Cover Story Read Online Free Page B

boy. “Who are you?”
    “Davo, the answer to your dreams.” He made a pathetic attempt at a flirtatious wink.
    I tapped the toe of my shoe on the sidewalk in double-time. “Really? My dreams? You can make me a macchiato then get the President on the phone?”
    His face fell and I felt mean for a second. Well, maybe not that long.
    I heard Valentina come along the path behind us. “Winston, darling, I’ve left you some fish in the kitchen.”
    Still gloating, Attackcat stood, flicked his tail at me and sauntered off to the house.
    “Tobi, I see you met David. Good.” Granny Clampett had added a powder-blue cardigan to her ensemble of floral dress and sensible shoes. A big wad of tissues was visible under her sleeve at her left wrist. “David, dear, is your mother home?”
    Davo squirmed. “Yeah, she’s home. Are you two comin’ over?”
    Valentina linked arms with me. “That we are, David. Lead on.”
    It was a surreal moment. Walking, arms linked with an eccentric old lady, following a teenager who fancied his chances with me, having just escaped a battle with a large, fluffy cat, while investigating three gnomicides.
    I guess that was what I got for being on a “human interest” story, instead of the big political scandal where I should be. I was just glad my family couldn’t see me now.
    The Sinclairs’ house was much bigger than Valentina’s. It was two-story with stucco walls and a walled yard at the front. Behind the barrier, the yard was full of pebbles and succulents around a small patch of grass—which seemed to be the only bit of lawn on the street. There wasn’t a pebble out of place … someone didn’t get out much. On top of the wall was a trail of three gnomes—the one in the lead had a fishing rod slung over his shoulder. They looked like they were off for a day’s fishing and I could almost imagine them whistling.
    Damn, I was doing it again. Must keep professional distance from gnomes.
    Beverley Sinclair greeted us by squishing her face into what was probably a smile and promptly telling Davo to go and change into a clean shirt. She put the kettle on and offered me a cup of English Breakfast. Organic. What was it with this street and cups of tea?
    “I’d love a coffee, if you have it.”
    Beverley gathered her face up into another smile—assuming that’s what it was—and got out a can of pumpkin spice–flavored instant coffee. I was beginning to wish I’d brought my coffee pot in my bag.
    Valentina guided me to a chair and explained my mission to Beverley. “And so she has some questions for you, too, Beverley.”
    “Always glad to help,” she twittered as she brought the cups to the table. Somehow I didn’t believe her. Journalists develop an instinct about things like this—and my instincts told me that under this show of neighborliness, she was bitter at life. Bitter enough to smash gnomes?
    “So, Beverley, do you have any theories on the gnomes?”
    She gave me the squishy-face smile again. Someone should have told her it wasn’t working for her. Then again, the blond pouffy hair and pencil-thin eyebrows weren’t doing her any favors either. “Oh, no, I have no idea.”
    I didn’t believe her for a second. “Surely you must have some ideas.”
    “No, really.” I noted she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
    “What if you had to make a guess—just a wild guess, what would you say?”
    “I’m sure I wouldn’t have anything you—”
    “Come on, you’re not hiding something from us, are you?” Not only am I a trained journalist, but I watch a lot of cop shows on TV.
    Valentina decided to help. “Yes, Beverley, what do you know?”
    She glared at us, her face suddenly suffused with anger. “I don’t know anything, but if you want a suspect, you should start with David.”
    “Davo?” He hadn’t looked dangerous. Stupid, sure, but not dangerous.
    “Yes, David! Seventeen years old, he’s not in school, no job and no prospects. It’s just the sort of fool