Page 18 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

DAY TWO

SUNDAY

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Wardell Yardley presented me with a conundrum.

He provided an update on Colonel Crawford.

“The report on your colonel is — well, I wouldn’t say squeaky clean, because that sounds too wimpy for this guy. Not going to bother you with the official bio, because you’ve already gotten that yourself. Let’s say—” His pause said what came next would be the truth. “—he’s the real deal.”

Calling from the Eastern to the Mountain time zone, he woke me up to deliver it.

And he enjoyed that.

Did I thank him or tell him what I really thought?

Option One.

* * * *

Penny Czylinski was at her register in the Sherman Supermarket when I stopped there before going to the station. Early for me, because I hoped to get things accomplished before today’s lunch with Mike, Needham Bender, and Needham’s mystery guest.

Plus, I had to replenish my Pepperidge Farm Double Dark Chocolate Milano supply at the station. After finding both desk spots empty and eventually raiding my supply in the break room, I only had one KWMT hiding spot still stocked.

Desperate times.

Saying Penny was at her register was akin to saying the sun rose. Not significant unless it didn’t happen.

Oh, sure, I knew Penny had to take time off, even whole days, and theoretically a vacation now and then. But either those times nearly all coincided with my own time away from the supermarket or she truly did spend all her time here.

“Well, hello there, Elizabeth. See your stock’s running low. Out there yesterday with Diana after the colonel talked to you. Shame. Real shame,” she said by way of greeting.

I thought the shame was about the there — the cabin fire — rather than a reflection on me, Diana, or Colonel Crawford.

But I had to think that fast, because Penny doesn’t take many breaths. If she were a swimmer, she’d make it across the English Channel on one gulp of air.

“Went up so fast with the flames catching her eye, then all that smoke. Fussing over which one, when working together matters. Not even finding the body right off. Never knowing it was there while they fought the fire. A nice lady, always a good word—”

A word was about all Penny allowed people who came through her line. The astonishing thing was how much information she picked up when she did all the talking.

“—to say. Flour, butter, sugar, always extra chocolate chips and—”

“Hannah’s baking cookies?” Her kid seemed young — did she even have teeth? — but Hannah had a husband, with his uncle not far away. And what did any of that have to do with the fire?

“—walnuts. Knew each other real well for such a short time. Still, careful to tell all of them—”

Them who?

“—about the walnuts in case—”

“Of allergies?” I inserted.

“—but knew her regulars didn’t have to be worrying so she put in extras. All of them out there and the three boys, young men—”

Young men? What young men? The vets? But I thought they were older. I suppose they didn’t need to be retirement age like Sergeant Frank Jardos, but boys . . .?

“—as they are now, still eating like boys.”

“The vets—?”

“Working hard out there they are. And trading off like.”

Wait. Boys working hard and trading off . . .?

“Connie’s sons? Connie Walterston?”

“Makes sense. All home now, come fall, one off to Laramie—”

The home of the University of Wyoming. I was starting to catch up.

“—for a degree, then switch around. That’s a real kind of work, not like filing papers. And not even in a filing cabinet. Virtual, like they say. Not as much as Sheridan, but growing here, too, all wrapped up in one or two . . .”

Pretty sure she’d started with Hannah spotting the flames and now she was talking about Connie and her sons, but was there someone else in the middle baking cookies?

I broke into her monologue about files of some kind.

“Penny, the cookies, who made the cookies?”

“. . . not what you’d expect to be coming here from all over. Not saying outsiders can’t fit in, because she did right off. Sad to think her kitchen’s gone even though, really, not worse than last year and all that sadness—”

That sounded like Irene Jardos . . . Maybe? Or—

“—don’t shake that off. Sometimes never. Enjoy yours. Bye now.” Having rung up and bagged my cookies, then taken my payment, she turned to the next person behind me, a librarian I knew to nod to. “Well, hello there . . .”

She was off again and the only place for me to go was out the door. Right after I picked up my two bags of backup cookies.

* * * *

Change of plans.

From my SUV, I called the station. Nobody needed me there. Maybe that should wound my ego. On the other hand, the freedom to follow where Penny pointed soothed any ego twinge.

Especially when my call to Connie Walterston was met with an invitation to come right over.

I headed east out of town toward an area known as Red Sail Rock because, well, there was a rock that looked like a red sail.