Page 19 of The Summer Guests

“What on earth is going on out here, Colin?” A silver-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She might be the oldest among them, but this woman was no one’s idea of a sedate senior. Her hair was croppedstylishly short, blue jeans hugged her trim waist, and she regarded the trespassers with steely authority.

“I’m taking care of it, Mom. I’ve just asked these people to leave.”

“But we’re here to help,” said Ingrid. “You never know what a fresh set of eyes might find. And we do have some experience.”

“No, this has gone farenough,” the woman snapped. “We need our privacy.”

Maggie heard the crackle of tires on the driveway, and she turned to see a Purity PD patrol car pull to a stop. Jo Thibodeau stepped out of the vehicle and frowned at the group, no doubt wondering how Maggie and her friends had once again managed to insert themselves into the middle of an investigation.

“These people are trespassing,” Colin said.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Jo.

“I’ve asked them to leave. They’re not complying.”

“We only offered our assistance,” Ingrid said.

“Is it normal procedure in this town for the police to enlist amateurs?” the older woman asked.

“Mrs. Conover,” Jo said, her patience clearly strained, “why don’t you and Colin go inside? I’ll talk to them.”

Jo held her silence until the woman and her son reentered the house. The instant the door swung shut, she turned to Maggie. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Zoe Conover.”

“That’s my job, not yours.”

“And we’re here to assist.”

“Don’t you have a farm to run?”

“I do.”

“And the rest of you.” Jo looked at Maggie’s friends. “Don’t you have other hobbies? Maybe take up golf or something?”

“Hardly challenging enough,” said Ingrid.

“I know you want to help. I know retirement might be boring.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” said Maggie.

“Whyareyou here?”

“Because Luther Yount asked for my help.”

Jo paused. “What did Mr. Yount tell you, exactly?”

“That you towed his truck to the crime lab. That he’s now a suspect. We both know he didn’t hurt that girl, Jo.”

“That’s yet to be determined. Now if you could all please leave and let me do my job?”

“Apropos of yourjob, this might prove relevant,” said Ingrid, thrusting the paper evidence bag at Jo.

“What is this?” Jo asked.

“An empty beer bottle we found near the top of this driveway. Heineken, Original. It appears recently discarded, and you can probably pull off usable fingerprints and DNA. That’s whatI’ddo, anyway.” Ingrid looked at her husband. “Come along, dear. It appears we’re being evicted from the crime scene. I’ve thought of other avenues we can pursue.”

As her four friends walked back up the driveway, Maggie lingered behind. She had first encountered Jo Thibodeau earlier that year, after a body was dumped in Maggie’s driveway, and during that inquiry, Jo had proved herself to be a dogged investigator. In Jo, Maggie had seen a younger version of herself, with the same determination, the same streak of stubbornness, and being challenged by all five of them had forced Jo to dig in her heels. Perhaps a quiet conversation, between just the two of them, would prove more effective.

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