Free The Chocolate Puppy Puzzle by JoAnna Carl

outside I revealed my deepest wish to Hogan. “I don’t suppose VanDam could arrange to arrest Aubrey Andrews Armstrong for homicide?”
    Hogan grinned. “We’d all love for Silas to have been killed by an outsider, wouldn’t we? And he might have been. But I’m afraid there’s not much chance it was Armstrong. He’s got a great alibi.”
    “Aunt Nettie?”
    “Partly. But Sarajane Harding—you know, at the Peach Street B&B—was making cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins in her kitchen from four p.m. until six forty-five. The kitchen overlooks her parking lot. She’s willing to swear Armstrong’s SUV never moved the whole time. In fact, for about a half hour he and the pup were in her backyard, having a training session.”
    “And she could see him all the time?”
    “Right. He left at six forty-five, and Nettie says he got to her house at seven, right on the button. Not much time to stop and kill someone on the way.”
    I sighed and went to the office. The first thing I did, as usual, was check the e-mail. I was excited when I saw I had a reply from the Michigan State Film Office. I wasn’t so excited after I read it. It was one of those notices that the e-mail recipient was away from her office for several days and would reply when she could.
    Then I got a phone call from Tracy, asking about the time of her appointment for a haircut. I fudged on that one. “I wasn’t able to get hold of Angie last night,” I said. I didn’t explain I had forgotten to try. “I’ll phone her right now.”
    “I got excused from English to call you,” Tracy said. “I have play practice after school, but I’ll try to call again after sixth hour. Or you could leave a message in the office.”
    I promised to do that, because her call reminded me of a bit of business I wanted to do at the high school. I wanted to ask Maggie McNutt why she had come into TenHuis Chocolade the afternoon before, very upset over something to do with Aubrey Andrews Armstrong. But Maia had come in, and I’d never gotten to quiz Maggie about just what upset her. I suspected that she knew something specific about Aubrey. I was curious. So an hour later I parked in the visitor’s slot at Warner Pier High School and Junior High, locked my van, and headed for the front door with two notes in my pocket—one for Maggie and one for Tracy.
    Warner Pier is a town of only twenty-five hundred, so our junior high and high school share an auditorium, cafeteria, and gym, with separate wings for the two levels of classes. The building is a standard redbrick, one-story model, with a driveway for buses on the south side. The office, administrative headquarters for both secondary levels, is right at the main door. A student helper took the note I’d written for Tracy—her haircut appointment was at five o’clock—then took the one I’d written for Maggie McNutt.
    “I can put Mrs. McNutt’s note in her box,” the student said. “But if you want to talk to her, this is her free period.”
    “Good idea,” I said. The student used the intercom to make sure Maggie was in her classroom, then told me which way to go, and I started down the indicated hallway toward the speech and drama classroom. But I’d gone only halfway when a voice behind me called my name. I turned to see Ken McNutt emerging from his classroom. He was as scrawny and colorless as ever, but his thin hair, usually oppressively neat, was ruffled.
    He spoke abruptly. “Lee, do you know what’s eating Maggie?”
    “No.” I spoke first, thought later. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted I knew anything was bothering Maggie. “She came by the shop yesterday, but we couldn’t talk. Why do you think something’s worrying her?”
    “Maggie and I have known each other since we were the age of this freshman algebra class. We don’t usually kid each other. When she begins to use drama techniques on me, I know she’s upset.”
    “Have you asked her what’s wrong?”
    “Of course I have. She