that. I'll have to check."
"You do that, and I'll ask down at the Hair House and the Diner. Maybe they know somebody. I won't need a court order for that."
I looked up to see Zach and Tyler standing in the door. They both had on their pajamas and were waiting not too patiently for me to hang up the phone.
"Mom," Zach said. "Can we pop some popcorn?"
"I don't know, it's getting pretty late."
My father added his unasked-for opinion. "Betsy, it won't rot their teeth. Lighten up."
The cloying odor of microwave popcorn might be just enough to take my delicate stomach back into a state of queasiness. They continued to stare at me waiting for my response.
"Okay, I guess so."
"Thanks Mom."
"Thanks Bets'," Tyler said.
I tried to ignore Tyler's new nickname for me.
"Dad if you think of what his password might be, let me know."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, feeling like I needed to try a new direction, I decided to pay a visit to Edgar West. He ran his tax business from a small building off of Main Street that had formerly been rented by Cuties Quick Copy Shop. Cuties went out with the burgeoning sales of personal home printers. Even though it was now set up with cheap office furniture and posters of happy people doing taxes, there was still a faint whiff of printing press ink in the air. I recognized the small man with black framed glasses from his newspaper ad. He had a receding hairline and a double chin that seemed to stretch with his grin. Swooping in on me like a falcon to a field mouse he stood up and extended his hand. Edgar west had on a ratty-looking sport coat and a wrinkled shirt that was buttoned midway showing a sparse amount of chest hair on his flabby body.
"Hello. What can I do for you today?"
There is nothing like a tax guy outside of the tax season to give you his full attention. I scrambled to think of some sort of problem I could have. As I came up with something, his beseeching eyes seemed to glisten.
"I just stopped in because ... well, I wanted to know how you can do taxes in eight minutes? It takes me at least an hour just to fill out the 1040EZ form."
He nodded knowingly. Another disbeliever. "That's because you have not been working with a professional, sweetheart. You fill out one form a year. I fill out hundreds, so of course I've developed quite a bit of know-how, speed, and agility. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've actually done a 1040EZ in four minutes. I thought about putting that into my advertising, only I was afraid everybody would want me to do their taxes in that amount of time." He laughed at his own joke. Now that I had him talking about himself he seemed to be enjoying it.
"That certainly explains a lot."
"Was there anything else?"
I tried to think of a way to bring up Rocky without it sounding suspicious. "Yes, um ... wasn't it terrible about the fire at the Gazette?" That didn't seem too obvious. Edgar West stopped short.
He tugged at his collar. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Betsy Livingston Fitzpatrick."
"And I'm guessing you're not here to ask me to do your taxes." He settled back into his chair. "What can I really do for you? Are you some sort of boondocks undercover police woman?"
I was really hoping he would have told me something before he shut down the way he did for the police. Maybe I could appeal to him in a feminine way. I smiled and played with a strand of my hair.
"Okay you caught me" I said, trying to play it off as sounding goofy. "I was trying to go all Nancy Drew on you. It's just that Rocky is missing, and you are one of the last people that spoke of to him. I was hoping that maybe you had something that could help us. Did he mention anybody who might want to set the newspaper on fire?" At the end of my question I purposely let my voice break just a little bit so he would think I was about to break down in tears.
He didn't fall for my attempt at flirtation or crying." I hate to disappoint you, but Rocky Whitson and I
"You do that, and I'll ask down at the Hair House and the Diner. Maybe they know somebody. I won't need a court order for that."
I looked up to see Zach and Tyler standing in the door. They both had on their pajamas and were waiting not too patiently for me to hang up the phone.
"Mom," Zach said. "Can we pop some popcorn?"
"I don't know, it's getting pretty late."
My father added his unasked-for opinion. "Betsy, it won't rot their teeth. Lighten up."
The cloying odor of microwave popcorn might be just enough to take my delicate stomach back into a state of queasiness. They continued to stare at me waiting for my response.
"Okay, I guess so."
"Thanks Mom."
"Thanks Bets'," Tyler said.
I tried to ignore Tyler's new nickname for me.
"Dad if you think of what his password might be, let me know."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, feeling like I needed to try a new direction, I decided to pay a visit to Edgar West. He ran his tax business from a small building off of Main Street that had formerly been rented by Cuties Quick Copy Shop. Cuties went out with the burgeoning sales of personal home printers. Even though it was now set up with cheap office furniture and posters of happy people doing taxes, there was still a faint whiff of printing press ink in the air. I recognized the small man with black framed glasses from his newspaper ad. He had a receding hairline and a double chin that seemed to stretch with his grin. Swooping in on me like a falcon to a field mouse he stood up and extended his hand. Edgar west had on a ratty-looking sport coat and a wrinkled shirt that was buttoned midway showing a sparse amount of chest hair on his flabby body.
"Hello. What can I do for you today?"
There is nothing like a tax guy outside of the tax season to give you his full attention. I scrambled to think of some sort of problem I could have. As I came up with something, his beseeching eyes seemed to glisten.
"I just stopped in because ... well, I wanted to know how you can do taxes in eight minutes? It takes me at least an hour just to fill out the 1040EZ form."
He nodded knowingly. Another disbeliever. "That's because you have not been working with a professional, sweetheart. You fill out one form a year. I fill out hundreds, so of course I've developed quite a bit of know-how, speed, and agility. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've actually done a 1040EZ in four minutes. I thought about putting that into my advertising, only I was afraid everybody would want me to do their taxes in that amount of time." He laughed at his own joke. Now that I had him talking about himself he seemed to be enjoying it.
"That certainly explains a lot."
"Was there anything else?"
I tried to think of a way to bring up Rocky without it sounding suspicious. "Yes, um ... wasn't it terrible about the fire at the Gazette?" That didn't seem too obvious. Edgar West stopped short.
He tugged at his collar. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Betsy Livingston Fitzpatrick."
"And I'm guessing you're not here to ask me to do your taxes." He settled back into his chair. "What can I really do for you? Are you some sort of boondocks undercover police woman?"
I was really hoping he would have told me something before he shut down the way he did for the police. Maybe I could appeal to him in a feminine way. I smiled and played with a strand of my hair.
"Okay you caught me" I said, trying to play it off as sounding goofy. "I was trying to go all Nancy Drew on you. It's just that Rocky is missing, and you are one of the last people that spoke of to him. I was hoping that maybe you had something that could help us. Did he mention anybody who might want to set the newspaper on fire?" At the end of my question I purposely let my voice break just a little bit so he would think I was about to break down in tears.
He didn't fall for my attempt at flirtation or crying." I hate to disappoint you, but Rocky Whitson and I
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