Free White Elephant Dead by Carolyn G. Hart Page A

the world in search of a miniature pig playing a saxophone and wearing a porkpie hat, only to receive it in time for Laurel’s birthday and be greeted with a sweet smile. “Dear Annie, so kind of you.” A vague wave of a beautifully formed hand with the palest of pink nail polish. “Those little dears are somewhere about. Yesterday I awoke and looked out my window and do you know what I saw?” Annie had doubted if the scene included pigs playing instruments. Laurel’s smile was beguiling. “I saw flowers. It was simply an epiphany. What speaks to us? Life, my dear. And what tells us more about ourselves and our world than glorious flowers?”
    “Talking flowers,” Annie blurted now at her husband’s back.
    “No, no. It was pigs—Wait a minute, Annie.” Max jolted to a stop.
    Annie’s wheel swerved and she skidded into a fern that showered her with moisture.
    Something moved in the brush to their right. Branches thrashed. Max swung the pencil beam. A raccoon paused a few feet from them, his intelligent eyes surveying them calmly. Then he turned and loped away.
    “Wonder if he’d loan us a mask.” Annie loved the quick, confident creatures. She was smiling as they wound through the rest of the forest preserve. But a mask wouldn’t be a big help if they got caught. She doubted Chief Garrett would cut them any slack. Would Frank Saulter provide character references from deep in a rain forest?
    It was easier going once they were out of the preserve. The trail wound past St. Mary’s Church, its parking lot empty, the asphalt shiny from the recent rain. Tendrils of fog wreathed the steeple. They followed another trail past soccer and baseball fields and reached the edge of Main Street. All the businesses were shuttered except for Parotti’s. Bright red neon along the roof line bathed the nearly full, foggy parking lot in a pinkish glow. Keeping to the far sideof the road, they pedaled fast and within a half block were again in darkness. The rutted dirt road curved inland, out of sight of the bar and grill. Tall pines pressed to the edge of the road.
    Annie rolled to a stop. “I see some kind of light,” she whispered.
    Max’s answer was equally soft. “Let’s leave the bikes here.” Shielding his light, he flicked it briefly off the road. “Behind those palmettos.”
    While Max stashed the bikes, Annie used her light to scuff around and build up a pile of sticks on the road to mark the hiding place for the bikes. It wasn’t high-tech but she had no intention of walking home. She tucked the flashlight in her pocket.
    They moved quickly, Annie stumbling once in a deep rut. Max caught her before she fell. A dim glow came ever nearer. Annie gripped Max’s arm. “It’s the front window of the shop.” That was the only glimmer of light. The two-story wooden building sat by itself, tucked into a grove of towering pines. There was an empty turnaround just past the store.
    They reached the deep shadow of the pines about ten feet from the front steps. An owl shrieked, a wild scream that resounded in the clearing. A chuck-will’s-widow skimmed past, looking for flying insects. But there was no other movement, no other sound. The wooden steps creaked beneath their weight. Annie fished in her pockets for her gloves. Max pulled on his gloves and they eased up to the plate-glass window.
    In the back of the long narrow room, crowded with tables and dishes, a single unshaded bulb dangled from the ceiling.
    The light went out.
    Annie clutched Max’s arm. “Who turned it off? Max, what—”
    “Shh. Hurry. Over here.” He hustled Annie to the side of the porch. As they jumped to the ground, he pointed ata rain barrel. “Hide behind it. See if anyone comes out the front way. I’ll go around to the back.”
    He was gone before she could protest, before she could remind him to be careful, to be very careful. No one had any business in Kathryn Girard’s apartment and she doubted anyone else was there in response to a