Free Gone with the Wool by Betty Hechtman Page B

had a long night. I offered to make us some cocoa. I used the instant packet kind but added milk instead of water.
    â€œThanks,” he said when I handed him a steaming mug. “By the way, my folks really liked your place.”
    â€œThey did not,” I said. I knew them better than he thought. “How much did you let them look around?” I thought of my bedroom and the unmade bed. Then I considered the absurdity of being upset if his mother thought I was a bad housekeeper.
    â€œOkay, maybe what they said was it would be nice as a getaway place for a weekend. And don’t worry, I kept them away from the bedroom.”
    There was an
and
coming, and I knew what it was. “Let’s just cut to the chase. You want to know if you can stay here while your parents are in town, right?”
    His whole demeanor brightened, and he reached over and hugged me. “Case, like I always say, you’re the only one who gets me. See, you know what I want before I even ask.”
    â€œBut it will have to be in the guest house,” I said.
    â€œFine, great, no problem,” he said, seeming seriously relieved. “They won’t stay long. Probably just a day or so. They can’t stay the whole week.” He seemed suddenly worried again.
    â€œI’m sure they’ll be gone before the weekend,” I reassured him. “And before they find out you’re working as a professional magician.”
    â€œThat sounds so good when you say it.” His face lit up, and he hugged me again. “Case, you really are the only one whounderstands. If there is ever anything I can do for you . . .” He looked hopeful. “You don’t even have to ask—the answer would always be yes.”
    I drained the cocoa and was about to suggest he go to the guest quarters when I realized he had no idea what had happened at Vista Del Mar.
    I filled him in quickly, including the fact that some people were blaming Rosalie’s chili for the loss of the football game. Sammy knew all about that. He was already deeply entrenched in the town and had gone to the game.
    â€œWow, everyone was sure bummed when those two players got sick,” he said. “But stabbing Rosalie Hardcastle over it seems a little extreme. Still, small towns go crazy about their local teams.”
    â€œBut could they have gotten food poisoning from her chili, or from something else they ate?” Sammy’s specialty was urology, but he had to know about other medical stuff as well.
    â€œIt possibly could have been the chili if it was left out for a long time, or if some of the meat wasn’t cooked enough, but most likely it would have come from some kind of contamination after it was made.” He started to go through the different kinds of bacteria that could cause a problem, and I tuned out. The really troubling question was, could my muffins have been the source? I interrupted him.
    â€œSomeone yelled out it was the corn muffins I brought.”
    â€œOh,” Sammy said. “Well, if the eggs had salmonella and the muffins weren’t cooked enough that could have been it.”
    â€œThey were cooked enough,” I said quickly. I was upset with his answer. I wanted him to say it was impossible for the muffins to be the problem.
    â€œCase, you know it might not have been food poisoning at all. They could have just picked up a norovirus.”
    â€œBut is there a way to prove what it was?” I asked, and Sammy thought for a minute.
    â€œIf there was anything left over from the food, they could send samples to a lab.” Suddenly Sammy got why I was asking. “You think someone is going to come after you next?” He adjusted himself so he was sitting taller. “Maybe it’s good I’ll be staying here. I’ll be like your bodyguard.” He glanced around. “If it would make you feel safer, I can stay in here with you.”

8

    It was funny—I could