Page 65 of Dead & Breakfast
Arthur wasn’t sure if Granny McMartin had a faulty memory or if she’d simply lived with her grandson long enough that tuning him out had become habit.
“What does this have to do with Brody?” Arthur asked.
McMartin sighed and leaned forward on his elbows. “Well, I’ll be up for reelection soon, so I didn’t want people to find out until after. I had to let Brody go because without the movie, there’s really no need for me to have a personal assistant, but I paid him extra to keep the news quiet.”
Arthur took a step back. “Really? That’s it? You thought people wouldn’t vote for you because of this?”
“That’s ridiculous! No one will care about that.” Sal nodded in vigorous agreement.
“You think so? I wasn’t sure. It seems like sometimes that’s the only reason people might know me,” McMartin said, a red blush sneaking into his cheeks at the admission.
“Not at all,” Sal said. “There are much better reasons to not vote for you. Like your gross incompetence, for example. This movie business is just silly.”
McMartin looked up sharply. “It’s not silly. It’s a big deal to some people. To me. Anyway, earlier tonight, when I got the call about Brody, I was here, at home.”
Granny McMartin nodded along with her grandson’s words. “He came home at the usual time, then holed himself up in his room.”
“Did you see him again?” Arthur asked her.
“No, I was asleep until you two started banging on the door.”
“So you wouldn’t have noticed if he slipped out before we called the attack in to the station.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at McMartin.
“I was here. You’ll have to find someone else to pin it on, or just admit your guilt so we can get this over with.” McMartin stood again. “I think it’s time you two leave. Go home.”
“Now, hang on,” Arthur began, but McMartin ignored him and stormed out of the room.
“Lovely to meet you both,” Granny McMartin said as she shuffled them to the door and out onto the front porch. “Ricky’s under a lot of pressure, you know. Don’t hold it against him.”
“Well, we certainly won’t hold it againstyou.” Sal plucked an orange flower from a nearby plant and tucked it behind Granny McMartin’s ear.
A flush filled her cheeks. “You can hold anything you like against me.” Then she straightened, seeming to have realized she’d said that out loud. “Another one for the road?” she asked, holding out the tray of straws.
Sal selected a bendy straw and put it between his teeth like it was a rose and he was a tango dancer.
“Please, Sal. You’re embarrassing yourself. She’s got to be at least ninety years old,” Arthur muttered as they returned to the bike.
“What, do you think I’m too old for her?” Sal removed the straw from his mouth and placed it in his pocket with the others. “You know how I love a May-December romance.”
“Well, that wasa bust.” Arthur pedaled with reduced fervor as they navigated the dark road back to town. “I don’t know why I thought that would work. McMartin’s not going to just confess because we asked him nicely.”
“Don’t give up hope, my dear. I know you can do it!” Sal reached for him, pawing at his arm like a needy kitten.
“Hold on to the handles, Sal!”
“We literally can’t die. If I fall off, I’ll just get back up.”
“Pavement is an unforgiving mistress.”
Sal’s touch vanished. “Well, maybe she’d like to hold my hand.”
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said through his teeth. “I’m just frustrated.”
“I have an idea how we might fix that…”
“Really, Sal? Now isn’t the time for euphemisms—”
“Who said anything about euphemisms?” Sal took his feet off the pedals and let them drag until Arthur squeezed the brakes. “We just need another clue to follow.”
