“It’s version two,” she said, as if that meant anything to me.

“As long as you’re having a good time and learning a lot,” I said, resorting to generalities.

“You’ll see when we have our big demonstration at the end,” Maddie said, with a grin. “It will be like a crafts show.”

“Smarty,” I said. Too bad tickling was an unsafe driving practice.

We’d agreed it would be a good idea to stop at home as soon as we got to Lincoln Point, to replenish the food supplies in the picnic cooler. This habit had a little to do with economizing but more to do with being sure Maddie had food she would eat. I was afraid the gourmet restaurants of San Francisco would be lost on her and leave her hungry. Except for the “food” at the Ghirardelli chocolate factory, where we’d taken her when she was about two years old, but not since. At the time, the whole family shared one serving of Ghirardelli’s famous earthquake sundae, in which “cracks” in scoops of ice cream are filled with whipped cream, nuts, and cherries.

The more I thought about it, the more eager I was to return to San Francisco this afternoon. We’d have time for a Ghirardelli stop before the banquet. I wanted to see Maddie’s face this time when the enormous sundae arrived at our table. And I wanted to dig into it myself.

But an exciting groundbreaking ceremony in Lincoln Point had to come first.

Chapter 4

The noontime groundbreaking ceremony in our hometown was to launch the construction of the new athletic field and stadium for ALHS. Personally, I’d been pulling for a remodel of the old wing of the library instead, but the majority on the city council had ruled otherwise. “Alumni don’t show up for National Library Week in the numbers that they do for a high school football game,” went the argument.

I’d seen the plans for the facility in the Lincolnite. At the entrance would be an archway that was trying to be much too grand for Lincoln Point. My architect husband would have agreed with me that such structures belonged only in Rome, Paris, or New York City’s West Village, where they already were. I was also less than thrilled about the ornamentation on the arch, which was of a frowning cartoon feline. I knew the idea was to tie the school mascot to Abraham Lincoln, like everything else in the town, but Abe was said to have loved stray kittens, not angry cats. Besides, everyone knew that his favorite pet was Fido, the family dog.

I supposed I should have been grateful that the artist hadn’t given the growling, fanged cat a beard and a stove-pipe hat.

Maddie and I joined the crowd on the field, entering from the edge of the parking lot closest to our civic center. A large sign that I’d passed many times, but never paid much attention to, announced that the project would be carried out by Mellace Construction Co., of Lincoln Point. I was glad the business would stay in town.

The sun beat down, the only breezes created by tri-fold programs waving in front of individual faces. At this distance we couldn’t see the ceremonial shovel, but the image on the program showed a gold-plated shovel with a large maroon-and-gold bow to match the school colors. Balloons of the same colors dotted the area. At the entrance to the grounds were baskets of yellow-frosted cookies in the shape of hard hats. A sign in front of them read, Compliments of the Football Mothers.

I’d often contributed to school baking projects, but not one of this magnitude. If the Lincolnite predictions were correct, there would be more than a thousand people attending the ceremony today. That was a lot of oven time, and in very hot weather.

I hadn’t paid attention to all the details of the project, so this was my first clue as to exactly where the new field and stadium would be located-across Civic Drive from the complex of city buildings. I wondered about the wisdom of situating a noise-generating stadium, with most likely a state-of-the-art PA system, across from the library, but unless I was willing to serve on political committees, I had no right to complain.

We expected a presentation shortly by principal Frank Thayer, our cocktail companion of last night, and probably a few words from Lincoln Point’s mayor and council members, as well as past and present faculty and student leaders. (Read: the coaches and student athletes.)

Cliques aside, I’d enjoyed my years on the ALHS faculty and I was proud of the students I taught. As with the party at the Duns Scotus, today I derived great pleasure from all the greetings of “Hi, Mrs. Porter, nice to see you.” The short visits peppered the half hour while we waited on folding chairs for the official first turning over of dirt.

“Poor Mrs. Norman,” Maddie said at one point. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

As usual when there were tough grown-up issues in play, I wondered how much Maddie knew and how she was handling it.

“She had a serious disappointment,” I told her. “I’m sure she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“My dad would say, ‘As long as it’s not life-threatening, you should get over it.’”

It seemed like a good rule to me.

A John Philip Sousa march rang out from my purse. My ring tone of choice for the summer. It was one of many cell phones that rang intermittently around the great lawn, so I wasn’t as embarrassed as I might have been otherwise. I was proud that I’d learned how to program my cell phone ring tone and was no longer at the mercy of my tech-savvy granddaughter. I even took the trouble to change it according to the season.

I clicked the phone on.

“Aunt Gerry? Are you at the high school ceremony?” Skip asked me, with no prelude.

“Yes.”

“Is your friend Rosie Norman with you?”

“No. Are you calling from Seattle?”

“Do you know where she is right now?”

“No, I don’t. I suppose she might be in this crowd.” I stretched my neck and scanned the crowd. Being tall has its advantages at times like this, but given Rosie’s small stature, it didn’t help me much in this gathering. “I don’t see her. We left the Duns Scotus before she did this morning. Why are you looking for her?”

“I thought I’d give you a heads-up. One of the BMOCs in your reunion group was found dead this morning.”

“BM-”

“You know, Big Man On Campus. David Bridges.”

My throat went dry. I thought everyone in my vicinity would notice how my knees had become weak. I cupped my hand over my mouth, conscious of Maddie at my side. Happily, Henry Baker and Taylor were approaching and were a distraction for her. Maddie had made sure to save seats for them, and had been on the lookout for her new friend.

“David Bridges is dead?” I whispered the question to Skip.

“Okay, well, I guess that’s it,” he said. “I knew you were traveling with Rosie to the reunion so I thought you might know her whereabouts.”

“Whereabouts” sounded much too official to suit me. “Where are you, Skip?”

“I flew in early this morning. Glad to be back in the sun. It rains even in August in Seattle.”

“Why are you asking about Rosie’s whereabouts?”

As if I didn’t know. Nephew or not, when a homicide detective tells you about a death, probably the next person he mentions has either been murdered or is a key suspect.

“You’ll hear an announcement about Bridges’s death pretty soon,” Skip said, avoiding my question. “We’ve alerted Frank Thayer.”

How? Where? Who? Why? came rushing to my lips.

“You have to tell me something, Skip. You called me, after all.”

Skip answered, albeit only the simple questions. “Bridges was bludgeoned to death with his trophy, but even though the body turned up in Lincoln Point, we’re not sure yet where it happened. Do me a favor, Aunt Gerry, and just forget everything for now, okay?”