“Not to mention a rare book, some silver coins and a gold ring,” I added.

The sergeant looked annoyed. I assumed because his partner didn’t tell him sooner, but then for all I knew it might be his lunch hour and I was keeping him from visiting Fred’s favorite restaurant next door. “So you do know the suspect?” he asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket.

“Not really. I saw him at a book signing a week ago Friday, the same night Shelia Dean was killed.”

He stopped writing and looked up, pointing his pen at me. “Shelia who?”

Deputy Brandon answered for me again. I was ready to ask if they wouldn’t mind me leaving so they could interrogate each other. “The Nail File Murder, sir. The one in Lakewood.”

The sergeant didn’t seem to catch on. Either that or he missed his calling, for he had a poker face that showed nothing. “And you think they’re connected? This Shelia who was murdered with a nail file and your burglar?”

Fred had tired of the interview and let me know by pacing back and forth. Luckily we weren’t in the garden section or he would be looking for a tree. “Yes, I think so. It’s all in a report my neighbor gave to your detectives. I hope you don’t mind, but my dog needs to relieve himself.”

Sarge looked down at Fred then put his notebook back in his pocket. “Okay, thank you for your statement, Mr. Martin, and the manager would like to talk to you after you take care of your dog.”

Sleeveless was long gone by the time we left the store, but at least I had a new door and deadbolt at a huge discount. Just mention a lawsuit and everything changes.

***

By Monday, my well-thought-out plan of finding Sleeveless from a list of names and comparing them to known felons had changed now that I knew a better way to track him down. I had spent Sunday afternoon fixing my door when an epiphany came to me. All I really needed was access to the video tapes from the building-supply store. Chances were pretty good Sleeveless would be seen running to his truck, and with a little luck, we would have its license plate to track him down.

Bonnie took all of five minutes, over our morning cup of coffee, to blow holes in my epiphany. “And how do you plan on seeing those tapes?” It felt like the time my fifth-grade teacher pointed out all the mistakes in my first, and last, attempt to write poetry. “It’s not like it’s a mom and pop store, Jake. They probably have more rules and procedures to follow than the clerks at the DMV. That manager isn’t going to let you have those tapes unless you get a court order.”

She refilled my coffee and smiled. “But your first plan might work. Except for a couple of little things, it was a good plan.”

“Thank you, Miss Henson. Can I go out and play now?”

Bonnie quit filling her cup and looked up. She had several new wrinkles I hadn’t noticed before. I stopped her before she could speak. “My fifth-grade teacher, Bon. For a moment there you reminded me of her.”

The wrinkles faded and I swear I saw a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Did you know I used to be a teacher? I subbed before Diane was born. You could have been one of my students if you had lived here at the time.”

“I’m sorry my dog ate my homework, ma’am, but if you give me another chance, I promise I’ll come up with a better plan.”

Bonnie continued the game and looked over at Fred, who had gone back to sleep some time ago, presumably after he realized there would be no breakfast. “Did you eat Jake’s homework, Freddie?”

Fred raised his head at the mention of his name, but when no table scraps appeared, he went back to sleep.

“Seriously, Bon, what’s wrong with my plan?”

She got back up from the table and headed toward the sink with her coffee pot. “Well, to begin with, that list of names. It’s usually the author who collects those names so you would have to get the list from him. Paul Wilson ain’t from around these parts, pilgrim, so that won’t be no easy chore.”

She paused to rinse out the pot while I waited for her to continue.“You want me to make more coffee?” she asked, turning back toward me.

“No thanks, Bon. So what else? You said a couple of things were wrong with my plan.”

She didn’t answer at first. She reminded me so much of my mother the way she stared at nothing at all, looking confused. “Huh? Oh my, I seem to have forgotten. It’s probably not that important, whatever it was.”

My text-message tone interrupted any further conversation. It was the first time the annoying beep didn’t bother me. “Looks like I better get over to Bailey before they get someone else to hang the drywall. Just the same, if you can call down to the bookstore and see if they have the list or know how to contact the author, I’ll get on it as soon as I get back. I’ll hang a few sheets then make some excuse to quit early. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours.”

***

Those couple hours turned into most of the day, and I didn’t even get my hands dirty, at least not hanging drywall. I was laid off before I got started; replaced by some day-laborers the contractor picked up in town whose English was questionable but willing to work for half my pay. My old Wagoneer broke down on the way home, somewhere between Conifer and Evergreen. I tried calling Bonnie, only to find the narrow valley was a cell phone dead zone. When my thumb failed to get Fred and I a ride, we walked at least a mile back toward Highway 285 until I could pick up a signal.

Bonnie didn’t answer her home phone, so I tried her cell thinking that she might be at the bookstore getting the list of names I asked for. I got the same result, and left her a message telling her about my predicament. She was the only neighbor or friend that I could ask for help. I hardly knew any of my other neighbors, let alone their names or numbers. It left me with no choice but to call triple A and use my last tow of the year.

***

Bonnie was waiting with her hands on her hips when the tow-truck driver finally pulled into my drive several hours later. She must have seen us coming and drove her Cherokee up the east loop of the circle, beating the slower tow truck.

Fred wasted no time hopping out of the truck and running over to greet her. You’d think he hadn’t seen her in ages the way he acted. His tail was wagging back and forth faster than a bobble-head doll on a rough road.

Bonnie left Fred and came over to me while I was signing the driver’s paperwork. “I tried to call you back, Jake. Is your phone working?”

I thanked the driver then turned toward Bonnie. Fred had already forgotten her and gone on to check out a tree. “Guess you get what you pay for, Bon. This new phone doesn’t seem to work very well up here, but it does wonders for getting me some exercise.”

She didn’t get the joke, not knowing I had to walk a mile for service, and looked at me like I was the bulb on the Christmas tree that made all the lights go out. I waited for the tow-truck driver to leave before explaining what had happened.

“You either need to get a new car, Jake, or a new phone. You could have been murdered trying to hitchhike.” She sounded like my mother did the first time I hitched a ride.

I ignored her comment. I couldn’t afford a new phone, let alone a new car, and didn’t want to talk about my finances. “I think it’s the fuel pump this time. Do you mind giving us a ride to the parts store before they close?”

***

We were on the part of our road known as dead man’s curve when I realized my mistake of asking for a ride and double checked my seat belt. “Are you okay, Bon?” I asked right after she came within inches of going off the road.

She answered without looking at me. “Of course I am. Just got a little distracted thinking about that list you asked me to get is all.”

I wanted to ask if she’d been drinking, but the fear in her eyes convinced me she was sober. The close call had startled her more than me, so I let it go.