Page 32 of A Rose of Steel
“He didn’t want you messing in his investigation.”
“That little buster!” she said.
“You can be a bit... overbearing,” I said, flinching at the same time, not wanting her to set her wrath on me.
“I knew you’d take his side.”
“I’m not,” I said. “He doesn’t want me meddling in his investigation either. Said this time he wanted to solve this one himself. All on his own.”
“That boy is all day stupid.”
“All day stupid,” I said at the same time she uttered the words. It was her go to phrase about Pogue.
“Well, if you’re not helping who is doing the autopsy?”
“I told you, I am. But that’s all he wants from me.”
She stared at me for a moment, then a sly smile crossed her face. “But that’s not all you’re going to do, right?”
“I don’t know, Auntie,” I said, a mischievous look sprouting on my face to match hers. “I think I’m feeling just how you must feel when you’re up to something you shouldn’t be. I just want to poke my nose in it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I look back I had such a good time solving that last murder.”
“Me too,” she said and clapped her hands. She pulled the chair to face me and plopped down. “We can do it together.”
I tilted my head to the side. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” she said. “I know just where to start.”
Chapter Fifteen
Auntie dragged me back to her secreted closet, pulled me inside and shut the door behind us. She flicked on the light.
“I think Bumper was killed as part of an FBI sting operation.”
I closed my eyes and tried hard not to chuckle. Maybe I’d spoken too soon about joining forces with her. I should have known she was going to go all motion picture big on me.
“An FBI sting in Roble?” I asked, disbelief dripping in each word uttered.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Is it that obvious?” I said.
“Are we working together on this or not?”
“That isn’t exactly what I thought might’ve happened.”
“See, that’s how you collaborate on things like this. You’ll get to say what you think happened, I tell you what I think. We compare notes and get this thing solved before Pogue.”
“Not a race,” I said, “and we can’t get in his way.”
“Deal,” she said, more easily than I would have bet on.
“So tell me,” I said, bracing myself so as not to keel over on hearing this hailstorm of a story she had evidently conjured up. “Why is it you think he was killed? Was it because of an FBI sting?”
“Don’t patronize me,” she said. She pointed her finger and narrowed her eyes. She could tell I was on the brink of breaking out into laughter “I have evidence of my conclusions.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay,” I said. “I’m listening.”
She reached between a row of cases, and pulled a newspaper that had been tucked behind them. “This is why,” she said, and handed it to me.
