Free Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A

meeting?”
    Hudson's bushy white eyebrows shot up. “Is that what you heard and saw?” He pointed to the newspaper. “This councilwoman told this lawyer to argue against the takeover?”
    “That's right.”
    He took a brownie and sat back. “All right. I need details.”
    I felt the fear of the chill start to lift from my heart as I threw myself into telling the story of how I'd been walking Captain Patch and noticed Coralee's car and figured out the license plate and started sniffing around. And let me tell you, I gathered a good head of steam telling himhow ol' Fanny Flag told Esquire Eyes that it was a
good
thing that the Stones didn't want to sell and how he started worrying and she started insisting. By the time I was describing how she'd snuck out the back door to get to her car, my mouth was like a runaway train, and when I finally put the brakes on and quit talking, I didn't feel the chill at all anymore.
    I felt good.
    Hudson, though, just sat there chewing endlessly on a bite of brownie.
    So finally, I said, “See? It doesn't make any sense. But I heard what I heard and I saw what I saw, and it wasn't out of context or anything else, in case that's what you're wondering.”
    “No, no. I'm not wondering that.” He shook his head, and for the first time since I'd met him, he looked stumped. “I'm wondering why she would say that when the more expensive the project becomes to the taxpayer, the worse the project — and Ms. Lyon — looks to the community.”
    “What do you mean, the more expensive it becomes?”
    “Well, when the city was acquiring land for the mall, some of the homeowners didn't like the amount of money they were being offered. So the homeowners sued, and a lot of them wound up with substantially more money.”
    “So … so the only reason you'd want to fight city hall is if you
owned
property on Hopper Street.”
    He shrugged. “
Or
if you didn't want the development going in next to your property,
or
if…,” but then hegot what I was saying. He faced me, his eyes opened wide.
    “That's got to be it!” I whispered. “Coralee Lyon owns property on Hopper Street!”
    He shook his head. “But that would be a conflict of interest. Probably even illegal.”
    I jumped up. “I bet she owns that lawyer's office! I bet Leland Hawking is renting from her.”
    Hudson pointed to the newspaper. “But it says that
he
owns that property. That
he's
made a lot of improvements to it.”
    “Well, what if they went in on it together?
Or
what if she owns one of those other houses on Hopper? There are two vacant lots and two run-down houses with wrecked cars all over the yards—we don't know anything about who owns those!”
    Hudson nodded. “If she has
any
financial stake in them, she should have recused herself from the proceedings instead of pushing them along.” He stood up, too, and said, “The truth does have an interesting habit of finding its way to the surface, but in this case I think it could use a little help. And since property ownership is a matter of public record, why don't you go do your dog-walking job and let me see what I can find out.”
    “Really?” I tugged on the leash, waking the Captain, who was snoring under my chair. “You know how to look it up?”
    “I'm going to start by making some phone calls.”
    “Well, when you find something out, call me!” I said, heading down the walkway.
    “Will do!”
    On my way back to Hopper Street it hit me that I wasn't ticked off anymore. I just wanted to get back and tell Mrs. Willawago what we'd figured out. So I ran the whole way, and when I got to the Train House and spotted a white pickup truck in the driveway, I remembered that Mrs. Willawago was talking to a reporter.
    So much the better! I'd tell them both what we suspected.
    I went right in, taking Captain Patch with me. And when I found Mrs. Willawago and the reporter in the living room, I blurted out, “Guess what!”
    But just as their heads are turning to face me,