The Penguin Who Knew Too Much(76)

“The good news is that the thunderstorms are supposed to blow over by morning,” he said. “Should be no problem with flights leaving tomorrow. Love you.”

With that, he hung up.

I probably should have said something in reply, but Blake's actions were distracting me. He had walked over to a car—the vintage BMW. Now he seemed to be starting it up.

Hadn’t he said that he didn’t have a license?

Of course, why would that stop him if he wanted to go someplace in a hurry? Or unseen? For that matter, how did we know he was telling the truth about having his license taken away?

Maybe he was just scamming Rob so he’d have a volunteer chauffeur for his stay.

The BMW's headlights came on. It backed rather abruptly out of its parking space and took off, spraying bits of spotless white gravel in its wake. I waited until it passed me, and then turned the key of my own car, intending to trail after Blake.

True to my prediction, the Toyota balked. It wouldn’t start until the fourth try, stalled out twice before I got out of the parking lot, and only grudgingly settled down to its usual sluggish but steady pace on the Inn's seemingly endless driveway. Was it an inferiority complex, or the inferior Clay County gas? Either way, by the time I reached the main road, the BMW had disappeared.

So much for shadowing Blake. And probably so much for my contribution to the murder investigation or the zoo rescue. In less than twenty-four hours, Michael and I would be winging our way toward whatever destination he’d chosen for our surprise honeymoon.

The most useful thing I could do now was get some sleep. Probably a major faux pas to fall asleep during your wedding. I turned the car toward home.

I found myself thinking as I drove that maybe it would be easier to let go of what was happening here in Caerphilly if I could start visualizing myself someplace else. Lolling on a sunny Hawaiian beach. Strolling down an elegant Parisian street. Tasting chardonnays in California—or Shirazes in Australia. Even cleaning fish in a cabin in West Virginia. Right now my vision of the immediate future ended at the Clay County courthouse. No wonder I was keeping myself distracted with the zoo and the murder investigation. It made me feel as if I were in control of something.

If for any reason tomorrow's events didn’t come off as planned, I was going to insist on taking charge of the rescheduled honeymoon.

I pulled into the driveway, turned the motor off, and sat for a few moments, savoring the peace and quiet. Then my cell phone beeped at me. I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. Mother. Probably not a call I wanted to ignore.

“Hello, dear,” Mother said. “Your father said your meeting with Dr. Blake was over—aren’t you coming over to help with the party?”

“Michael's not back from picking up his mother,” I said. “And his aunt. I don’t want to get the visit off to a bad start by not even being here when they arrive. I thought I’d come over with them.”

Of course, odds were that going to a party would be the last thing Michael's mother and aunt would want to do when they finally got to Caerphilly sometime in the wee small hours, but I wasn’t about to tell Mother that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mother said. “In-laws, even prospective ones, can be such a trial.”

“Yes,” I said. “Wasn’t it thoughtful of Dad not to inflict any on you?”

“Give my best to Mrs. Waterston.” “I will,” I said. “Bye now.”

I shoved the phone back in my purse and went inside. I resisted the temptation to dump my purse just inside the door. After all, right now the house was about as private as a hotel. Any number of family members could be coming and going at any time tonight as well as all day tomorrow, and who knew how many strangers would tag along? Or show up uninvited, like the Sprockets and the protesters.

I trudged upstairs, put the purse safely away in a drawer where only the most brazen family snoops and kleptomaniacs would look, and stumbled into the bathroom.

While I was brushing my teeth, I saw something outside. A light.





Chapter 40

I put away my toothbrush and stuck my head out the window to see better. It looked like someone holding a flashlight and walking through Seth Early's sheep pasture across the road. Not just walking—looking for something. The flashlight swung back and forth in tight arcs, and every so often, it would pause for a few seconds before moving on.

Was this something suspicious that I should report? Or could it be Mr. Early, performing some normal farming task that I just hadn’t seen before?

My tiredness disappeared as I strode downstairs. I grabbed my own flashlight from the hall table. Not so much for illumination—a first quarter moon gave enough light for me to see. But the flashlight was one of those heavy industrial-sized models, and its weight felt reassuring in my hand.