If Catfish Had Nine Lives(100)

            “I’m sorry,” I said. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry, even with the smells wafting up from my plate. It appeared that Jake wasn’t either.

            “I didn’t kill him. If it was my gun that was used, it was stolen,” Orly said.

            “I’m betting on the fact that you’re telling me the truth, Orly. I don’t think you killed him either, but I do think you should tell the police.” I looked at Jake. He nodded. “Orly, just call Jim or Cliff right now and tell them that you just realized that a gun was missing from your truck. Let them know. They’ll question you, but hopefully you can come up with a few specific people who might have had access to the equipment box.”

            His truck and storage box had been accessible to everyone at the convention, parked outside, but maybe there were others who he’d let borrow the vehicle.

            “I can do that,” he said with a small, barely noticeable cringe.

            “Orly?” I said. “There’s more, isn’t there? You know more? Maybe exactly who took your gun?”

            Orly had probably played a game or two of poker over the years, but he must not have done well. He had the worst poker face. The small cringe transformed into a worried frown.

            “Isabelle,” a voice said behind me.

            I turned quickly and said, “Jerome, you’re back!”

            Of course, neither Jake nor Orly could see the ghost. There was so much light that I barely could.

            “Excuse me?” Orly said. “Do you see someone you know?”

            “I found him, Isabelle. Can you come with me? Now? I think we need to hurry,” Jerome said.

            I turned back to Orly and Jake. Orly was looking over my shoulder, and Jake held his cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, his eyes open wide.

            “I’m sorry, Orly. Jake and I have to go. I know I’m acting strangely. Forgive me. But whatever you know, you need to call the police and tell them. Right away.” I stood and placed the plate and cup on my chair. I wasn’t even going to offer to wash up. Gram would be disappointed. Even though Jerome had come back or perhaps hadn’t truly left, he might not be staying long. I truly didn’t think Orly had killed Norman or beaten Teddy. I hoped not. I even hoped the murder weapon hadn’t been his gun. I prayed that leaving Orly to call the police on his own wasn’t a stupid move.

            “Of course, Betts,” Orly said as he stood, too.

            Jake, Jerome, and I made a strange and awkward departure.

            “You can count on me, miss.” Gary had followed us to the car. “I’ll make sure the scoundrel calls.”

            Scoundrel?

            “Thank you, Gary,” I said with one last look at Orly, who watched us as he stood with his hands in his front pockets.

            “May we go now, Isabelle?” Jerome said.

            “Sure.”

            I smiled quickly at Gary, hoping we weren’t hurrying away from something else he wanted or needed to tell us, too. I hoped I wasn’t making two mistakes at once by leaving that campsite when we did.

            As I turned the car around and drove away from Orly’s tent and Gary’s friendly wave, I pulled out my cell phone and called Cliff. Surprisingly, the call went straight to his voice mail. I left a message about him needing to talk to Orly about the gun. I hoped he’d pick it up soon.

            Jake said, “That was strange. I’m guessing Jerome is with us.”

            “He’s in the backseat.”