Arthur was staring at Sara. “You’ve aged well. But then, you always were the prettiest girl in the school.”
“Was she?” Kate asked. “You knew our Sara?”
“Not really,” Arthur said. “She was always running off home after school. And she was older than me. Not that you can tell that now.” He smiled. “Anyway, you only ever talked to Cal, isn’t that right?”
Kate looked at Sara and saw that she was wearing an expression like a bulldog. Her jaw looked to be made of iron. Kate thought that if talking to this man weren’t important, Sara would leave. But at least her anger was making the color come back to her face.
Arthur was still staring at Sara. “What was the name of that brother of yours? The one you were always having to look after?”
“Randal.” Sara’s jaw was barely moving. “Do you know anything about Verna or Cheryl Morris?”
“I know lots,” Arthur said, “and I’ve been waiting for you to come and ask me questions. Soggy Drawers Flynn ordered me not to say a word to you.”
“Are you going to obey him?” Jack asked.
“Of course not. You can’t obey someone who you’ve seen in perpetually dirty diapers.” He was still looking at Sara. “So now you’re a famous writer. I bet you have lots of contacts.”
When Sara gave a little snort, as though she finally understood something, Jack and Kate looked at her in question.
“Give it to me.” Sara sounded resigned to her fate.
Arthur smiled in triumph. “I knew we were like-minded.” He wheeled himself back a few feet and took a thick envelope off a table. When he turned back, he seemed to have a spring in his wheels.
He handed the envelope to Kate, who passed it to Jack, who handed it to Sara.
She held it aloft. “Okay. You’ve given me your Great American Novel. Now tell us what we need to know.”
Arthur’s face changed from cocky to sadness. “I was really upset when I heard about Verna and her daughter. For the last twenty years I’ve wondered what happened to them. It wasn’t until you guys found them and restarted the town gossip that I realized that I knew everything. I just don’t know the specifics.”
“What does that mean?” Jack asked.
“When it all happened, it made sense that Verna had run away. But I thought she’d at least send me a postcard, but she didn’t. That really hurt. Now I’m sorry for my anger. I understood, but—”
“You understoodwhat?” Sara blurted out.
“Still impatient, aren’t you?” Arthur seemed to be amused. He looked at Jack and Kate. “When we were in school, I tried to talk to her, but she was always too busy.” He turned back to Sara. “Tell me, do you remember me at all?”
“No.”
Arthur grinned. “Thought not. I’ve never been someone who attracted women. ‘Easily forgettable.’ That’s what some girl in high school called me. And that wasbeforethis happened.” He nodded toward his legs. “Fell off a big company’s roof. It was their fault, so their insurance paid me millions. Now women think I’m—”
Sara held up the envelope. “If you want this read by someone in the publishing world, then stop with the ‘poor me’ act and tell us about the Morris women.”
Arthur’s eyes lit up and he looked at Jack. “See what your grandfather had to put up with? She always did have a salty tongue.” He looked at Kate. “By the way, who are you?”
“Randal’s daughter, Kate.”
“Good lord! Now, there was a boy who was loved by everyone. I remember—”
Sara stood up, loudly dropped the heavy envelope on the coffee table and said, “Let’s go. He doesn’t know anything.”
“I know who killed them and why,” Arthur said complacently.
When Sara sat back down, Arthur smiled as though he’d won a tug-of-war game.
“Would you please tell us?” Kate asked softly.
“When I say I know ‘who,’ I mean that I know everything except the man’s name. And when I say I know ‘why,’ I know it all except how they were connected.”
