Page 100 of Half Baked

“Okay,” she conceded, “so I’ve been reading the same page for the past ten minutes, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Plus,” she added, “it gives me a good view of the front of the house.” She paused. “Detective Bergan was murdered, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, then turned my back to the chief. “Likely smothered with a throw pillow that wasn’t on his sofa when I dropped by with you.”

“He didn’t have any pillows on the sofa the first time I was there either.”

“I’ll look into it,” I said, then added, “This is all confidential.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

“Be careful,” I said, my heart in my throat. “I’d come back to the house, but the chief is bringing me in on the case. I have no idea when I’ll be back, but the chief has assured me he’s gonna have a marked car make regular drives down your street.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” she said with a smile in her voice, “I’ve seen a police car drive down the street within the fifteen minutes I’ve been sitting here, so we’re fine.”

“You can attribute that one to Lance.”

“Tell him thank you.”

“I will. Let me know if anything changes.” Then I added, “But call 911 first.”

“I will. I promise.”

“I love you, Maddie.”

“I love you too.”

I hung up and tried to ignore the smirk on Lance’s face, but my irritation got the better of me. “What?”

“So you finally admitted it,” he said, trying to hid his grin with his hand.

“Yes, I told her I love her, and she said it back,” I grumped. “Are you happy?”

His hand dropped and his face lit up. “Very.”

The chief came back in and announced the crime scene investigators had gotten to work but hadn’t found anything exciting yet, and told me to bring him up to speed as quickly as possible.

I told him about the evidence Bergan had stored with his friend in Galena. How Andrea Baker had a boyfriend named Gordon, possibly Gordon Somato, who’d been convicted of drug possession a decade before her murder—and had allegedly testified against his boss. Then he’d gotten out and allegedly rekindled his romance with Andrea about three years before her murder. I added that the neighbor had seen him multiple times at the Baker residence and he and Andrea had engaged in a public disagreement the morning of her murder.

“So the boyfriend could have done it?” he asked.

“Possibly,” I said. “But the note is throwing me. Why meet at the school? I can’t imagine she’d agree to meet him there given she’d gone to such lengths to keep their relationship secret. If he sent the note, it was to throw Andrea and the police off.”

“Does Maddie remember the boyfriend?”

“No. He was only there when she wasn’t. Andrea told the neighbor she wouldn’t introduce her to him until she was eighteen.”

“That seems weird,” the chief murmured.

“Andrea was protective of her,” I said. “The neighbor also said she thought Andrea went to Mad Hatter’s on occasion.”

His brow shot up his forehead. “Mad Hatter’s? I thought she was this quiet, altruistic English teacher.”

“She was,” Lance said. “But I suppose she could be capable of both.”

“And did any of Andrea’s friends corroborate this?” he asked.

“No. The two we spoke to had no idea either.”

“Can we trust the neighbor’s memory on this? Could she have gotten it wrong?”

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