“What do you mean? Yesterday you were worried about your job. I’m just trying to help.”

“I shouldn’t have been crying on your shoulder. This is my problem,” insisted Culpepper.

“Do you still have the magazine? I’d love to see the ad.”

“You would?” Culpepper was flattered.

“You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

“Oh, no, I’ve still got it,” he admitted.

“Well, let’s see who else advertised. Maybe one of them was the killer. I can’t wait to get started. When can we get together?” she demanded.

“Now, hold on, Lucy. I still think I should handle this by myself.”

“Barney, people just hear your voice and they know you’re a cop. You need me for this. Besides, I want to make up for suspecting you.”

“Lucy—”

“No, Barney, don’t ‘Lucy’ me. Just get over here as soon as you can. I’ve got all the Pinewood Derby cars. You can pick Eddie’s up, and you can show me the ad. Okay? I can’t leave the house because Sara’s got the flu and my mother took the car.”

“And you think you’re gonna help me? Some hotshot detective you are,” accused Culpepper.

“Yeah. The original gumshoe, that’s me. And when I say gum, I mean Double Bubble.” Lucy laughed and bent over to peel a large pink wad from the bottom of her Reebok high-tops.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

#9137 Fishing the old-fashioned way can be frustrating. This newfangled sonar scanner actually finds and tracks schools of fish so you can put your hook where the fish are. Can be operated with 10 “D” batteries or connected directly to a power source. Solid-state, UL approved. $345.

If Barney Culpepper were a dog, thought Lucy as she opened the kitchen door for him, he would be a Saint Bernard. Doorways were always too small for him and ceilings too low; he had to bend his head as he came through the doorway into the kitchen. As he stood there unzipping his jacket, his cheeks seemed to droop into jowls. Slowly he took off his regulation blue jacket and tossed it on the corner chair, ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair, and squared his burly shoulders before sitting down at the kitchen table.

When Lucy had first met Barney, back in the granola years, she’d thought of him as a typical redneck. He was a recent Vietnam vet, and she’d been a bit leery of him, expecting him to explode into violence whenever he encountered members of the college-educated peace brigade who were moving into Tinker’s Cove. But when the battery in the Malibu she’d been driving died one day, he’d gone out of his way to get her car going again. She’d been struck by his quiet, assured helpfulness.