The Unkindness of Ravens by M. Hilliard (readera ebook reader .txt) 📗

gave Pierre’s leash a tug. We made it back to the carriage house as the first raindrops fell.

Chapter Twelve

I’d saved the photocopied article with Joanna’s notes for when I’d have an uninterrupted stretch to work. I’d looked them over again that morning, and thought some of the odd notations were familiar. The answer was at the edge of my consciousness. Now that I’d had a day of fresh air and exercise, it was time to try again.

I popped some slice-and-bake cookies in the oven and assembled my laptop, notepad, and tote bag on the coffee table. As I pulled out the cookies, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Pete Jr. of Pete’s Pizza shaking water off his lanky frame.

“Hi, Ms. Hogan. Medium, extra pepperoni, still hot.”

“Come in while I get my wallet.” Pete was a nice kid who was working his way through community college. He spent most of his weekends at the family pizza shop, either behind the counter or delivering. Along with the Java Joint and the Market on Main, Pete’s Pizza completed the Holy Trinity of information clearinghouses in Raven Hill, and young Pete liked to chat. He was a natural in the hospitality business. I was hoping he’d have some useful tidbits for me.

Pete had unpacked the pizza and was sniffing the air appreciatively when I came back.

“I hear you had some excitement up at the manor last night,” he said as I settled up.

“How’d you know?” I asked, counting out a generous tip.

“My grandpop may be retired, but he’s still got a police scanner and a cell phone He can’t see too well, but there’s nothing wrong with his hearing. He says staying in the loop keeps him sharp.”

“Understandable.” And useful. Having a police scanner made you privy to all kinds of interesting information, though not as much as it did before cell phones. A well-connected retired cop was good, too. I wondered if Pete’s vision-impaired grandfather would have any interest in audiobooks. I’d follow up on that, but first the business at hand.

“So, you heard someone hit his head around closing?” I handed Pete a cookie.

“Mr. Goodhue,” Pete said around a mouthful of chocolate chip, “but I heard he got bashed in the head and you found him. Did you see it happen?”

He was fishing, but so was I. I handed him another cookie.

“Only from outside, and I didn’t see anyone else. But there were a lot of strangers in the manor all day. Apparently, Mr. Goodhue lost track of time. It’s hard to check the whole building on weekends, and I guess if we missed him we could have missed someone else.”

Pete shrugged. I’d have to give him something else.

“There was something odd, though.”

Pete looked eager. He’d love to have some new info to bring home to his grandfather.

“When I found him, he sort of looked like he’d been mugged. Keys and stuff all around him. But he could’ve just dropped what he was holding. Maybe I lived in the city too long.”

Pete’s eyebrows shot up. This was news, at least to him.

“Anyway, I’m sure Mr. Goodhue can explain what happened.”

Pete shook his head.

“He says he was there looking for something he dropped, and he didn’t realize the time until he looked out and saw your car leaving. After that, he doesn’t remember anything. Sam O’Donnell isn’t buying his story, but that’s the official version until he finds proof otherwise. At least, that’s what Grandpop’s friend on the force told him.”

“What does your grandfather think?”

“He says it’s too much like what happened to his wife. He doesn’t believe in coincidence. He says if an accident is convenient for someone else, it probably wasn’t an accident. But that’s hard to prove. He was a really good police officer, my grandpop.”

“It sounds that way. He must get bored now that he’s retired. Would he be interested in audiobooks, do you think? There are some very good police procedurals I know of. Those would help keep him sharp, too, and I could arrange things through the library.”

“That’s nice of you, Ms. Hogan. I’ll ask him. I’ve got to get back to the shop. You be careful.”

“Thanks, I will. Drive safely.”

In short order I was on the couch with my pizza, making notes between bites. The good news was that Vince’s version of events matched mine, and placed me outside the library when he was hit. The bad news was everyone thought Vince was lying, and my little chat with Officer Webber made it clear she was still trying to shake something loose from me, even if she wasn’t sure what that something was.

I tossed Pierre a last piece of pepperoni, wiped my greasy fingers and pulled out the photocopy I had found yesterday. Smoothing it carefully, I read the headline. “Local Child Drowns in Ravens Kill.” The article was brief. One Carol Douglas, age six, had drowned in the kill after falling in and being pulled under by the current. The accident was witnessed by her brother and a friend, also minors. The little girl wandered out of her yard in search of her brother. Local children often played in the woods at the edge of the stream, but due to heavy snow and rain throughout the winter and early spring, the Ravens Kill was higher than usual, its rushing waters more treacherous. No negligence or foul play was suspected by local authorities.

And that was that. Thirty-five years ago, kids played outside on warm spring days, especially in small towns. Carol’s parents were named but the two underage witnesses were not. There was not a lot of information here, but it was Joanna’s starting point so I read it through again and moved on to her notes, hoping they would make more sense. Her handwriting was clear enough, though there were some smudges, but she’d used her own form of shorthand. Some of it was easy to make out. “Rep.?” near the byline clearly meant she wanted to track down the reporter. The