding dogs.”
“What?” She opened her eyes wide. “Here I am trying to teach you the stuff they don’t write in history books and you’re saying I’m making it all up?”
Paoze shot me a glance, but I held up my hands and backed away. I’d long since declared myself a noncombatant after a game had started.
“What is the history?” His mouth was firm, set in the “you can’t fool me” stance that Lois took as a direct challenge. “I know of no sled dogs in Kansas. Sled dogs are in Alaska.”
Lois nodded sagely, making her dangling earrings rattle. Today’s ensemble, in contrast to the hunter’s orange of yesterday, was a long brown skirt over brown boots and a tawny-colored sweater. She’d tied her hair back with a white silk scarf and added earrings made of tiny little cowbells.
The clothes I understood—she was showing her solidarity with the deer currently under siege by thousands of hunters—but I didn’t understand the cowbell earrings. She’d told me they represented the deer’s hope for survival. I’d said I wasn’t sure deer had that complex a psychology, and she’d given me the old milk for my tea.
“Yes, indeedy,” she said. “Sled dogs are in Alaska. But they’re also raised throughout the upper Midwest. Not down here, we’re too far south, but up there.” She waved a hand northish. “And back in the day, there were sled dogs everywhere.”
“How then and not today?” Paoze asked suspiciously.
Lois rolled her eyes, all attitude and melodrama. “Haven’t you heard of global warming? There
Paoze was starting to nod. “Would not horses and big sleds have been a good choice?”
Scenting victory, Lois shook her head vigorously. “Horse hooves get too packed with snow on the long trips. Dog feet were better.”
I was half convinced myself.
“The biggest problem,” she went on, “was the food. When they’re working, dogs eat a lot, and to feed the animals the drivers had to hunt. It took them too far out of their way and they lost so much time that the drivers’ association decided to make a new breed of dogs. It started with breeding a sled dog with a wolf, but then some scientist got the brilliant idea to cross a sled dog with a camel. What a great idea!” Her eyes sparkled. “A camel crossed with a husky. They called it a huskel, and that, my friend, is how the West was settled.”
“Huskel.” Paoze crossed his arms. “I do not believe you.”
“Well, it was only a little camel, and . . .” But Paoze was walking away. “Bugger,” she said. “I had him, did you see it? Why didn’t I stop?”
“No telling stories to Yvonne. At least not until spring.”
Lois sighed. “I suppose we do want her to stay. Anyway, how did she end up here? Wait. She’s had a yearning for fresh cheese curds and this is her chance to make the dream come true.”
I loved cheese curds, those small bits of cheese that, when fresh, squeaked against your teeth. Without too much effort I could eat half a pound at a sitting. Unfortunately I would gain two pounds, which seemed to defy a basic law of thermodynamics—matter cannot be created nor destroyed—but I didn’t feel up to the explanation my brother would give if I asked. “I doubt anyone would move for cheese curds.”
“Kringles?”
Another Wisconsin treat. Kringles looked like a plate-sized race track made of pastry. They were topped with thin icing and came in a variety of fillings: cherry, pecan, cream cheese. All were the stuff of dreams and laden with fat. I stayed away from them at all costs. Except for special occasions.
“You can have Kringles shipped,” I said.
Lois frowned. “Does she have family here? Maybe she has a thing for Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. The stuff is everywhere, you know.”
“I didn’t pry into her reasons.” I gave Lois a stern look. “And don’t you start, either. If she wants to tell us, she will.”
We left my office and were starting our morning chores when the front bells jingled and Mrs. Tolliver marched in. “I hear you’ve hired a felon,” she announced.
I gasped. How had the news spread so fast? But even as I had the thought, I figured out the answer. Texting. Facebook. Twitter. These days it only took an instant for bad news to travel around the globe. One post on someone’s wall and your reputation was in tatters.
But who had let out the news? And why?
Lois was staring at me, round-eyed. Paoze had gone blank-faced. Yvonne had instantly become a statue, freezing solid in the act of turning a page. The few customers in the store were poking their heads above the shelves, eyes and ears alert.
Mrs. Tolliver nodded at me. “I thought it only fair to tell you in person that I will not patronize your store any longer. And I must say I question your decision. Hiring a convicted killer when there’s a murderer roaming free?” She shook her head briskly.
I faced Mrs. Tolliver. Deep breaths, I told myself. You can do this. Be brave. Or at least pretend that you are. I smiled. “Yvonne is going to be nothing but an asset to this store. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Her chin went up. “I beg your pardon. How could I possibly know such a thing?”
“You met her yesterday.” I nodded at Yvonne. “Mrs. Tolliver, please meet Yvonne Ganassi. Yvonne, this is Mrs. Tolliver, one of our store’s best customers.”
The older woman’s rounded jawline fell slack. “
