“No,” Bear said simply, still holding the caulking gun as though he was ready to work on the greenhouse door.
“And why not?” the journalist asked.
Bear simply shrugged.
“No reason?” she asked.
Bear shook his head.
Although Megan tried to wait him out, Bear apparently had no more to add. Although the journalist frowned, Maris had to suppress a small smile. Megan had no idea who she was dealing with. If she was hoping to get him to say more than he wanted or coax something out of him, she might need to stand here all day. Even then, Maris had her doubts. As the journalist made a note, Maris exchanged a look with Bear, who gave her just the hint of a grin. When Megan looked back up at him, it instantly vanished. A suspicious look replaced her penetrating one, as she glanced between them.
“No matter,” Megan said, closing the journal with finality. “I think I’ve figured out who the thief is.”
Maris cocked her head back. “Oh?” A little knot of dread tightened in her chest.
The reported glanced back at the B&B and lowered her voice. “George, your retired guest.”
Maris scowled at the woman. Bear however turned back to the greenhouse and pulled the long trigger on the caulk gun, applying a bead of clear caulk near the top of the door. Megan ignored him.
“George?” Maris said. “Why in the world would you think it was George?”
“He’s been everywhere that there’s been a theft,” the reporter declared. “Every single place.”
“You realize, of course,” Maris said, “that’s entirely circumstantial. Do you have any evidence?” Although the keen glare had returned, Maris simply stared back at her.
“Of all the people that I’ve interviewed,” Megan said, “and that’s quite a lot, he is the only person who can be placed at all of the theft locations.”
A little relieved, Maris smiled at the woman. “So that would be a ‘no.’ You don’t have any evidence.” She crossed her arms. “That might hold up for some story you’d write, but not in a court of law. You couldn’t even get a search warrant based on what you know.” Maris paused for a moment. “Or what you think you know.”
Megan gave her an icy smile. “Well then lucky for me, I’m a writer and not a cop.” She glanced at Bear’s back and then at Maris. “I think I’ll head to the festival now. I expect that’s where I’ll find George.”
The woman turned on her heel and left, barely avoiding stepping on some of the plants in the garden. When she’d gone into the house and slammed the porch door behind her, Maris turned to Bear who was looking at the closed door.
“Not the most pleasant guest we’ve had,” she said.
“No,” was all he said.
But as he turned back to the greenhouse, Maris interrupted him. “Bear, I was wondering something.” He stopped again and turned to her. “I was thinking that I might like to do some of the maintenance duties for the lighthouse. I remember Glenda cleaning the storm panes, for example. Is that something that I could tackle?”
He looked up at the optics house, then back to her. “You could do that, but you need a ladder to reach up high. It would be safer with two people.”
“Oh,” she said. She gazed up at the lighthouse’s windows. “I see.” Then she glanced at Bear. “I suppose you’re tall enough that you don’t need a ladder?”
He smiled at her. “Yes.” Then he paused, and stroked his beard. “But inside the optics house, you could use a ladder.”
She grinned. “So I could clean the inside of the storm panes, while you clean the outside.”
He shook his head a little. “I was thinking you could clean the fresnel lens.”
Maris’s heart leaped into her throat, and she nearly hopped in place. “Could I? That’d be wonderful!”
His smiled broadened. “I would be happy to show you.”
She beamed back at him. “It’s a deal. Next time it needs to be cleaned. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he said, and turned back to the greenhouse.
Maris went to the back porch and entered just in time to see Megan heading out the front door. Her high at the thought of cleaning Claribel’s lens dimmed a little. Then she thought of George. She could hardly imagine that the affable and knowledgeable retiree would be a thief.
What could he possibly want with a jar of honey or some fishing weights?
Though she didn’t want to see one of her guests hound another, she was also pretty sure that the journalist was on the wrong track. It would come to nothing except a waste of time, which would give her a chance to actually find the real thief—after she finished her chores.
27
With the B&B ship-shape, clean, and toys removed from under rugs, Maris went to her bedroom. All day she’d thought about what Megan had said and her suspicions of George. She’d obviously done a lot of investigative work to be able to tie him to all the locations, but it had been Millicent who’d pointed out how suspicious the journalist behaved. As Maris entered her bedroom, she recalled finding Megan snooping in it. If she hadn’t seen her leaving, Maris fully expected to find her snooping again. But the only other person in the room was Mojo.
He was curled up on the seat of the bay window, in a little patch of late afternoon sunlight. She went over to him and ran her hand down the warm fur along his spine.
“It’s too hot over here,” she said to him. In response, his sleepy eyes rolled to look at her, before closing again. “Bake away then, but don’t say I didn’t tell you.”
As her thoughts returned to the reporter again, she decided to do a little investigating from the comfort of her desk. She took out her little used laptop, booted it up, and did a search for Megan Kantor.
Her name was everywhere.
It was probably to be expected, since she was a writer. Most of the web pages were articles
