Free Murder on the Candlelight Tour by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page A

way it was Binkie. Jon's little talk with Binkie on Sunday evening had revealed nothing new. Binkie was sticking to his story: he didn't kill Sheldon, he didn't know who did, and Sheldon had robbed the Atlantic Coast Line's payroll in 1960.
    On my "To Do" list was a meeting with Betty and Wayne Matthews. Wayne would possess all the facts about the payroll robbery. But, alas, the Matthews were on a winter holiday in Palm Beach and I'd have to wait two weeks to see them. If Nick hadn't reverted to his pigheaded cop's role again, he could help me. But knowing him, he'd balk at a suggestion that there might be a connection between Sheldon and the robbery, especially if that suggestion came from Binkie and me.
    While sitting at the interminable stoplight on College Road, a sporty red Mustang convertible drew up alongside my car on the left. I glanced over. If I'd been fitted with dentures, they'd have dropped in my lap. Earl Flynn. Speak of the devil. And here I was pegging him for Sheldon's murder.
    I averted my face and fiddled with the radio dial in case he looked my way. Some instinct told me not to let him see me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck were saluting, and my adrenalin was pumping like mad. Here was my opportunity to observe Flynn undetected. All those Nancy Drew books I'd consumed in junior high school had made a first rate detective out of me.
    The Mustang set off with tires spinning. I let one car follow, then swung in behind it. Flynn was an impatient driver--must be the result of driving those L.A. freeways--for he veered in and out of traffic at every opening, gaining a whole car length each time he did. Then we'd get to a red light and he'd be stuck with the rest of us slow pokes.
    After a while I fell back a bit, just keeping a sharp eye on the silver-haired speedster. At Fifth Street, Flynn made a sharp right turn into the historic district. I trailed behind, allowing a pickup truck to drive in between us. Here on Fifth Street, traffic moved slower. This was my turf. I wasn't going to lose Flynn. I knew the district like I knew the inside of my house.
    The red car hooked a left on Palace Street. I dogged it. There was no need for me to worry about being seen now. I lived just blocks away; I had every right to be cruising my own neighborhood. But what was Flynn doing here?
    Without signaling, he whipped into the curb alongside the four abandoned, derelict bungalows that were for sale. Now I was really curious. There was no place for me to park without being seen so I cruised past Flynn, and he didn't notice me. I drove around the block, pulling into a parking space on the side street. From here I had a good view of the four houses and Flynn's red car.
    While I'd been around the block, a black Mercedes had joined Flynn's car at the curb. Flynn and the other driver were nowhere to be seen, but they had to be nearby. I settled in to wait. Within minutes, Flynn and another man appeared from around the side of one of the houses. They stopped, and the other man lifted his arm, pointing skyward.
    What a perplexing vignette. What possible interest could Earl Flynn have in four tumbledown houses just outside the historic district? And even more perplexing, why was Joel Fox interested too?
    They tramped around in the tall grass, and I pulled out my new cell phone and pressed a button. The female who resides inside my cell phone said, "Name, please." Why does she always sound so irritable? I told her distinctly, "Melanie Cell," and in a nanosecond her cell phone was ringing.
    "Melanie Wilkes," she answered smartly, prepared for any client. When she heard my voice, her tone became as irritable as the mechanical voice in my cell phone. "Ashley, it's only been twenty minutes. Can't you do anything without me?"
    "Oh, stop having a hissy fit and answer a question for me. What do you know about the four bungalows that are for sale on Palace Street?"
    "Palace Street?" Melanie repeated. "Why are you interested in that