Red Rum: A Rosie Casket Mystery R.M. Wild (inspirational books .txt) 📖

“You might think these accusations are funny, but the same kind of bullying has killed innocent people. There’s no reason it couldn’t happen again. Heck, given all the conspiracy theories on social media, I fully expect another round of witch trials. First cyberbullying and then pitchforks.”

Mettle shrugged. “People want scape-cows.”

“You mean scapegoats?”

“Same thing, but smaller nipples. It’s a lot easier to blame your problems on magic than faulty genes.”

“You know what the Salem witch trials were all about, Matt? Land. It was all a land grab. Arthur Miller got it right. And I’m willing to bet that’s exactly what’s going on here. Whoever is fomenting this cyber-steria wants me out of my house—just like he wanted Peter out of the Gold Bug Tavern and Phyllis Martin before me.”

“But what about Dimitri? Why kill him?”

“He was a loose end. He knew something about Chrissy.”

“You think Chrissy is tied up in all this?”

I leaned the broom against the wall. “She’s tied up. That’s for sure. How securely, I don’t know.”

Mettle sat up. “Listen, Casket. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you get your hopes up. In missing persons cases, once the victim is gone for forty-eight hours, the chance of finding them alive drops to nothing. In Chrissy’s case, she’s been gone for like fifteen years. She’s already been declared legally dead. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

I shook my head. “I know, but my subconscious won’t let her go. She haunts me.”

Mettle was staring out the dark windows.

“You’re not listening, are you?”

“I’m listening.”

“My foster father mourned her and then moved on. He was her biological father. But he wasn’t there that night. I ran away instead of looking for her. I could have done so much more.”

Mettle leaned toward the windows. He put up a finger. “Shhh.”

“What?”

He kept watching the window. Then he turned back to me. “It’s nothing. I thought I saw something. What were you saying?”

“Nothing important,” I said quietly. I shifted the conversation back to him. “Do you really think the warden’s dirty?”

“I have no idea. But you saw how concerned his wife was when I brought up the size of the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s making a few extra bucks on the side, maybe a little axle grease from the private companies.”

A hard knock on the door made me jump backward. I stumbled over the hearth and caught myself before falling into the fireplace.

“I knew I saw something,” Mettle said. He jumped off the couch and ran over and yanked open the door.

“Who’s there?”

There was no one on the porch.

Mettle stuck his head out the door. Then he looked down. Sitting on the doormat, was an envelope.

He picked it up. “Midnight delivery.”

He went to tear it open, but I said, “Wait!”

“What?”

“What if that’s anthrax or something? Maybe a letter bomb?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. He shook the envelope. “There’s a hard shape inside.”

Before I could protest further, he tore it open and dumped the contents onto his palm.

“What on earth is that?”

25

Mettle held the tiny object up between his thumb and forefinger as if he were holding a miniature vial of poison.

“It’s a thumb drive,” he announced. He glanced out the front door again. “I bet one of the warden’s minions dropped it off. How come I didn’t hear any cars?”

The woods swallowed up sounds like a tangle of hungry vipers. “The bend in the road is strange like that.”

“Do you have a computer we can plug this into?”

“No.”

Mettle rubbed his entire head. “No computers? How do you keep the books around here?”

“I keep track of all my expenses on my phone. After all, this is the post-computer era. Haven’t you heard? Welcome to the future, Matt Mettle.”

“Bah. Marketing nonsense. Try searching a fingerprint database on your phone. I’d destroy my eyes and need to get glasses.”

“What’s wrong with glasses?”

“Nothing. I mean, they’re cute. On some people. Not me. I’d look like a diesel nerd.”

That was one of the dumbest things he’d ever said. “Let’s use the laptop in your cruiser.”

“No way, I can’t log in. I mean, I can, but I’m not gonna take that risk. Those hacker nerds in IT will know I’m in the system. I’m suspended, remember? They’re always watching.”

We stared at the tiny device. As amazing as it was that Moore’s law had held true over all these years and data storage had shrunk smaller than a lady bug, Murphy’s law was bound to rear its ugly head with something that small. The thumb drive was so tiny that a single sneeze could send it out to the harbor. Or one of us might inhale too hard and choke on it. Was it possible that this entire case came down to a piece of metal and plastic no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of a policeman?

“How about Fitzgerald?” I said.

“Who?”

“First thing in the morning, we’ll head over to the library. We can plug the thumb drive into one of their computers.”

“Oh, Fitzgerald. You mean that stupid librarian. I don’t want that long-haired freak watching over our shoulders as we conduct an investigation. He’s bound to leak our secrets to the whole community.”

“We don’t have to use his computer,” I said. “There’s a whole internet section open to the public. When was the last time you’ve been to a public library?”

Mettle looked at me blankly.

“Sorry, I retract that question.” If the library didn’t have a pull-up bar and a protein shake cafe, Mettle wasn’t interested.

“Fine, but here’s a more pressing question,” Mettle said. “If we’re going to the library first thing in the morning, then what are the sleeping arrangements tonight?”

Despite Mettle’s protests about a sore back, I made him sleep on the couch again. I brought him a blanket and a pillow, but couldn’t do anything about the length of his legs.

“Keep them bent,” I said.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Why?

“I don’t know. C’mon. Gimme a break. This is a bed and breakfast. There are other rooms upstairs. Other