mention it himself, don't you think? You can't come in here,' he added, planting himself in front of me with his arms crossed.
'Well, I figured that,' I said. 'Any idea when you're going to be finished?'
'I can't make any promises,' he said. 'We got some guys with the Virginia State Bureau of Investigation down from Richmond to help, and they're still examining the crime scene.'
'I'll check back a little later, then,' I said.
'Hang on,' he said. 'Where will you be if we need to talk to you?'
'That depends,' I said. 'Have you found my cash box yet?'
'No,' he said. 'And if we do, we'll have to hold on to it until the forensic guys have checked it out.'
'Okay,' I said. 'Right now I'm going over to my parents' house to take a shower. Then I'll probably have to go into Yorktown to get some cash, so I can make change for my customers, assuming you finish up with my booth sometime today and I have any customers to make change for. Shall I check in with you when I get back, in case you're finished?'
'Don't count on it. Where will you be later on?'
'I have no idea. I'd planned to be in my booth all day,' I said. 'If you need to find me, check the medical tent, and if I'm not there, leave a message with my dad.'
'Your dad? He's the one running the medical tent?'
'Yes, why?'
He grimaced, and began to massage the bridge of his nose.
'What's Dad been doing to give you a headache?' I said.
'Why, what would you expect him to be doing?' Monty snapped back.
'I couldn't even begin to guess,' I said. 'That's one of Dad's greatest charms, his spontaneity and unpredictability.'
'Are you trying to tell me he's a mental case?'
'No,' I said, 'I'm trying to tell you that he's a free spirit, and I wouldn't necessarily have any idea what he's been up to.'
Although, come to think of it, considering that Dad was an avid mystery buff with a deep and largely unfulfilled yearning to become involved in exciting real-life sleuthing, I could probably make a few guesses.
'If I didn't know better, I'd assume he's trying to convince me that he committed the crime,' Monty said. 'Which seems pretty impossible, because he's got an airtight alibi, so I have to figure maybe he's one of those cranks who show up all the time when you have a well-publicized homicide, trying to confess and get credit for a crime they didn't do.'
'He didn't confess, did he?' I said.
'No,' Monty said. 'Not yet, anyway. But he's been over here twice this morning already, trying to prove that his alibi has holes in it. There must have been two thousand people wandering around the neighborhood in fancy dress last night, half of them carrying swords and daggers and guns with bayonets, and I'm supposed to worry about one crank with holes in his alibi?'
'You haven't had a lot of sleep, have you?' I asked.
'No,' he replied, with a look of surprise.
'Let the SBI take care of themselves for a while, then,' I suggested. 'And take a nap. You'll be no good to anyone if you're exhausted and irritable.'
'Wish I could,' he said. 'But thanks anyway.'
He was looking at me oddly. I realized, with dismay, it was the look of someone who reads too much into a sympathetic remark – perhaps because he scares most people off before they make any.
'I'll talk to my dad when I get the chance,' I said, backing away. 'He's not a crank, just an avid mystery reader.'
'There's a difference?' Monty muttered, to my departing back.
I chose to ignore him, partly because I wanted to hurry over to my parents' house and partly because it was too early for me to remember the exact quote about mysteries being the recreation of the intelligent mind or whatever it was Dad was so fond of reciting.
The neighborhood still slept. I heard nothing but birdcalls, and a persistent tapping that was either a pileated woodpecker hunting for breakfast or Mrs. Fenniman nailing up more campaign posters.
My parents' house was quiet, too. Four out-of-town relatives were breakfasting in the gazebo on the back lawn and throwing scraps to the family peacock flock, which was a bad idea, actually. The peacocks already had their benefactors outnumbered, with more appearing all the time. Had these people never seen
Dad liked to brag about how well the peacocks were flourishing under his care, but in the past several months we'd begun to realize that perhaps they were flourishing a little too well. We'd only acquired them the previous year, as part of some family wedding preparations, but they'd already quadrupled in number, and the neighbors had grown mutinous. Dad hadn't been able to give away any of the flock, and so far, efforts to turn a profit by selling the surplus birds on eBay had proven strangely unsuccessful. He'd already promised Mother that his next project, after the Yorktown Day festival was over, would be spaying and neutering most of the peacocks.
We all tried to ignore Mrs. Fenniman's occasional ruminations on whether .peacocks would taste more like turkey or pheasant. Just to be sure, though, I was planning a brief fling with vegetarianism around Thanksgiving.
Other than the soon-to-be-wiser quartet in the garden, I didn't run into anyone else on my way up to Rob's room. And I was in luck; I could tell from the gentle snoring within that Rob was still home.
Knocking on the door of Rob's room did nothing to interrupt the snoring. Neither did calling his name. I finally had to shake him soundly to get a reaction. Some reaction. He turned over and pulled a pillow over his head.
'Wake up, Rob, I need to talk to you,' I said, shaking him again.
'Ohhh,' he groaned. 'Just let me sleep a little while longer.'
'I have to tell you about what happened last night,' I said.
'Look, I didn't mean to do it,' came his voice, somewhat muffled by the pillow. 'I'm sorry.'
'Didn't mean to do what?' I asked, and heard a gentle snore. 'Rob!'
'I'll go over later to confess,' he mumbled.
'Confess?' I exclaimed. 'Rob, what the hell do you mean, 'confess'?'
'Confess, apologize, whatever.'
'Rob, get up and talk to me now!'
'Why, is she here?' he said, sitting up in bed with an anxious expression.
'Is who here?'
'Mrs. Waterston,' he said.
'Mrs. Waterston?' I repeated. 'No, she's not here; why would she be?'
'Maybe she doesn't know yet, then,' he said. 'I'll have time to go and find him and take him back.'
'Rob, what on Earth are you talking about?'
'Spike,' he said. 'I lost him.'
'Is that all?' I said.
'Is that all? Mrs. Waterston will kill me.'
'She may have other things on her mind,' I said. 'Someone killed Roger Benson last night.'
'Oh wow,' Rob said, suddenly wide awake. 'Who?'
'They don't know yet,' I said. 'The sheriff put Deputy Montgomery in charge of the investigation, and he's looking at everybody who might have had reason to dislike the dead man.'
'Try the immediate world,' Rob said, shaking his head. 'I know it probably sounds selfish, but I'm a little relieved that at least now I'm rid of him.'
