The Odds of Getting Even (27 page)

I reached back into the box and hoisted the collection
plate over my head. “And we found this at the old fish camp, with the rest of the loot.”

The café swiveled to Capers, their stares accusing, as Thes walked in and whisked off his cap.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, and Capers sneezed.

I waited for Little Agnes to sneeze. She didn't. Odd. Little Agnes has been faux-catching everything going around. “This woman isn't even really Capers Dylan,” I continued. “The
real
Capers Dylan has a cat—and no family. It's in her bio.
This
Capers is allergic to cats and has a sister in Raleigh.”

Dale raised his hand. Another brilliant Big Picture connection? Excellent.

“Our head investigator has something important to add,” I announced.

“No,” he said. “I'm just wondering about that Wolf-Guy we saw Capers with, that night at the inn. How does he fit in?”

I went dizzy. I had no idea how Wolf-Guy fit in.

Dale kills me.

“Actually,” Harm said, “I'm glad you brought that up. Wolf-Guy was just a courier. A go-between delivery guy, so Miss Lana wouldn't see letters from the women's prison coming to the inn. The same way Flick gets mail Mom sends to me, so the return address doesn't upset Gramps—who doesn't like Mom
singing in Nashville. That night at the inn, I suspect you and Dale heard him refuse to join Capers's spree because it was too dangerous. But that's just a guess.”

“Right,” Dale said. “That's what I think too. Go ahead, Mo.”

“
Wolf-Guy?
” Capers said. “Secret codes translated by little girls in berets? You think
Deputy Marla's
my sister? Please. You have no evidence. This is . . . drivel.”

Once again, she stood up. Starr put his hand on his pistol.

We needed that DNA evidence—now.

I looked at Starr. “About the DNA hooking all of this together,” I said.

Skeeter cut in. “Mo?” she said, snapping her briefcase open. “I forgot to give you this DNA report.” She plucked a folded paper from her briefcase.

What?
The DNA report?

My heart turned handsprings.

I unfolded the paper and blinked at the page: Skeeter's geography test on Africa. Over the map, she'd written
DNA REPORT, JUST IN CASE
.

Crud.

“Excellent,” I said, trying not to retch. Ad-lib talents, don't fail me now, I thought.

“DNA does not lie,” I said. “Footprints may lie. Video can lie, as you'll soon see. DNA does
not
lie. This DNA
test report absolutely confirms our theory. Capers Dylan
is
Deputy Marla's sister!”

The crowd gasped.

“So what?” Capers shouted. “Big flipping deal! I have a sister. You people will hear from my attorney. I'm out of here.” She grabbed her saddlebag—and again she winced.

Poor, murderous Capers Dylan.

“Let me help you,” I said. I reached for the saddlebag, and at the last second swerved to grab her gloved hand. I squeezed—hard.

Capers wailed and doubled over.

“Our final piece of proof,” I said. I pointed to Lavender. “What did you hear the night of the fire?”

“The pop of an accelerant, a muffled curse, and light footsteps,” he said.

“Capers burned her hands on the accelerant as she set that garage on fire—with Lavender in it. A murder she planned to blame on the brainless Flick Crenshaw.”

“Hey,” Flick said.

“We have an eyewitness who saw her running from the burning garage, dressed in men's clothes, her long hair stuffed beneath a hat.”

“Who?” Dale whispered.

“Your daddy,” I whispered back, and he nodded.

Starr took out his handcuffs.

“A murder would not only complete the crime pattern,” I said. “But it was
Dale and me
that captured Deputy Marla, and the sisters wanted revenge. Nothing could hurt us more than losing Lavender.” I looked around the hushed room. “Dale?” I said. “Take it away.”

Dale pointed at Capers. “Book her,” he said, and the café cheered.

Tough Interviews

Joe Starr took Capers and Flick to jail. Everybody else stayed for supper.

Dale set Starr's laptop on the counter and ran his surveillance video for the crowd—twice. “It seems like Daddy,” he explained again. “But you never get a real good look at his face. That's Uncle Austin, driving down in his ratty old car and dropping DNA evidence. Daddy put him up to it, to throw Starr off his trail. Same as he sent him to throw out the broke camp stove and his orange prison jumpsuit.”

“Enough,” Miss Rose said, shutting the laptop. “Go check on your puppies.”

“Rose,” an Azalea Woman said, “I'd like to order collards and sweet potatoes for this week.”

“Sorry,” Miss Rose said. “I'm only supplying fine restaurants from now on. You'll have to grow your own.”

Grandmother Miss Lacy laughed as Miss Rose strolled away.

A gaggle of dog-lovers followed Dale to the puppies.
He lifted them one by one into waiting arms. Little Ming to Sal. Mary Queen of Scots to Miss Retzyl. King John to Skeeter. Ferdinand I to Susana.

Across the room an Azalea Woman sneezed. Little Agnes didn't. “What's up with Little Agnes?” I whispered to Hannah.

She stepped nearer. “She stopped catching every disease in town when I started reading her your old kiddie books instead of my medical books.”

“Thank heavens,” Miss Lana murmured.

“I picked a doggy name,” Little Agnes told Dale, petting the spotted pup.

“It needs to be a royal name,” Dale said, very stern.

She opened her thin arms. “The Little Prince.”

“She loves that book,” Hannah said. “And it
is
royal.”

“She's only five,” I added, and Dale sighed. He lowered The Little Prince into her arms and the pup licked her face. Little Agnes giggled. Good match.

“Fifteen minutes with the pups,” Dale called, “and then back to Queen Elizabeth.”

He scooped up the last fat puppy and cradled him in his arms. Jake and Jimmy tucked in their shirts and stepped forward. Thes stood, his cap in his hands.

