Rhonda was by my side before Peter’s door had a chance to shut. “What does he think she did?”

  I shook my head. “He said it wasn’t my concern.”

  “Seriously? Of course it’s our concern. We were here.”

  Another good point.

  “Maybe Carol knows. She was in the kitchen when Peter came in. He has to say what he’s arresting you for, right? Before he can put you in handcuffs?”

  With that in mind, we went to search out Carol, who had gone back inside, along with the rest of the gang. They were sitting around the table again, drinking coffee and talking in low conspiratorial voices. When we came in, they all took a sudden interest in rearranging cups and stirring sugar into their drinks.

  I felt my palms begin to sweat. It was like walking into a slumber party late in junior high. You knew immediately you were either the topic of conversation or the weak link that couldn’t be trusted with day’s hottest gossip.

  This time, I didn’t think I was the first, which meant...

  “I didn’t know Peter had any intention of...” I looked around at the expectant faces. “He isn’t usually... I couldn’t get him...”

  Rhonda grabbed me by the arm. “What happened? Why did they take Ethel?”

  Yeah... that.

  The women exchanged glances, conducting an unspoken vote on how much they were going to reveal.

  Carol stepped up, with a piece of quiche in her hand. “Did you try Rose’s quiche? It’s eggless.”

  Tempting as eggless quiche was, I knew when I was being stonewalled. And so did Rhonda. We looked at each other.

  Martin, on the other hand, who had made his way inside too, took the quiche and a refill on his coffee.

  Oh the simplicity of being a man, and not understanding that what women didn’t say was often much more important than what they did.

  And there was plenty not being said today.

  o0o

  Two hours later, Rhonda and I had moved to her shop to decipher what had happened.

  “You could call George,” she suggested.

  “I already tried. He’s off today.”

  “Daniel?”

  I rolled my eyes at my best friend for the suggestion. “I will if I have to, but it really shouldn’t come to that.” Information from Daniel came at a price. I needed to save it for the really hard cases; an arrest that was made almost right in front of me should not be one of those cases.

  The problem was the “almost” and the fact that Ethel’s crew seemed to have locked down any leaks quicker and more completely than twenty plumbers armed with heavy duty caulk.

  “Carol’s husband?”

  I shook my head. “You saw them sitting around that table. Whatever happened, those women aren’t sharing it with anyone, even their husbands.”

  We sat in quiet for a minute, me staring out the windows of Rhonda’s used bookstore at random pedestrians and Rhonda thumbing through books looking for damage.

  Our problem of what to do next was solved when Daniel walked by the window and spotted me.

  “Crap,” I said. “He’s coming in.”

  With his normal smug look in place, he stepped over a fallen stack of books and pulled out a notebook. “I heard you were at Carol Kennedy’s when Ethel Monroe was arrested.”

  “Might have been.” I picked up a book and followed Rhonda’s example, thumbing through it. “Someone wrote notes in this one,” I commented, holding the book up.

  “Put it in there.” She gestured to a cardboard box already partially filled.

  “Come on. I know you were there.” He looked at Rhonda. “Both of you. I also know you’ve been driving Ethel around a lot lately.” He looked back at me. “Which considering that you were asking about Red’s murder...” He gave me a knowing look.

  Except I wasn’t knowing. I wasn’t knowing at all.

  “So?” Rhonda asked, obviously not being as patient as I was.

  Daniel looked at her as if her IQ was in the single digits. “So... Frank Kelly was arrested for Red’s murder. Frank was at Carol’s house yesterday and Ethel was too.”

  I started to think Daniel was the one with the one digit IQ. “Carol’s husband is friends with Frank Kelly.”

  “He might be, but what about Ethel? Now we know how she pays for that expensive home and manages to keep up her reputation as a charity maven.”

  “Do we?” I asked, crossing my arms and trying to look superior.

  “If your boyfriend is to be trusted we do.”

  Would the reporter never quit talking in riddles?

  “Peter is very trustworthy.”

