“What the fork?” a teenager said.
“That’s a forking travesty,” a man added.
“We need to catch that mother forker,” a woman said.
“The murderer,” Bertie corrected. “Has everyone had enough time to look for clues?”
“Are the cookies clues?” a woman asked.
“Maybe we should ask the police chief. She’s standing right there,” another woman said.
“No, she’s not a part of the mystery,” Bertie said.
“But it says right here,” a pamphlet was dug out of a large purse, “that we can ask anyone in town anything during the mystery, and they will answer.”
“With the one exception of the wedding rehearsal,” Bertie insisted, but I decided to jump in. After all, Ryder wasn’t here yet, and almost anything was better than waiting around doing nothing.
“You may absolutely ask me anything, and I’ll answer.” I strolled forward. “Until my husband-to-be shows up and we start our rehearsal. How may I be of help?”
Jean just sighed. Myra walked up beside me with a plate of cookies and offered them to the crowd.
Bertie looked surprised, but she went with the pivot like a champ.
“What we have here, Chief Reed, is a group of very sharp-eyed private investigators,” Bertie said. “They are looking into a murder.”
“A murder here? In Ordinary? Well, I’m glad to have you all on the case. We don’t get many murders in town. We can use all the help we can get.”
A woman raised her hand. “Are you really the police chief?”
“Yes.”
I man raised his hand. “Did you stab that guy with a pitchfork?”
“I did not.”
“Can you tell us who did?” another guy called from the back.
“I cannot.”
“Have you met Patrick Baum?” a woman asked.
“I have.”
The crowedoooohed like I’d just told them I’d dined with a rock star.
“What was he like?” the woman continued. “In person. I mean, I’m one of his biggest fans. But what was it like to…touch him?”
“I didn’t touch him.”
“What did he smell like?” another, younger woman asked. “Everyone says he smells so good. How good did he smell? Did he smell delicious? Will you dream of his smell? Did he tell you what cologne he was wearing?”
“Um…he smelled okay, I guess.”
“Oh.” She looked like I’d just shot her pet hamster.
“But hey,” I said in a cheery tone, “we have a dead body. And everyone who solves the murder gets a prize.”
“That is correct,” Bertie said. “A prize for everyone who participates—we all have our clue booklets?”