Dale gave the Exums a smile. “I'm sorry, Exums,” he said, “but coyotes do the toughest interview I've ever seen, and Thes aced it.”

He placed the puppy in Thes's arms. “Name?”

“King Solomon,” Thes said, his voice quaking. “Thanks, Dale. I'll take good care of him.”

“I know you will,” Dale said. “I've seen you in action.”

Dale smiled easy as rain. “The puppies are all settled. They'll all be safe in this world.”

Later that evening, I found Dale in the backyard sitting by the water, the twilight dancing across dark currents. “What you doing?” I asked, settling in next to him.

“Watching the river watch me,” he said, pulling his knees to his chin.

Queen Elizabeth stirred in the box beside him, and the puppies muttered and whined. “I want to go see Daddy before he goes to trial,” he said. “I want to thank him for the things he taught me, and I want to say good-bye.”

He looked at me, his blue eyes serious. “You wanted to get even with him,” he said, and I nodded. “I used to think I'd get even with him one day too. But there ain't no getting even, Mo. The only even you ever get is inside yourself—when you don't need to get even anymore.”

“Maybe,” I said, tossing a rock. “But I still enjoy trying.”

“When Daddy goes to court again, I'll testify,” he said. “He did a lot of bad. But he watched over Lavender and
ran into that fire same as we did.” He reached into the box to smooth Queen Elizabeth's ears. “If you don't stand up for the glimmer of good left in somebody, how will it ever be more?” He side-armed a stone across the water. “Rhetorical,” he said.

We sat by the river and waited for stars.

A week later I settled down with the
Piggly Wiggly Chronicles
.

Dear Upstream Mother,

Today Lavender drove Dale, Harm, and me to county lockup to see Mr. Macon, whose trial was this afternoon. He sat in the cafeteria, like always, his face chiseled and hard, his hands folded on the table.

“Hey Daddy,” Dale said, sitting down.

“Nice outfit,” I told Mr. Macon as Harm and me sat down. “Not many people can wear orange good as you.”

“I came to thank you,” Dale said.

Surprise flickered like lightning in Mr. Macon's eyes.

“I want to thank you for listening to yourself when nobody else did, for risking extra jail time to help Lavender, for watching over him and
running into that fire to save him. You could have been long gone instead of sticking with him, and I appreciate that about you.” He took a deep breath and looked into his father's eyes. “But if they call my name in court, I'll testify.”

I went tense, waiting for him to ask for pre-forgiveness but he surprised me. He stood up. “Good luck to you, Daddy,” he said.

Then Dale walked away, calm as strolling into Sunday school. Harm and me hurried to catch up.

We'd just reached the door when Mr. Macon spoke. “Dale,” he said. “Stick with Lavender and the Colonel. You might make a decent man.”

“Understatement,” Harm and I said at the same time, and we headed for Lavender's truck.

Mr. Macon's trial took less than two hours. He got ten years hard time. “You can thank the Desperado Detective Agency for that brief sentence,” the judge said. “Without their work, I'd have put you away forever and been glad to see you go.”

Mr. Macon turned and gave Dale a quick nod, and walked out the door.

That was that.

Mr. Macon and Lavender.

A glimmer of good in a bad man; a shadow of
bad in a good man. I wonder if there's a whisper of you in me.

Love,

Mo

PS: Harm's hosting a housewarming party for their upgraded living room next week. Miss Lana says you should always bring a housewarming gift. I'm bringing tulips.

PPS: Send us some cases if you got some, Desperado Detective Agency is open for business.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to the many people who helped create this book.

As always, thanks to Rodney L. Beasley, first reader and fellow traveler, for your love, support, and unerring sense of direction—both in life and in airports. Thanks to my family—Allison & Johnny, Michael & Susan, Lauren & Elvis, Haven & Nick; Karen, Alan, Vivian, Julian and Lillian. Thanks also to my many cousins, especially librarian Mary Jo Floyd.

To my friend and writing teacher, novelist Patsy Baker O'Leary—and to my fellow students in her creative writing seminar at Pitt Community College—thanks for your help! You all are brilliant.

Thanks also to Claire, Mamie, and Catherine.

My gratitude to Eileen LaGreca for the great maps in
all
of the Mo & Dale Mysteries, and for your friendship and support.

Thanks, Gilbert Ford, for the knock-out cover art.

Thanks to Karen T. Boyd of Turnage Boyd Law, PLLC for your ready info and constant support. Thanks also to Stacy Byous of Any Lab Test Now in Charlotte, NC, and to Detective Kenneth Ross of the Pitt County Sheriff's Department. Joe Starr tips his hat to all of you.

Many people at Penguin Young Readers Group and Kathy Dawson Books poured time and talent into this book. Thanks, Don Weisberg, Lauri Hornik, Jasmin Rubero, and Regina Castillo; Doni Kay and the other amazing sales reps; publicists Marisa Russell and Tara Shanahan; school and library wizards Carmela Iaria, Venessa Carson, and Alexis Watts. Thanks also to Dale's friend the intrepid Claire Evans. Mo and Dale say hey!

Thanks to Scottie Bowditch, Laura Antonacci, and Melissa Jeglinski.

To my agent, Margaret Riley King at William Morris Endeavor—thanks for your excitement for this book and those to come.

A special thanks to all the librarians and teachers who have welcomed me into your libraries and schools, and to all of Mo and Dale's reading friends. You amaze me.

Last but certainly not least, thank you to my very talented editor/publisher, Kathy Dawson, for loving Mo and Dale as much as I do. The good folks of Tupelo Landing couldn't live and breathe without you.