  Daniel’s pen moved to hover above his notepad. “So you think Ethel is guilty? What exactly has she said to you that makes you think that?”

  I stood with my arms crossed and my toes tapping for five seconds before I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Guilty of what? We don’t know why she was arrested!”

  The outburst was embarrassing, but it got results. After Daniel got done grinning at his superior knowledge, he spilled the beans. “Ethel is a snowmobile thief.”

  He had to be kidding. “Ethel Monroe?” I held my hand out to my side. “So big? Eighty something?”

  Still grinning, Daniel nodded. “That’s her. From what I’ve heard, it started with her friends and then she expanded.”

  “Her friends? Like Carol?”

  “Yes. There were others.” He flipped back a page in his notebook. “Susan Olgivy. Looks like in her case it was a son-in-law, and a neighbor of Rose Pritzer. Then there was a Fitz McGowan, nephew to a Molly and Milly McGowan. All three times, Ethel had been at the house or near the house right before the sleds were taken.”

  “But I took her and Carol snowmobile shopping at the Swap in Bozeman.”

  “Interesting.” He scribbled something down. “Maybe she was thinking of going for a bigger target. Did she talk to anyone there?”

  Like I’d tell him who Ethel had talked to.

  I, of course, did not believe for a second that the do-good goddess, Ethel Monroe, was a thief.

  “You don’t seriously believe that Ethel did this, do you? How could she?”

  He grunted out a laugh. “Have you met her? She’s tough. She didn’t like a story I did last year and she rapped me on the head with that cane of hers. Hard.”

  Yet one more example of Ethel’s magnanimous ways, putting Daniel in his place, a.k.a. looking out for what was best for all of us.

  Rhonda set down the book she was holding and walked around the counter so she was standing beside me. “Have you ever ridden a snowmobile? Ethel may be tough in attitude, but she doesn’t even drive herself around anymore. That’s how Lucy met her. And if Carol’s husband’s snowmobiles were stolen from his house, someone would have to have hauled them off in a trailer.”

  “So she has an accomplice. Would you like to confess to that?” He, of course, looked at me.

  I lifted my lip in my best imitation of Fluff putting Zef in his place. It didn’t have quite the same effect on Daniel as it did on Zef, but it made me feel better.

  “Should I take that as a yes?” he asked.

  Rhonda, reading my mood, slipped her arm through Daniel’s and led him to the door. “Have you ever considered yoga?” she asked him. “And a dairy-free diet? Both of those might help to clear your mind so you can see the answers to your problem more clearly.”

  Obviously confused by Rhonda’s holistic approach to getting rid of him, Daniel glanced back over his shoulder at me. I, however, was done with him. He’d told me what I needed to know. Until, of course, the next time, but I’d worry about that then.

  I turned my back and stared at the wall until I heard the chimes signal that the door had closed behind him.

  Rhonda and I spun toward each other. “Ethel a snowmobile thief?” we both exclaimed, then stood shaking our heads and sharing our mutual disbelief.

  After a moment, we both sat down.

  “So?” Rhonda asked. “What should we do?”

  I loved that she knew me well enough to know that I would need to do something.

  “I could call Peter, but you know he won’t listen to me.”

  She nodded. “I wonder...”

  “What?”

  “Well, gossip had the snowmobile thefts tied to Red’s murder. You don’t think the police think Ethel was involved with that, do you?”

  “They couldn’t.” But I couldn’t see how they could think she was out stealing snowmobiles either. “They might. She’s over 80,” I said.

  “And so small,” Rhonda added.

  We stared at each other another few minutes.

  “We need to get her out,” I said.

  “Definitely.”

  We grabbed our bags and headed to the police station.

  o0o

  The police station was crowded. Ethel’s crew sat on the benches surrounding the waiting area, knitting, reading and murmuring among themselves, while Stone, Peter, and George went about looking official. Daniel hovered somewhere in between the two groups, ears perked for a dropped secret from either.

