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“No,” Seth said as he stepped around to the back of the bike and next to Creighton.

Two distinct thoughts ran through my mind at the same time. One was, of course, oh crap! There was a motorcycle license plate found today where a dead body had recently been.

The second thought, however, was inappropriate considering everything else, murder included. Other than their height, Seth and Creighton were so different. Seth's tall, thin frame and tousled hair were completely opposite to Creighton's buzzed hair and bulky, squared frame.

This was not important at the moment, and I mentally shoved away the thought and went back to the one about the license plate being found where the dead body had been.

“I'm sorry, Officer, I had no idea,” Seth said.

“You from Wyoming?” Creighton asked.

“No, my brother is though,” Seth said.

“Your name?”

“Seth Cassidy.”

“I need you to come with me, Seth. I need to ask you some questions.”

Seth blinked and looked at Creighton. “Of course, Officer. I'd be happy to go with you.”

He hadn't missed a beat and seemed genuinely surprised by the missing plate. I wanted to be angry at Creighton for ruining the end to my perfect date, even if he hadn't meant to. I wanted to ask Seth some of my own questions. One being had I just had dinner with someone somehow involved in a murder? For some reason, I just didn't think so.

“Do you want me to call you an attorney?” I said to Seth.

“Not at all,” he said. “I'll call you if I need bail money though.” He winked at me and I smiled at him.

There were no handcuffs as Creighton opened the front passenger door of his police car for Seth. Once inside, Seth smiled again and waved at me. He was putting on a brave face, but I could see a pinch of concern in his features. It was impossible not to be nervous about the police wanting to talk to you. Even if you were innocent and one of the officers was your best friend, apparently.

I watched Creighton's car disappear down the hill. The night was not young. It was late and I was tired, but I was also wired.

“Shoot!” I said aloud as I thought about the numbers and letters that Seth had perhaps understood, or at least partially. I hoped he didn't tell Creighton what he'd deduced. I wanted to tell Jodie first.

But it didn't matter. Ultimately, the police needed to know no matter who told them. There were so many unanswered questions that even contemplating the idea that Seth knew what the letters and numbers were for because he was somehow involved in the murder felt like a giant stretch. I'd tell Jodie everything, though, and hope for the best.

I should have gone home. I should have gone to bed. I had plenty of work to do tomorrow, and I functioned better if I wasn't tired. But instead of going back to Little Blue, I walked down the hill toward Bygone Alley. Most of the Main Street storefronts were dark. Noise rumbled through the closed theater doors behind which Hollywood's next greatest indie film would be crowned in January at the Star City Film Festival. A very drunk woman exited a tiny bar,
stumbling dangerously. I had the urge to grab her arm and make sure she didn't drive anywhere, but she went from the sidewalk to flopping into the backseat of a cab; the cabbie smiled tiredly at me before he pulled away from the curb.

I turned onto Bygone, and while staying across the street from The Rescued Word, I walked slowly, peering into more mostly dark windows. The diner was bright, its shiny chrome counter gleaming under the few fluorescents left on after closing time.

I looked toward The Rescued Word. Its windows were dark and almost foreboding with the glow of a streetlamp only reaching one corner of the front window. There was a light on upstairs. If Chester was there, he was probably alternating between reading and falling asleep in his chair. Though he napped through most evenings, he didn't think it was right to go to bed before midnight. Baskerville would either be on his lap or in the store on a shelf if he was feeling particularly introverted.

The lighted window upstairs gave me an idea. It was sneaky and close to illegal, but I'd try not to step over the line.

I speed walked to get around the corner in a hurry. At the end of Bygone, I glanced toward Mirabelle's house on my left and then turned right, proceeding slowly down that side of the street.

I decided I'd have to cross over to the other side like I'd done when I was following Chester if I wanted a really good look.

I zipped across, dodging a couple of parked cars and a bike rack.

It was dark enough that I was extra careful with my footing. I'd walked up and down that side of the street many times over the years. The downward view was horrifying if you were afraid of heights, but I knew how to stay far enough away from the danger.

I was sure some people must be out on their front porches—the night was too nice not to be. But I didn't see anyone as I stopped in front of the third house.

Lights blazed brightly out of the two large front windows, one on each side of the front door.

I made sure my feet were a safe distance from the back edge and lifted myself up to my toes.

