Page 42 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
“Hi. It’s Ruth, right? And David?”
“That’s right.” I smile, sitting down.
“It’s Dylan,” Aunty Bec says.
“Sasha’s got news,” Dad says to me. “But maybe you know that already.”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s the police.”
“Have they arrested someone?” I do a quick head count. No Aunty Vinka and no Shippy. If I had to pick one as a murderer, it wouldn’t be the hippie who puts out bowls of water for the birds in her garden every summer.
“Nobody’s been arrested and this isn’t official,” Sasha says quickly. “I’ve got a friend on the force who told me that some of the jewelry taken from Gertie’s room has turned up in Perth at a pawnshop.”
There’s a moment where I wonder what GG’s jewelry is doing in a sex shop before my brain wakes up for good. (Also, why did nobody tell me GG’s jewelry was stolen? It’s the curse of the amateur detective to be kept in the dark, but it’s more fun in books, not so much in real life.)
“What does that mean?” Aunty Bec asks.
“It means the Perth cops are investigating too.”
“That’s good news, right?”
“It’s a lead,” Dad says, sounding like an extra from a police procedural.
“At least we know the cops are doing something,” Aunty Bec says.
“I thought I’d come and tell you myself,” Sasha says. “Have the local police been in touch with any updates?”
“Not really,” Dad says. “All they’ve said is that the investigation is ongoing and they don’t think we’re in any danger here in the house. But I’ve got to call Detective Peterson today anyway to see if Ruth and I can head back to Perth.”
The grown-ups chat a bit about the Case So Far and a little bit about What This All Means, and everyone seems more relaxed than they have since we all learned that a typewriter can be a deadly weapon. It takes me a few minutes of listening to this before I understand why: If the person who killed GG and stole her jewelry is off flogging it for cash in Perth, it can’t have been any of us, since we’ve all been stuck in this house.
There’s a huge yawn from the doorway, and Rob wanders in from the living room, wearing boxers and a T-shirt, a sartorial misstep he looks like he regrets when he sees us gatheredthere. He gives a startled gasp, then makes absolutely no effort to retreat in search of, I don’t know, some pants.
“Oh man,” he says, staring at Sasha like he’s never seen aFarmer Wants a Wifecontestant in the flesh. The horror appears to be mutual: Sasha is staring at Rob like he’s never seen a middle-aged man’s upper thigh before (and maybe he hasn’t?). Rob pulls at the bottom of his T-shirt like it might turn into a pair of pants, given sufficient encouragement.
“What’s this?” Rob asks. Then, possibly realizing how this sounds, he goes on: “Sorry, I didn’t realize we had company.” He releases his T-shirt and extends a hand. “Name’s Rob.”
Sasha looks at Rob’s hand like he’s still hoping pants are an option. Only when it’s clear that’s not going to happen does he grip the offered hand.
“Sasha.”
“Sasha’s from the farm next door,” Dad says. “He’s brought some news about Gertie.”
“Nothing official.” Sasha repeats the party line, looking even less comfortable than before. “Sorry, are you…a member of the family too?”
Rob shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just a blow-in. What’s the big news?”
“Some of the jewelry stolen from the house during the break-in has turned up in Perth,” Dad summarizes helpfully. “Rob’s staying with us for…a bit,” he adds to Sasha.
Rob absorbs this information as much as someone still half asleep can. “So, Sasha, you’re on the farm next door, are you?”
“That’s right.”
“You must be doing well for yourself.”
“Sure. How do you fit in, Rob?”
