She held up her fist, and I bumped it.
“So,” she asked. “How was it?”
“What?”
“Than’s house.”
I smiled. “Tasteful. Comfortable. Modern.”
“Really? Pics?”
“I didn’t get any.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s his home. It felt like I’d be sharing something that wasn’t mine to share.”
“Fair. So there wasn’t any creepy stuff? Weird old books?”
I shook my head. “Just flowers and plants. A lot of plants.”
“Huh.” She considered that for a moment then lifted the megaphone in her hand. “Shall we?”
“Give them a chance to take a photo. Let’s see if we can form a line.”
“All right everyone,” Myra said, the megaphone at her lips. “We want this to be a safe, orderly event. Everyone will get a chance to see the penguins. Families with kids, line up right here by the mailbox.
“Keep moving. Good job. We’ve got plenty of time,” she encouraged.
I touched her shoulder and thumbed at the house. She waved me that way.
Kelby, the giant we’d hired as reserve officer at our last staffing, was already sauntering our way, taking time to shake hands and smile as she went. She had been a local star in high school, beloved for her talent in basketball, volleyball, and golf.
Everyone liked Kelby. It made her a great asset on the force.
I tried to follow the little winding path to Mrs. Yates’s door, but there were penguins everywhere. They were replicas of the town’s famous, repeatedly kidnapped waterfowl, but they were either twice as large or half as small. One little penguin statue was cute. But hundreds of penguin statues staring blankly ahead was a little creepy.
Before I could even knock, the door swung wide. Two hands shot out, grabbed my wrist, yanked me into the sunroom, and shut the door quickly behind me.
It was overkill, but Mrs. Yates was not known for subtlety.
“It’s that man. That glassblower. I know it is.”
For a woman who was always coifed in case she was caught by a camera looking for Ordinary’s famous penguin, she looked a little unhinged in pink leggings, a fuzzy white bathrobe, and hair up in huge round curlers.
She was also smoking a cigarette.
That was new.
I took out my little notebook and pen. “Which glassblower are you talking about?” I knew she meant Crow.
“You know I mean Cow.”
“Crow?”
“Whatever animal he identifies as.” She took a long suck off the cigarette.
“Offensive,” I informed her. “His name is Crow.”
