photographer had already followed the guards. “Meg, can you stay here a minute to help me with something?”
The reporter left, looking back over her shoulder until she was out of sight. Aida Morris nodded to Randall and brought up the rear. I had no doubt that the Flying Monkeys would be waiting in the tent when Chief Burke went to see them. Unless he hurried, Aida would have already taken down all their names and addresses and lined them up in alphabetical order.
Sammy, Randall, and I all looked at each other and breathed audible sighs of relief when they were gone. Sammy also slumped, and wiped his palms on his uniform trousers.
“Holy cow,” he said.
“You did good,” Randall said.
“Sorry I took so long,” he replied. “Leg cramp.”
“It’s the heat,” Randall said. “Happens to me, too. Keep a watch over that back stairway.” Sammy nodded. He walked a few paces closer to the stairway, still limping slightly, and began staring fixedly at it. I supposed it beat looking at Colleen Brown. “Meg and I will stay here with the body until the chief gets here. If that’s okay with you,” he added, turning to me.
“I’m fine,” I said. Actually, fine wasn’t entirely accurate, but I figured I could handle being there if Sammy could. And my curiosity was kicking in.
“Who is she, anyway?” Sammy asked over his shoulder. “The bo— the deceased.”
“One of the lender’s people,” Randall said. “Name of Colleen Brown. The only other sensible one apart from Fisher. For that matter, I thought she was even more promising than Fisher. Didn’t seem to be on board with most of the crap they’ve been pulling. Which means if they wanted to frame poor Phinny Throckmorton, she’d be the perfect victim. Get rid of two thorns in their side in one move.”
“You think they did this to frame Mr. Throckmorton?” I asked.
He pointed to the barricades and then to the body.
“Looks like she was facing the barricade and fell back when she was shot,” he said. “I’ll leave it to the chief to figure out for sure, but on the surface it’s certainly supposed to look as if she was shot from down in the cellar. By someone who then tried to throw the gun outside and botched it, leaving the gun between the two barriers.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “Mr. Throckmorton would never have done anything like that.”
“That’s the point,” Randall said. “It’s a frame. We know that for damn sure. Proving it’s going to be another thing entirely.” He had moved a little closer to the body and was examining it as closely as he could without touching anything.
Just then my cell phone rang. Rob.
Chapter 8
“Meg, what’s going on out there?” he asked. The connection was faint and fragmented.
“Out there? Are you still in the cellar?”
Randall glanced up.
“Is that Phinny?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my brother, Rob.”
“We heard something out there,” Rob said. The signal was weak and I turned on the speaker to hear better. “Sounded like fireworks or gunshots. Phinny was worried that the guards were trying to storm the barrier.”
“I’m right outside the barrier,” I said. “No storming going on at the moment. Hang on.”
“What’s up?” Randall asked.
“Maybe it’s not going to be so hard to prove Mr. Throckmorton’s innocence,” I said. “Rob’s still in there with him.”
“May I?” Randall held out his hand. I gave him my phone.
“Rob, have you been with Phinny for the past half hour or so?” Randall asked.
“Yes,” Rob said. “We’ve been playtesting my new game and—”
“Either of you out of each other’s sight in that time?”
A brief pause.
“Not for more than a minute or two,” he replied. “We’ve been playing a particularly tense part of the game.”
Randall frowned, and I sighed softly. So much for giving Phinny an ironclad alibi. The shots had taken a few seconds. An alibi with a hole of even a few minutes wasn’t
The reporter left, looking back over her shoulder until she was out of sight. Aida Morris nodded to Randall and brought up the rear. I had no doubt that the Flying Monkeys would be waiting in the tent when Chief Burke went to see them. Unless he hurried, Aida would have already taken down all their names and addresses and lined them up in alphabetical order.
Sammy, Randall, and I all looked at each other and breathed audible sighs of relief when they were gone. Sammy also slumped, and wiped his palms on his uniform trousers.
“Holy cow,” he said.
“You did good,” Randall said.
“Sorry I took so long,” he replied. “Leg cramp.”
“It’s the heat,” Randall said. “Happens to me, too. Keep a watch over that back stairway.” Sammy nodded. He walked a few paces closer to the stairway, still limping slightly, and began staring fixedly at it. I supposed it beat looking at Colleen Brown. “Meg and I will stay here with the body until the chief gets here. If that’s okay with you,” he added, turning to me.
“I’m fine,” I said. Actually, fine wasn’t entirely accurate, but I figured I could handle being there if Sammy could. And my curiosity was kicking in.
“Who is she, anyway?” Sammy asked over his shoulder. “The bo— the deceased.”
“One of the lender’s people,” Randall said. “Name of Colleen Brown. The only other sensible one apart from Fisher. For that matter, I thought she was even more promising than Fisher. Didn’t seem to be on board with most of the crap they’ve been pulling. Which means if they wanted to frame poor Phinny Throckmorton, she’d be the perfect victim. Get rid of two thorns in their side in one move.”
“You think they did this to frame Mr. Throckmorton?” I asked.
He pointed to the barricades and then to the body.
“Looks like she was facing the barricade and fell back when she was shot,” he said. “I’ll leave it to the chief to figure out for sure, but on the surface it’s certainly supposed to look as if she was shot from down in the cellar. By someone who then tried to throw the gun outside and botched it, leaving the gun between the two barriers.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “Mr. Throckmorton would never have done anything like that.”
“That’s the point,” Randall said. “It’s a frame. We know that for damn sure. Proving it’s going to be another thing entirely.” He had moved a little closer to the body and was examining it as closely as he could without touching anything.
Just then my cell phone rang. Rob.
Chapter 8
“Meg, what’s going on out there?” he asked. The connection was faint and fragmented.
“Out there? Are you still in the cellar?”
Randall glanced up.
“Is that Phinny?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my brother, Rob.”
“We heard something out there,” Rob said. The signal was weak and I turned on the speaker to hear better. “Sounded like fireworks or gunshots. Phinny was worried that the guards were trying to storm the barrier.”
“I’m right outside the barrier,” I said. “No storming going on at the moment. Hang on.”
“What’s up?” Randall asked.
“Maybe it’s not going to be so hard to prove Mr. Throckmorton’s innocence,” I said. “Rob’s still in there with him.”
“May I?” Randall held out his hand. I gave him my phone.
“Rob, have you been with Phinny for the past half hour or so?” Randall asked.
“Yes,” Rob said. “We’ve been playtesting my new game and—”
“Either of you out of each other’s sight in that time?”
A brief pause.
“Not for more than a minute or two,” he replied. “We’ve been playing a particularly tense part of the game.”
Randall frowned, and I sighed softly. So much for giving Phinny an ironclad alibi. The shots had taken a few seconds. An alibi with a hole of even a few minutes wasn’t
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