  Rhonda and I boldly tromped to the desk. Ignoring Stone and Peter, I addressed George. “We’re here to see Ethel Monroe.”

  Stone snickered. Maybe it was a grunt, but it came across as a snicker.

  George shifted his eyes to the side, reminding me that the two detectives were behind him - as if I couldn’t see them for myself. “Inmate visitation is processed downstairs.”

  I turned to look at the women lining the walls. “Then why are they here?”

  “Inmate visitation is processed downstairs,” he replied, widening his eyes as if I didn’t get that he purposely wasn’t telling me anything of use.

  “Then why—” I started again.

  Stone interrupted. “This isn’t the Hilton. If someone is brought in, they get processed, get to meet with their attorney and maybe one other person.” He motioned to Ethel’s friends. “We don’t do coffee klatches.”

  Susan, who had appeared to be reading, carefully placed her ereader into her patchwork tote and stood. “We don’t do coffee klatches either, Detective.”

  Molly and Milly looked up from their knitting, eyes wide, while Carol hurried over to stand next to Susan and whisper something in her ear.

  I wasn’t sure what Carol said to her, but it seemed to calm the other woman down, at least enough that she took her seat. She didn’t, however, pull her ereader back out or take her distrustful gaze off of Stone.

  I knew I’d liked these ladies for a reason.

  Peter, obviously more in tune to impending trouble than his fellow detective, stepped from behind the desk and grabbed me by the elbow. “You need to go home,” he said. “You’re stirring up the...”

  “What?” I asked, daring him to say something he’d regret.

  He sighed. “Ladies.”

  “Well, the ladies and I want to see Ethel.”

  “You can’t. Her case is being processed.”

  “And then?”

  “And then she’ll go before a judge, bail will be set... You know how it works.”

  I did, but Ethel was a special case. “At her age...” I argued.

  “There is no ‘at her age’ with Ethel Monroe,” Peter informed me. “The woman is tougher than a microwaved steak.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving until Ethel’s released.”

  Shaking his head, he motioned toward an empty bench. “Then join the rest of them.”

  o0o

  Four hours later, I knew I was going to have to give up and leave. The dogs had been shut up and alone in my house too long. It wasn’t an “accident” I was worried about so much as intentional mischief.

  Rhonda, sensing my dilemma, leaned toward me. “No one will judge you. The dogs come first.”

  She was right, of course, and Ethel for sure would understand. I moved to my feet and reached in my pocket for my keys.

  As I did, Stone walked through the lobby. “I see the herd has thinned.”

  Daniel had left first, but then no one had expected him to stay. Besides, first word that Ethel was getting out and he’d be back.

  Carol had left too, but I didn’t think it was from lack of loyalty. My guess was that she had something in the works to help her friend, an attorney or money for bail, or maybe some kind of evidence to prove Ethel’s innocence.

  And then there was me... Under Stone’s perusal, I lifted the hand holding my keys and stretched. “Benches are a bit hard,” I said. Then I stretched the other side too. Then I sat down.

  “Can’t do it,” I muttered to Rhonda. “He’ll think he’s won.”

  She nodded and reached for her bag. “Then we’ll just have to call in the troops.”

  Half an hour later, Betty waltzed into the station wearing purple fur and carrying a cardboard box. With the box tucked under one arm, she handed each of Ethel’s friends what appeared to be a paper-wrapped sandwich.

  When she reached me, I could see the box was still full of sandwiches. “You might want to go back for a few more,” I said, ever the smart ass.

  “You think?” She frowned. “Maybe you’re right.”

  The front door opened again. Phyllis walked in, carrying a second box and leading a stream of people behind her.

  Old, young, male, female, white, native American. There were even dogs wearing service vests and three cats in carriers.

  “Ethel has helped a lot of people and a lot of people believe in Ethel,” Betty said before hurrying toward the growing crowd to finish her sandwich giveaway.

