Free Blindfold by Diane Hoh

terrifying moment in the dark, airless passageway beneath the courthouse when the ceiling had collapsed. She wasn't ready to deal with those thoughts yet. And now she had the sheriff's weird suspicions to worry about, too. Although Scout was probably right. The building was so old. "We'll sit out on the back porch. I can rest there. That should get me into shape for the fund-raiser tonight."
    Whit looked interested. "What fund-raiser?"
    Maggie let Lane answer. "The Women's Heritage Society is holding a bazaar on the grounds of the old courthouse to raise money for the refurbishing. That's this week. Next week, it's a party at the new courthouse, when they put the statue of Lady Justice up on the roof. That sounds like a lot more
    fun to me than some dumb bazaar where old women will be selling fattening cakes and cookies, ratty old wicker furniture, and horrible little ceramic figurines. ,,
    Alex nodded. "They'll be selling red lampshades with fringe, too, I bet. My grandmother has one."
    Scout pulled up in his Jeep. Everyone piled in. Maggie hopped into the front seat, then suddenly cried, "The van! I forgot all about it. It's still in the school parking lot. I can't leave it there."
    "We'll get it!" Lane was in the backseat, crammed in with Alex, Whit, and Helen. "Give me the keys. Whit and I will go collect it and bring it to your house. Scout can take us back to Whit's car later."
    In the front seat, Maggie's teeth clenched. "Whit and J"? Fast work, even for Lane.
    "Sure," Whit agreed heartily. "Be glad to. I'll drive. Lane can navigate, since I don't know where you live, Maggie."
    Scout was only too happy to stop the Jeep and let Whit and Lane out.
    Maggie watched as they ran up Fourth Street. That yachting cap on Lane's head, she thought darkly, is just about the stupidest thing I've ever seen. And what about poor "Scoop," away at college? Stupid nickname. He worked on the college newspaper, so Lane called him Scoop. His real name, Maggie thought, was Paul.
    When the rest of the group was settled on her back porch, the sun just beginning to set, the
    breeze cooling slightly, Helen told Maggie she should call her parents and tell them what had happened. "Your mother probably heard the sirens. Maybe she's worried."
    "I don't know where she is. She and Trudy Newhouse were supposed to collect last-minute items for the bazaar tonight, and I know they were going out to Muleshoe and Arcadia for some antique furniture. Anyway, she's probably back at the courthouse by now, getting things ready for tonight. She'll know all about the collapse, but she won't have a clue that I was there, so why would she worry? I'll bet she's upset, though. This could set her renovating campaign back a lot?
    "Maybe they won't have the bazaar now," Helen said. She was sitting on the top porch step, her back against the railing, her eyes narrowed against the last rays of the setting sun. "I mean, after what happened." Her head turned, and her eyes focused on Maggie, lying on the white wooden swing, her head resting on a huge green-and-white-striped pillow, her feet propped on the swing's other arm. Her injured arm was lying against her chest. "What if the sheriff was right?" Helen asked quietly. "I mean," she added hastily, "not that I think he was. But what if? Who do we know that would want to do that to us?"
    "Well, first of all," Maggie said, "I think the sheriff is as bored with Felicity as the rest of us, and he's just trying to create a little excitement. Second, even if there was someone down there kicking beams and making ceilings collapse, he or she
    might not have known that was us down there. He couldn't have seen us, because we certainly couldn't see him. Maybe . . . maybe it was an inspector or something, checking out the soundness of the building."
    "He would have had a flashlight, Maggie. And he would have hung around afterward," said Helen.
    True. And with that inescapable fact came another: Maggie remembered almost running into James