And I saw nothing except the bright light. The house was too high up to even see the top of a lamp.

I lowered back to my heels and plopped my hands on my hips as I thought about a good reason for climbing up the stairs and knocking on the door. Of course there wasn't one. It was late.

But the lights were on.

I looked up and down the street and still didn't see anyone. Lights were on in windows, but all the cars were quiet and dark. I didn't hear the creak of a rocking chair on a porch or the low hum of quiet conversation.

If I climbed the stairs only halfway, I could probably look inside the windows and then jump down and hurry away quickly.

It wasn't a great plan, but it wasn't terrible. I wasn't going to break into the house, and I was only going to take a quick look.

I trotted across the street and began climbing the stairs
to the front porch. Once I got halfway up, I stretched my neck again and tried to peer inside. This time I did see the top of a lamp through the right window and what looked like the side view of a piano through the left window.

One more step. Two more. Three more. When I reached the top step, I hesitated. Moving onto the porch seemed so much more intrusive than walking up the stairs.

Nevertheless, I lifted my leg to take that last step.

And the door was flung open.

I had two choices—jump down the stairs and run, or freeze in place and hope they didn't notice me. I froze, even though I didn't truly think I would remain unnoticed.

Once the two people who'd been exiting the house saw me, the woman made a small surprised sound and the man said, “Clare? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Hi, Chester,” I said more sheepishly than I'd ever said anything in my entire life.

“Clare,” Chester said again when he probably put together exactly what was going on. Finally, he turned to the woman. “Ramona, this is my granddaughter, Clare Henry. Clare, this is my friend Ramona Bridger.”

And then something even more surprising happened. Ramona cackled just like a movie witch, but friendly, not evil.

“Aren't you the silly one?” she said to Chester with the deepest southern accent I'd ever heard. “Friend? After what we just did tonight, I would think we were more than friends.”

“Well,” Chester said with a smile her direction but with no sign of being the slightest bit embarrassed. That was okay, I was embarrassed enough for both of them.

“Oh,” I said. “I'm sorry to disturb.”

“No need to apologize, honey, we're done. For the night,” she said. And then she cackled again.

I tried to figure out what to do with my hands and arms; they suddenly seemed so foreign. It appeared that my grandfather had just seen lots more action than I had that evening.

I didn't know what else to say, so all that came out was, “Oh dear.”

“C
lare, I am old enough to have a girlfriend,” Chester said as he poured coffee into the mug he'd placed in front of me on my worktable. It was too late to be drinking coffee, but that never stopped me.

“Of course you are,” I said. “I'm not upset that you're . . . dating someone. I think it's great!”

“You do?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Chester sat in a chair on the other side and stretched his legs, crossing them at his ankles.

“Because of your grandmother. I don't want you to think I've forgotten her or am disrespecting her memory.”

“She's been gone for so long. We've—your family—only wanted you to be happy. If you spent all these years not dating for our sakes . . . well, then, I'm sorry.”

Chester shrugged. “Well, I've dated. But until Ramona I haven't found anyone who tripped my trigger, if you know what I mean.”

Briefly, I closed my eyes and shook my head a couple of times. I didn't need to know those sorts of details. I didn't even want to know about those parts of Jodie's relationships. Well, I'd be curious about Mutt. But not so much Chester or Ramona.

“Who have you dated?” I asked. “This is Star City. Everybody knows everybody. I've never heard of you dating anyone.”

“Discretion, my dear girl, is the better part of valor. Surely, you've heard that before.”

“Of course, but . . .” I sighed. “Chester, I'm not upset, but I wish you would have told me about Ramona. About anyone you've been interested in.”

“I hear you. Ramona is special. I wanted to make sure. She's nothing like your grandmother, and I have to admit that's part of the attraction.” He laughed. “There's simply no comparison, but your grandmother would have really liked Ramona, in a ‘gracious, that woman sure is loud' way.”

I smiled. Chester could never stop loving my grandmother. None of us would, and she'd never be forgotten either. If she'd given any thought to the idea that Chester would outlive her by so many years, she would have told him she wanted him to move on and find another love. She might have sought one out for him. In her organized way, she would have made lists of eligible women, noting their pros and cons, and then she would have created color-coded file cards, instructing Chester on the best way to proceed.

“I'd like to get to know Ramona,” I said.

