“I don’t think for a minute that she’s guilty,” I said, skipping over the part that I knew where to find her.

“I’m sure you’re right. I used to do business with her father, Larry Esterman, when he had his own place in town. At the time, all of us trades teachers used to get together and pool resources and network with the Lincoln Point tradesmen. Larry was always ready to take on a promising student as an intern and I placed a lot of kids with him. Most honest guy around.”

My experience complemented Henry’s. I’d had many dealings with Larry during Rosie’s high school years. He was as dedicated a single parent as I’d ever met. I now saw him occasionally in the bookshop, though we never had extended conversations.

“I don’t remember exactly what business Larry was in,” I told Henry. “He’s retired now, isn’t he?”

“Refrigeration,” Henry said.

I gulped. “Refrigeration?”

“Uh-huh, good-size company, too. But he retired and now he works off and on for Callahan and Savage.”

“You don’t say.”

For a minute I reverted to Maddie-land and wondered, how many refrigerators does it take to cool a town?

Back in our room, packing to leave, I had a brainstorm. With Maddie distracted by last-minute computer work (a drag-and-drop interface, she called it), I went into the bathroom. I pulled all of the tissues from the box on the sink and unrolled a long strip of toilet paper. Together they made a wad I hoped was big enough to stop a toilet. Then I threw the wad into the bowl and flushed.

I was surprised that I got it on one try. The water rose to the rim and stayed there.

Oops. Time to call a plumber.

“We’re about to check out,” I told the woman who took my call. “But we still need to… you know.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll send someone right up.”

When the knock came less than five minutes later (something for the plus column on the Duns Scotus evaluation card), Maddie went to answer it. She knew enough to ask who it was and check for my approval first.

“He says he’s a plumber,” she called back.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I forgot to tell you the toilet is plugged up.”

Maddie opened the door. I was relieved to see that Mike the electrician didn’t double as a plumber. Rather, a gentle-looking Enrico introduced himself and entered the room with a large toolbox.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. “This just happened a few minutes ago.” I left out, “by my own hand.”

Enrico looked at the mess and produced an industrial-size plunger and a gallon of something apparently toxic enough to require a skull and crossbones on its container.

I suspected it wasn’t often that Enrico’s clients stood over his shoulder while he worked. “Such a shame, losing your boss yesterday,” I said. The concerned guest.

“Yes, yes, it’s a shame, very sad. A young man, Mr. Bridges.”

“I’m surprised at your quick response to my little problem this morning, since I also heard that someone quit yesterday?”

“Yes, yes, Ben, he walk out with no notice.”

“Was he a plumber, too?”

“No, Ben was what you call a supervisor.”

I laughed. “I’ll bet he didn’t work as hard as you do.”

I tried not to pay too much attention to the details of Enrico’s recovery program at our toilet, but I noticed that he never turned to me, nor did he lose his work rhythm as he talked.

“I wonder if Ben and Mr. Bridges got along. I guess that’s not unusual, though. For a boss and an employee to have disagreements.” No comment from Enrico. “You’re such a good worker, I’ll bet you get along with everyone.”

“I mind my business, you know? But Ben, he’s what you call ambitious.”

“Ah,” I said, with a small tsking sound. “And Mr. Bridges didn’t like that?”

“I mind my business,” Enrico said again. “All done here.” I had the feeling he was referring to more than the plumbing.

Thwarted.

It made sense that the electricians and plumbers of the Duns Scotus wouldn’t share company politics with guests. Too bad for me they all took their training to heart.

Enrico stood up and did a test flush. All went smoothly. Next time I’d have to create a bigger problem. All I’d gotten from this little exercise was news of Ben Dobson’s ambitious streak and his position as supervisor.

Enrico packed up his tools and glanced back at Maddie, still deep in the computer zone. “Gotta watch these kids, huh?”

I smiled and threw up my hands. “What are you going to do?”

I didn’t tell Maddie she’d been blamed for a problem she knew nothing about.

“You didn’t get to see my apartment building that Grandpa made me when you were in the shop last time, Mrs. Porter. You should come by and see it.”

That was Taylor, trying to prolong her departure from Maddie as we piled our two cars with duffels and garment bags.

I couldn’t believe we’d spent the better part of a weekend in San Francisco without seeing any of the sights outside the hotel. No Golden Gate Park, no Coit Tower, no Ghirardelli sundae, no ferry to the redwoods of Marin. Not even a cable car ride to the bay. Checking into things here and there, though not all that productive, had eaten up all the time I’d had in between reunion events. Not to mention having my personal space violated a couple of times.

I needed a new hobby.

Maddie took a turn at securing the four-way friendship. “My grandma has lots of crafts rooms, Mr. Baker. You should see the furniture she has.”

“We get it,” I said.

“And we like it,” Henry added.

I felt a twinge of pleasure. Because Henry might be able to help me figure out connections between Mellace Construction and the Callahan and Savage refrigeration business.

That was the only reason.

Chapter 10

We left the San Francisco skyline and the clanging cable cars behind and drove home to Lincoln Point, Maddie now happily old enough and heavy enough to sit in the front passenger seat and not relegated to the second-class, as she thought of it, backseat. My pangs of guilt intensified as the wharf and Ferry Building, along with Ghirardelli’s earthquake sundae receded. I resolved to take Maddie back for a fun-only weekend.

“I’m ready for an update,” Maddie said, her posture erect, eyes straight ahead.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” As if I hadn’t heard her.

She twisted to face me. “C’mon, Grandma. Do you think I don’t know why I was dropped in the water so many times?”

“You make it sound brutal. Like child abuse. I thought you liked the hotel pool. Wasn’t Taylor with you a lot of the time?”

“Yeah. But she’s a little young and I didn’t want to talk to her too much about the case.”

“Isn’t she the same age as you?”

Maddie grinned. “I’m four months older. I did most of the case stuff on my own.”

My granddaughter made a criminal investigation sound like child’s play, like making miniature furniture or wallpapering dollhouse rooms. “What kind of case stuff did you do?” I asked her, gritting my teeth. Images of her parents scolding me loomed before me.

“The Lincolnite is lame,” Maddie said, referring to our once-weekly newspaper. “They don’t even have their own website. They’re just online with a whole lot of other small newspapers so you only get a summary, not full stories, and you don’t get to see any archives. But I read a little about the case. I know the man’s body was found in the woods out past the high school, and he was beaten.”

I didn’t like hearing crime scene words from my granddaughter. I felt irresponsible that I didn’t monitor her computer use more carefully. Or at all. That I didn’t know a lot about how to do that was no excuse. Standing over her shoulder, instead of wandering around as if I had a PI license, would work.