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Once—one time—I had politely asked if the Keel Haul could order me some of the trick candles that light themselves again when you try to blow them out.
“Okay, well, I’m pretty sure they’re notonlyfor kids’ birthdays,” I said.“That’s like saying those bouncy castles are only for—” I heard myself getting off track.“And with appropriate adult supervision—” It took an effort to drag myself back to the matter at hand.“Actually, I was calling about something else.Did Paul Naught stop by to talk to you yesterday?”
In answer, I got a grunt.
“I don’t know if you heard last night, but Paul was attacked, and I’m trying to find out—”
“He get killed?”
That cranked her motor.(God, please let that not mean something, uh, adult.) Gone was the sullen reserve.In its place—and not much better—was ghoulish interest.
This was the woman who thought she was the expert on children’s birthday parties.
I mean, ongeneralbirthday parties.For people of all ages.
“No,” I said, “Paul’s fine.”
If you’ve never heard a disappointed grunt before, they’re really something.
“But I was wondering if you could tell me what he wanted to talk to you about.”
“I’ve got customers,” Dawn said.
“Right.Fine.Well, I’ll be right down so I can ask you in person.”(Talk about an empty threat.) “Oh, and I’ve got the mail-away for those self-lighting candles from an oldMADmagazine, so I’ll bring that too.”
She said something not quite under her breath that was definitely not appropriate for a kid’s birthday party.“He was asking about that package.The one that got stolen.”
“What about it?”
“He wanted to know if somebody stole it.I said yes, that’s why I reported it stolen.”
“That’s it?”
A few hacking noises came in answer.Then she said, “He kept asking questions.Wouldn’t leave it alone.I told him what I told the company: some bozo in a Santa suit grabbed it off the porch.”
“You saw him?”
“Doorbell camera.I’ve got a line of people waiting, you know.”
It took me a moment to reorient myself to that particular sentence.I had my doubts about throngs of customers queuing up for service at the Keel Haul, but I figured that meant my time was running short.
“That’s it?”I asked.“Anything else?”
“He wanted to know what it was.”
“That you got delivered?What was it?”
“Not that it’s anybody’s business,” Dawn said with a little snip, “but it was a waffle iron.A real nice one, too, from Williams-Sonoma.”
“Do you know—” I began.
But there was the distinct clatter of a receiver dropped into its cradle, and the call disconnected.
I sat back in my chair.It was tempting to let my thoughts turn to the trick candles—I mean,everyoneliked magic tricks and surprises and cool stuff like that.Why would you market them only to children?For heaven’s sake, why would you stop making them?But I forced myself to focus.
Paul had been talking to the people whose packages had been stolen.And he’d wanted to make sure the package had actually been stolen.And what was in it.
Why?