“You will. She wants to take you out to lunch tomorrow if you're available. We were talking about you earlier in the evening. I told her she needed to meet the family, beginning with you, and she wanted to meet you right away. I guess you helped her accomplish her task.”

“Yeah, I didn't mean to look so sneaky. I saw you go there yesterday and I was curious.”

“Ah. I understand.”

“Chester, since we're sharing, will you please tell me why you were looking up pancreatic cancer? I don't believe that it was an accident. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Chester nodded. “It was not an accident. Ramona's husband died of pancreatic cancer a few years back. A man my age has heard plenty of awful stories about death, but I've never known anyone personally who has died of pancreatic cancer. I wanted to understand what she'd—and he'd—gone though. You have to understand something, sweetheart. When you get to my age and you've had good past relationships and so have others who come into your life, those people we've loved and lost become a part of our new relationships. They are there with us and show up, sometimes when we least expect them. But they're welcome in, Clare. There's no jealousy. We welcome our dead and we still love them. There's just no other way. Can you understand that?”

“Of course I can. I wish you'd just told me. I was worried, very worried. I didn't need to be.”

“I'm healthy as a duck during elk season.”

“I've never heard that one before.” I laughed.

“Now, tell me about your tall young man. Seth? Is that correct?”

“Yes, he fixed me dinner this evening, and then afterward was detained by the police regarding the murder of leather man. Creighton picked him up.”

“No! Goodness, that's not happy news. However, I would bet that Seth is innocent and that Creighton was just trying to get under your skin, Clare.”

“That's not it. It was kind of coincidental. I don't think Creighton knew I was with Seth when he came upon the motorcycle Seth said was his brother's. One of the Wyoming license plates was missing. Jodie found one out back today, and she and Omar wonder if it's tied to the murder, maybe pointing to a motorcycle group who helped with some goat relocations.”

“A Wyoming plate?”

“Yes.”

“That most certainly throws up some doubt, but let's wait for the answers before we jump to any conclusions.” Chester sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. He sat up a little straighter. “Well, how was dinner?”

“Delicious.”

“Just think, Clare, you could end up being the first Henry to date a murderer. No, wait, I think my great-great-grandfather had some trouble with the law.”

“I honestly don't think Seth is a killer. I might just like him too much to see him clearly, but he's too intrigued by his job to be concerned about killing men in leather
who pine away for specific typewriters. I think I'm reading that right. I hope.”

“You like him
too much
? Well, I haven't heard that in a while.”

“I do, Chester. It's early yet, but he's a sweet man and there's something about his attentiveness. It's like he notches it up when I'm around, like he's particularly interested in me and my mundane parts. I got the impression he'd listen closely even if I read him my grocery list. And I was interested in everything about him. I think I was as attentive. I hope so.”

“I'll be. If he isn't a killer, perhaps I'll have lunch with him soon.”

“He's very tall,” I said, moving the conversation forward.

“I'm tall. I know the feeling. You're more in the height-challenged range, but that can be forgiven.”

“I'm five-six, Chester. That's not height challenged.”

“You're on the verge.”

“All right.”

I didn't let Chester walk me all the way home, but he did see me to the end of Bygone and watched me as I made my way up the hill. It was late enough that the only other people I saw were the few customers left in the small bar as I passed by it again.

I felt much better about Chester and his health but became concerned again about Seth when I walked passed Elizabeth Owl's shop and Seth's dark windows above. I checked my phone but he hadn't called or texted.
It was late though. He didn't know I'd stayed out after he'd been detained.

The motorcycle was still parked next to the curb. That was a good sign, or so I assumed. I walked past it and then crossed the street. I thought Seth had mentioned that he had a car too. There was an old Honda a short way down from the motorcycle. I wondered if it was his. I hurried across the street, turned around, and waved at Chester, who was still watching me from the end of Bygone, then took my porch stairs a couple at a time.

“Clare,” a voice said.

It was a wonder I didn't break my neck or a kneecap or something.

“Jodie! Have you lost your mind?” I said to my friend on the porch as I grabbed the railing and reestablished my footing.

“Sorry,” Jodie said.

“Holy heart jump. You okay?”

“Fine. Sorry,” she said again.

Jodie moved to the edge of the porch and sat on the top step, and then patted the space next to her.

“You want to come in?” I said.

“No, it's too nice out here. Have a minute to chat?”

