Free The Chocolate Puppy Puzzle by JoAnna Carl Page A

says it’s nothing.”
    “Ken, I don’t know a thing.”
    He snorted. “And if you did, you wouldn’t tell me.”
    “That’s what friends are for. But I might urge Maggie to tell you.”
    He kicked a locker. “Maggie has the attitude that she’s going to protect poor old innocent Ken. She hates to give me bad news. But bad news is part of the deal for married people.”
    “Ken, I’m not getting in the middle of any communications problems you and Maggie may have.”
    “I know, I know. But she’s such a good actress. . . .” Ken shook his head, kicked the locker again, then walked back into his classroom.
    I felt sorry for any kid who whispered or passed a note that afternoon. Ken might appear meek and mild, but that day I thought he’d be happy to sentence any freshman who sassed him to a trip to the office and a hundred extra algebra problems.
    When I got to Maggie’s classroom, she looked as unhappy as Ken had. A box of tissues was prominently displayed on her desk, and a couple of them had missed the wastebasket.
    “Hidey, Maggie,” I said. When I put on my Texas accent, it always makes Maggie smile, if not laugh, but this time that didn’t work. “What’s going on?”
    Maggie shook her head and looked sadder than ever. She didn’t say anything.
    I pulled a student desk over close to her and squeezed all six feet of me into it. That didn’t make her laugh either. “Okay,” I said. “I want to know why you came in the shop yesterday and asked me if I were on speaking terms with Maia Michaelson.”
    Maggie shook her head, but she didn’t say anything. So I asked another question. “And what do you know about Aubrey Andrews Armstrong?
    “Oh, no!” Maggie finally spoke. Then she got up and closed the classroom door. “Lee, I’m in terrible trouble.”
    “What is it?”
    “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anybody.”
    “Even Ken?”
    “Especially not Ken!”
    I sighed. “Then I’ll have to help you without knowing why you need help.”
    Big tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes. “Lee, I . . .” She quit talking and reached for the tissues.
    “What can I do, Maggie? Tell Maia to jump in the deep end of Lake Michigan?”
    “I wish. I’ve got to warn Maia—I guess I’ve got to warn everybody—about that so-called Hollywood producer. But I don’t know how to do it.”
    “How about saying something direct? ‘Folks, this guy is a stranger. Don’t give him any money until we can check him out.’ ”
    Maggie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t need to check him out. I know he’s a crook.”
    “Then tell Chief Jones.”
    “No! No! If I tell—well, Aubrey will tell.”
    I sat back in my desk. “Oh.” Maggie and I stared at each other.
    Whoops! So Maggie had some secret in her past, and Aubrey Andrews Armstrong knew what it was. I was speechless with surprise.
    On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. The Maggie I knew was efficient and street-smart, the epitome of the gal who knew all the angles. And at thirty-five she’d outgrown the kid stage of her life. But no one is born street-smart. When Maggie was twenty and just as dumb as the rest of us were at that age, she had gone to Hollywood.
    Whoops.
    Maggie shredded her tissue. “I guess you’ve figured out that I . . . ran into him when I was in California.”
    My heart went out to her. And I felt a slight sense of—well, maybe it was pride. Pride that I was the one Maggie turned to when she needed a friend. I couldn’t let her down.
    “We were all young and dumb once, pal,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me about those creepy guys who hang around casting offices and beauty pageants. I understand. And, Maggie, I bet Ken would understand, too.”
    She shook her head violently. “No! Ken’s good. He thinks I’m good, too. I just can’t tell him I . . .”
    A lot of Maggie’s sentences were ending in the middle.
    “Okay,” I said, trying to sound brisk. “Recrimination time is over. Our