Free A Most Curious Murder by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

yard.” She thought a moment. “But are those just lies?”
    Jenny shook her head vehemently.
    Zoe spouted, “‘The Dodo says the Hunter tells lies, but who believes a Dodo? Dodos don’t exist. So the Hunter says the March Hare tells lies. We know he’s barking mad. The March Hare says both of them are lying so who can ever figure out the truth?’ I wouldn’t worry, Jenny. If anyone should ask you what you’re doing, just give them a blank look, think of the poor March Hare, and demand your rights.”
    “What rights?”
    “Oh, the right to stick your nose in wherever it can go. The right to look for buried books in anyone’s backyard.” Shethought hard. “The right to be a sleepwalker and go wherever your dream takes you. All of those and so much more.”
    Jenny laughed. “I plan to do that, Zoe, exercise my rights. And if I find a little bottle, I’ll drink it down, and then I’ll either hide in the policeman’s socks or I will lift one foot and step on him—depending on the direction of the drink.”
    Zoe beamed, her face settling into a happy moon. “Now you’re getting the idea. That’s wonderful, Jenny. You’re learning how the world really works.” Zoe clapped her hands. “Maybe a little bit of magic after all.”
    Jenny grinned and went off to her room, stepping high as, behind her, Zoe’s happy face fell back to sadness.

Chapter 11
    She saw the yellow notice on the back door and decided she’d better read it—in case her basket of lies wasn’t protection enough from the law.
    She climbed the back steps cautiously, hoping a policeman in full uniform—flat hat and all, nightstick at his side, gun drawn—wouldn’t open the door and jump out at her.
    The yellow paper said no one was to enter the premises without permission of the Bear Falls Police Department. She frowned and wondered what the word “premises” covered. Only the house? The yard and all surrounding territories? She chose to exercise her right to look for buried books in anyone’s backyard and hurried to part the weeds at the back of the property, searching the ground, hoping for anything but the body of a little dog.
    She moved to the leaning shed at the very back of his overgrown yard. The old building hadn’t seen a coat of paint since she was a little girl. She pushed the half-opened door with her shoulder. Inside, the air smelled of musk and raw earth. Packed straw from old birds’ nests and leaves blown in a dozen autumns ago littered the shadowed dirt floor. On top of a crooked workbenchlay a dusty array of rusted hand tools: a saw, an awl, two trowels, and a set of wrenches—all fated for the place old tools go to die.
    Beside the tools stood a crooked oil lamp with a dust-covered glass shade in what looked to be an intricately set mosaic pattern. Tiffany , she thought, then got her mind back to what she’d come for.
    Everything was beaten down, dead looking, and undisturbed. No new grave in there.
    Jenny shut the door the best she could behind her and started a slow walk back and forth, across the center of the yard. She stepped hard as she walked, testing for soft ground underfoot. She made her way over the furrows of an abandoned vegetable garden and then out to what must have once been a well-kept lawn.
    “Hey, there!” a voice called from the back porch of the house on the other side of Adam’s. “Whatcha doing? You from the newspaper?”
    The large man in a T-shirt with a big, red heart on it leaned over the railing of his slightly crooked back porch. Jenny choked her panic back and smiled as he gestured at her with the beer bottle he held. “I can help ya.”
    “No,” she said. “Not from a newspaper. I’m just looking for something.”
    “Oh.” His face fell. “I could have given you a quote or two about my neighbor there, Adam Cane. Knew him. Didn’t like him. If you’re not a reporter, then whatcha looking for?” The man took a long swig of the beer, set it on the railing, and waited for