Free To Helvetica and Back by Paige Shelton Page B

want to go with me?”
    I’d never seen a goat relocation before. “Sure. Are you outside the Word?”
    â€œI am. I’ll wait for you.
Hasta
.” She hung up.
    â€œThat was Jodie,” I said. “She heard from Creighton and she’d like some company. This is terribly rude, but do you mind if I go with her?”
    â€œNo, go, tell her about the numbers. Tell her to take the credit for seeing them before. He’ll be mad she didn’t tell him earlier, but still . . .”
    â€œI will.”
    Mirabelle walked me to the door and we hugged, but she was clearly distracted.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I said, thinking maybe I should stay with her instead.
    â€œI’m trying to remember more about my No. 5. Why can’t I remember?”
    â€œMirabelle, I can’t remember what I did last week.”
    â€œRight, but, well, I can’t help but think I’m forgetting something important. Go, go with Jodie so I can have some time with my thoughts. I’ll call you if I remember.”
    â€œOkay.” I turned to leave but turned around again. “You sure?”
    â€œGo, Clare,” Mirabelle said as she scooted me out of the house and then shut the door behind me.
    Mirabelle’s street was just around the corner from Bygone Alley. I walked down the sidewalk in front of Mirabelle’s and turned onto Bygone, meeting up with Jodie only a few minutes after saying good-bye to Mirabelle.
    Jodie stood in front of the store and was in civilian clothing, which was a surprise. In fact, she wore jeans and a T-shirt that was destined to soon hit the rag pile. The thin white cotton wasn’t really all that white anymore.
    â€œWe’re not official?” I said as I gave her a once-over. I was far from a fashionista and my clothes were frequently spotted with ink, but even I knew it was better not to wear grungy T-shirts after the age of seventeen. Jodie struggled with these sorts of things, but her choices today were an even bigger surprise than normal.
    â€œYou’re never official,” was all she said.
    â€œGood point.”
    â€œI’m off duty until later. I have my badge and gun, but I think that a pack of goat-moving motorcycle riders might be more apt to talk to me if I’m not in uniform.”
    â€œAnother good point. Who’s driving?”
    â€œI am. Come on.” She turned and walked to her old Bronco. She was not in a good mood and I knew why, but I also knew she would prefer to be grumpy than talk about it.
    I hopped into the passenger side and buckled up.
    â€œSo, tell me about this goat relocation project,” I said.
    Her grimace perked up to a look of tolerance. “It’s all about the ecosystem. Goats, wolves, hunter, prey. The project’s causing an uproar in some circles; other circles are pretty pleased. They are mountain goats and about fifty of them are being moved to the La Sal range down south a ways. Apparently, there used to be goats there, but there aren’t any longer and we have way too many roaming around Polygamy Springs Valley. They’re bringing other more vicious animals to the area. Specifically mountain lions.”
    â€œThe people living out there are upset?”
    â€œThe wildlife people are concerned that if the mountain lions go there, they’ll just keep moving closer to Star City. The canyon is a gateway canyon.” Jodie laughed at her own joke. She was coming out of her funk.
    â€œGuess what?” I said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI know something about the typewriter key bars that Creighton might not have discovered yet.”
    â€œOh?”
    After I told her what I’d found, she pulled out her cell phone and called her brother.
    â€œTake credit. Say you saw them when you were there yesterday and you just hadn’t put it in your notes yet,” I said.
    Jodie smiled my direction and said, “Thanks, Clare, but I can’t do that. Creighton