The dining room door opened, and Giles walked out. The police weren’t precisely leading him away in handcuffs, but two burly officers escorted him out the front door, down the steps, and along the path to the waiting police cruiser. Though perhaps the burly officers were there not to prevent his escape, but to keep him from accidentally killing himself. He stumbled several times over the cracked concrete of the walk, and I mentally moved “new front walk” much higher on the list of repair and remodeling projects that already occupied seventeen pages in my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe.
Giles looked miserable as he ran the gauntlet of curious onlookers and eager reporters. Not that being arrested is a picnic for most people, but I suspected it was pure hell for someone as self-effacing as Giles. If only he’d stand up straight and look calm and professorial. Unfortunately, cameras on either side were taking pictures so rapidly that their flashes blurred into the almost constant glare you see at celebrity press conferences, and the barrage of light made him squint and hunch his shoulders in a way that looked furtive and guilty. He may not have been tried in a court of law, or even in the court of public opinion, but in the camera’s eye he’d already been found guilty, guilty, guilty.
“Wow! Would you look at that?” Rob said, at my elbow. “It’s like watching the movie stars arrive at the Oscars.”
“More like watching celebrities arrested on Court TV,” I said.
“They didn’t have this many reporters at my arrest,” Rob said, sounding envious.
“I’m sure they would if you were arrested today,” I said. I meant it sarcastically, but Rob took my words at face value.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Lawyers from Hell II did significantly raise our public profile.”
“Hey, if you want to put it to the test, why don’t you confess?” I said. “You could always say you did it out of compassion for Giles, and in the meantime maybe it would be good publicity for your next game.”
“Hmmm,” he said, and walked away wearing what I’d come to think of as his serious, corporate look—the one that usually inspired Mother to take his temperature and Dad to lecture him on the importance of dietary fiber. Fortunately, he didn’t remember to wear it often. For that matter, he often let whole weeks pass without remembering to show up at the offices of the company he ostensibly ran, to the great relief of his staff, who could get a lot more work done when he wasn’t underfoot, and knew that they could always rely on me to hunt him down if they needed him to sign something or impress a client.
I turned back and watched as the officers guided the stunned-looking Giles into the backseat of their patrol car and drove off.
Chapter 19
Most of the police vehicles drove off in the wake of the car carrying Giles. I hoped the media would follow suit, but unfortunately, only a few of them did. Which probably meant that the local reporters had all too good an idea of how little newsworthy material they’d get from Chief Burke and preferred to stay here and work the crowd. Since the crowd contained a fair number of my family, the odds were good that they’d eventually do something entertaining, though not necessarily related to the murder. My more exhibitionistic relatives were already jockeying for their chances.
Including Dad. He and half a dozen of his fellow SPOOR members, all dressed as various species of owls, had appropriated the front stoop and were giving a presentation on the importance of owls and other predators to the ecosystem. Dad was the only one enjoying his costume. The rest huddled together and hunched their shoulders with embarrassment, which gave them an unfortunate resemblance to a flock of cartoon buzzards waiting for a new supply of carrion.
Should I tell Dad? No, I didn’t want to spoil his fun; and besides, his exuberance more than made up for the lugubrious effect of his troops. Even in my current tired state, the sight of him pacing up and down his impromptu stage, waving his wings with excitement, made me smile.
That was about the only thing that did, though. What do you do when you throw a party and the guests refuse to leave? It was getting close to dark; surely they’d leave then. Or would they?
I went into the kitchen and rummaged through my supplies until I found the markers and large sheets of paper I’d brought for making any last minute signs. I printed two notices that read YARD SALE CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. As an afterthought, I added a smaller note at the bottom of each, advising readers that the reopening would be announced on the campus radio station.
“Won’t work, you know,” Rob said, looking over my shoulder.
“Worth trying,” I said, handing him the signs and a roll of masking tape. “Would you do me a favor and stick one of these on the gate to the fenced-in area and the other on the mailbox?”