“Of course,” I said. I took the spot next to her, still feeling my heart beat fast in my throat. I glanced quickly down the hill. There was no sign of Chester. Either he hadn't seen me practically kill myself on my porch stairs, or he'd seen Jodie so he knew I was in good enough hands. “What's up?”

“I stopped by for a couple reasons. One, to check on you, but you weren't here so I felt the need to wait. And
two, to tell you that I had a great time on my date with a guy named Mutt.”

“That's wonderful!” I said. I looked at her. Never once in all the years that I'd known Jodie had she said she had great time with someone—this included good old what's-his-name. She'd dated a little after the divorce, but most of the time those dates weren't worth more than a shrug when I asked her how they'd gone.

“I don't have time for a boyfriend, Clare. And do you have any idea how my father and my brothers will react to him? Let's not even talk about my mother since she will become a non-issue quickly and die the second I tell her that Mutt is his real name.”

“First of all, everyone has time for a boyfriend or a girlfriend or whatever. It's just a matter of finding a match that can work with your availability. Is Mutt willing to be flexible with your schedule?”

“We'll see, I suppose. He seems to be, but it's early. All I really know at this point is that the only other person who I've ever had so much fun with is you, and since we're not lesbians—no matter about that rumor in high school—I have to keep my options open. Mutt told me he likes me too and wants to see me again. Tomorrow.”

“That's great. And you're underestimating your family,” I said. “They want you to be happy.” I thought about the conversation I'd just had with Chester, and though Jodie's family adored her, she might have a point. They might have a problem with Mutt, but their love for her would win out, once her mother regained consciousness at least. It wouldn't kill her all the way.

“We'll see,” she said.

“You seem sad.”

“I'm just surprised. I'm almost thirty, and I realized tonight that I might have finally met my match and it could potentially upset everyone.”

“Let's not worry about that yet,” I said. “One day at a time.”

“Right. How was your evening with the nerdy but cute geologist, who may or may not have a criminal record? Have you looked at the papers yet?”

“I have not. He lives over there, above Elizabeth Owl's. My date was really great too until Creighton took him into the station for questioning.”

“What?”

I told Jodie what had happened, and she pulled out her cell phone. It was when I saw her grab it from the bag she carried that I realized she looked really nice, dressed in girl clothes and carrying a purse, which was unusual. She was more the backpack or pockets-only type.

I was under the impression that she spoke directly to Creighton. She asked questions and answered back with abrupt and impatient noises. Only a moment later, she ended the call and looked at me.

“He's been released, but Creighton told him not to leave town, which is standard procedure. I didn't get many details, but just from Creighton's tone, I don't think he thought Seth was guilty. Creighton did ask me if you and Seth were dating. I didn't give much of an answer.”

I looked over at the dark windows. “Any idea when he was released?”

“Didn't get that.”

He must have just gone to bed. I couldn't help but be a little disappointed he hadn't called or texted me first.

“Jodie, I showed him the numbers and letters that were on the key bars. He had a hunch that they were for longitude and latitude measurements, and that if put together correctly, they might give a pertinent location.”

“Pertinent to the typewriter?” Jodie asked.

I shrugged. “That seems weird, but I don't really know. Pertinent to something leather man was looking for maybe, so potentially pertinent to his murder.”

“That's interesting. And might be very helpful,” she said hesitantly.

“Hey, thanks for calling Creighton,” I said.

“My pleasure,” Jodie said. She stood and swung her purse over her shoulder with too much force, thwacking herself in the back, but she didn't seem to notice. She wiped the bottom of her nice dress pants and stepped down the stairs, glancing over at the windows I'd been looking at.

“You should read the background report I gave you, Clare. Just do it.”

“I might.” I meant it.

“Good. I'll be in touch tomorrow. You have plans in the morning?”

“Work, but Chester might be able to watch the store. What do you have in mind?” I had lots of work to do, but I didn't want to miss out on any more police outings, even if I was always unofficial.

“Not sure yet, but I'll give you a call.” She turned and walked toward the Bronco that she'd parked on the street
a couple houses up. “It would have been easier if we'd been lesbians, you know that, don't you?”

“Then you could have cheated on me instead of your brother,” I said.

Jodie turned, and even in the dark I could see her smile as she waved. “Later, Clare.”

“Later, Jodie.”