  After that, the “processing” Ethel was going through seemed to move faster, and somehow the need for her to go before a judge was waved. Although I suspected it was more over-ruled by the need to clear the station of her waiting visitors.

  It was dark when George escorted her out to her awaiting fans, but Ethel looked none the worse for her time in the clinker. She waved her cane and murmured what looked like a reprimand in George’s ear before patting him on the arm and toddling to the waiting arms of her crew.

  Chapter 12

  I let things rest through the weekend, minding my own business, literally: working at Dusty Deals and trying to keep my home from falling down due to an excess of husky energy.

  But while Ethel’s release had been rewarding, release didn’t equal free, not with charges still hanging over her head, and there was also the matter of Red’s murder and his team still under my care.

  So, come Monday morning, when there was still no news on the case, I couldn’t resist getting involved again.

  My gut - along with the rumor mill - told me Red’s murder and the snowmobile thefts had to be connected. Investigating who was behind the thefts, would accomplish more than one goal, I reasoned. First, vindicating Ethel. Second, maybe aiding in clearing Red’s case so his team would be free to go to a new and loving home. I’d worry about finding that home a little later.

  Still in my jammies, I sat down at my home computer and started searching.

  Two hours later, I had a list of over a dozen cases of stolen snowmobiles this winter alone. And that was by owner; if you calculated it by actual number of missing sleds, it went higher. I also hadn’t found a mention of the theft at Craig Ryan’s, which meant there were probably other cases that I’d missed during my search.

  Making the thefts a much bigger issue than I would have guessed.

  Another surprising fact was that the incidents weren’t just in Helena. They were all over the state. There was even one reported at the Reservation near Fort Peck, a good 350 or more miles away.

  The incidents being as spread out as they were said this wasn’t a local crime. Obviously another point in Ethel’s defense. She needed me to drive her to Bozeman. How would she have gotten to Fort Peck? Of course, as an outlier, I could probably mark it off as coincidence. I drew a line through it and then sat for a minute, thinking of the best way to evaluate the data. Visions of every FBI drama I’d ever seen flashed through my head.

  If ever there was information calling out for a bulletin board and some push pins, this was it.

  Happy with my opportunity to play with office supplies, I stepped over the various dog bodies passed out around my living room to gather my supplies. A few minutes later, a bulletin board that I’d had since my teen years was propped on my couch. I yanked the Montana page from an atlas that had previously been living on my Jeep’s floor and carefully pinned it to the board. Then I stuck a pin in the general area of each theft and, using yarn from last year’s venture into crochet, connected one to the other.

  A fascinating design appeared right before my eyes.

  A design that when I blinked and tilted my head to the side, and then stood back and squinted some more, told me absolutely, positively nothing.

  I sighed, went to get a glass of Diet Pepsi and milk and, thus fortified, returned to my staring.

  A definite pattern appeared. Kind of like a star with one long tail, a few short ones, and a big fat center. What would the FBI make of that?

  I took another slug of soda and milk.

  The big fat center was Helena. No doubt that most of the thefts had been here. The long tail was Fort Peck. (I had decided to include it after all.) The shorter ones led to Great Falls and Bozeman. Actually, there was a bit of a cluster in Bozeman too...

  That probably meant something. To someone.

  Unfortunately, I apparently was not that someone.

  I looked through my list of addresses again. Carol was an obvious choice to talk to, but I felt like if she knew anything that would help Ethel, she would have already shared it with the police. Besides, with some knowledge of her and her husband, it seemed the best plan might be to talk to someone else and see if I could find anything they had in common with Carol and her husband besides owning snowmobiles. Daniel had mentioned other members of Ethel’s crew and their supposed relationships to the thefts.

  If that was true, it would definitely make things worse for Ethel.

  He had only named one victim though: Fitz McGowan. Luckily, Fitz was on my list and he didn’t live all that far away.

  I headed out with Kiska snuffling along at my side. I’d been feeling guilty for leaving him home so much. The rest of the dogs... not so much. I left them at home with Fluff, of course, in charge.

 

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