Cover Story by Rachel Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

Stan Laurel impersonation. “Which ones?”
    Simon spoke at my side. “The two carrying the apples were smashed outside number three and one of the flute players was smashed at my house.”
    “Really? That’s bad, man.” Pedro stared absently into the distance, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the tragedy.
    “I heard you guys had been seen putting them in lewd positions and I wondered if you may have—accidentally, of course—damaged them?”
    Laurie’s head jerked up. “No way! We love those little guys.”
    “The sex stuff was just our contribution to the thing the street’s got going with moving them around—but we’d never hurt them,” Pedro said.
    I tapped my toe on the floor. Unfortunately, its effect as a tool of interrogation was lost as the carpet muffled the sound. “What about the other guy who lives here?”
    “Lukas?” Pedro shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s been talking about us getting some gnomes of our own. He thought it was cool.”
    Dammit, I believed them. There went the Youth Crime angle. “Any ideas on who might have done it? Have you seen anyone strange hanging around?”
    “No one more strange than usual,” Pedro said.
    “You know what?” Laurie swiveled in his chair to face his housemate. “I bet it’s that black cat from up the road.”
    That caught my attention. “Winston?”
    “Yeah, that cat is psycho,” Laurie said. “He comes sprinting down here some days and stalks us like a freakin’ lion looking for a meal.”
    Pedro punched him on the arm. “Hey, Laurie, remember that day I woke up and he was spread eagled on my window screen watching me?”
    “Yeah, you screamed like a baby.” They both fell about laughing.
    I sighed. Yep, this was my life now. Not only a distinct lack of Pulitzer prizes, but nights spent with giggling garage band musicians to push the message home.
    I plastered on my professional smile. “Okay, thanks guys. If you think of anything I’ll be around in the morning.”
    Pedro regained himself to escort us to the door. “Hey, Tobi, don’t be a stranger.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
    Oh, yeah, that was going to happen. “Thanks, Pedro, I’ll try and remember that.”
    As Simon and I returned to the sidewalk, he asked, “So what do you think?”
    “Well, the Demented Cat angle is the most plausible so far. I’ve met Winston.” A shiver ran down my spine at the memory.
    “You know,” he slowed his steps to look at me, “you don’t have to solve the crime. It could have been anyone this side of the city. The chances of you finding them are pretty slim.”
    He was right, of course, but if I could just get an outcome—a result—from this absurd assignment, I might be able to salvage some pride. “I hate loose ends.”
    “The loose ends don’t matter. We just wanted people to be vigilant and to consider the effects of vandalism on someone like Anna.” Love for his little girl shone from his eyes—something I found oddly attractive. What was that about?
    I blew out a breath. “Yeah, but it’d be nice to solve it, too. I … I …” I could feel a sneeze coming on but managed to hold it off. I’d forgotten to take more antihistamines with dinner.
    “You were saying?” We’d stopped at my car in his driveway.
    “I’m sorry, I forgot.” I was much more concerned with avoiding a sneeze before I could make a getaway. I could feel the pressure building behind my nose and my face starting to contort. Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. There was no stopping it; it was like a loaded freight train.
    “Ah … fink .”
    When I opened my eyes, Simon was regarding me like some creature at the zoo. “You know you could hurt yourself doing that—maybe burst a blood vessel or something.”
    I rolled my eyes. “So I’ve been told.”
    He rocked on his heels, hands in his jeans pockets. “Then why do you do it?”
    “Thank you for your consideration, but I’m more than capable of handling my own sneezing