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  “The statue,” I said. “When I talked to her, she sounded really bitter about the restaurant. There was a lot of anger there. And some jealousy, maybe? I don't know.”

  “You think Charlotte stole the statute?” He sounded incredulous.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I'm trying to come up with people who might have a reason to take it. And like it or not, she's on that list. She seemed upset enough to do something like that.”

  Mikey folded his arms across his chest. “No. No way. She’s my sister. Blood. And she might be hurt over all of this and too proud for her own good, but she wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “But—”

  “No. I know my sister. She wouldn’t do that to me.” He shook his head. “No way.”

  He was adamant in his belief, and I could tell he wasn’t willing to consider her a suspect.

  I nodded and tried not to sigh. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get very far if he automatically ruled out potential suspects. But I was willing to set Charlotte aside for the moment.

  “Alright, so we should rule her out,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Mikey said firmly. “She’s spent a ton of time over here during the last few weeks helping us get this place ready. There’s no way she would do something to sabotage me or this restaurant.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. I didn’t know Charlotte had helped out. If she’d been intent on destroying her brother’s chance of success, why would she invest her own time in helping him prepare? If she were truly nefarious, she might have done it so the fall would be even harder, but that seemed too over the top for her. It seemed as if she'd been vacillating between being angry over being cut out of the will and trying to help her brother. She was his sister, after all.

  Perhaps Mikey was right. Perhaps Charlotte shouldn’t be considered a suspect.

  But I could see someone else who should still be on the list. Someone who didn’t seem to have any qualms when it came to her actions or worrying about what people thought of her.

  “What about Dawn?” I asked.

  Mikey grabbed both empty plates and walked them to the industrial-sized dishwasher. He stacked them in one of the crates, then turned back around to face me. I could read his expression perfectly.

  “You think Dawn did it?” he asked. He didn’t sound surprised or confused; he sounded defeated.

  “I don't think anyone specifically did it yet, but I think it’s a possibility,” I said carefully. “She was pretty angry about you leaving.”

  He snorted. “You could say that again.”

  “And we know what her temper is like. And that she can be...vindictive.”

  “I can’t argue with any of that,” Mikey said.

  I forced another mouthful of coffee down. “So the question is, did she do it? And if she did, where did she hide it?”

  It occurred to me then that maybe she hadn’t hidden it at all. Maybe she’d whacked the thing into a million tiny pieces and scattered it across the countryside. The amount of rage she carried around inside her would support that theory, of wanting to smash it to smithereens.

  “The better question is how she would have stolen it,” Mikey pointed out. “It’s not exactly something you can shove in the back of your car. It’s not like it’s super heavy—I mean, it is, but it’s not like it’s made of concrete—but it is big.” He thought for a moment. “I guess you could rent a trailer or something, but you'd still have to get the thing on there. How would she have done that? One person couldn't have done it by themselves, I don't think.” He looked at me. “Did I tell you how we got it here? To the restaurant?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don't think so.”

  “Circus trailer,” he said.

  “Circus trailer?”

  He nodded. “Uh huh. So Chuck found the thing and when he got the dimensions, we realized we couldn't use a U-Haul or anything like that to get it here. So we started doing some research and Chuck called this guy who does some freight shipping and he suggested a circus trailer. Like, what they move elephants in and stuff.”

  “So, like, a cage?”

  Mikey nodded again. “Exactly. And it barely fit. We had a panic attack when we got down there and we found out it was actually a bull.”

  I squinted at him. “What?”

  “It was actually a bull,” he explained. “When we got to this guy's storage facility, there was this giant bull in the middle of it, with these massive horns on its head. The guy hadn't finished taking the horns off. You know, to turn it into a cow.”

  “So it wasn't custom made?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” Mikey said. “That would've been way too much money. Chuck did some research and he found out that the world's biggest cow was not as big as the world's biggest bull.”

  He was making my head spin.

  “This was actually the world's second biggest bull that we bought. The biggest one is in Mexico City, apparently. But, anyway, he had to take the horns off and do a little cosmetic work.” He shrugged. “And then it was a cow.”

  I wasn't sure what to say to that.

  “So, then we had to get the thing loaded up into this circus trailer,” Mikey said. “We had to hire a guy who had the kind of truck you need to pull one of those trailers, then rent the trailer too. Oh, and a cover for it, so people wouldn't see it. I can’t even remember how many people were there to help get it into that cage. It wasn't easy. And it wasn't cheap by the time we were done. So my point is that if Dawn did this...?” He rubbed his chin. “She would've had to have spent a lot of time and money to make it happen.”

  He had a good point. We were talking about the world’s largest cow statue, after all. It was unbelievable that no one saw it being taken, but I could explain that away, especially if it had occurred in the middle of the night. Winslow was as sleepy of a town as Latney, and even though the sheriff’s office was headquartered there, I knew as well as anyone that this would never be seen as a deterrent to criminal activity; not with the man currently holding the position of sheriff.

  But Mikey’s statement focused on the logistics of moving the statue, actually carting it away. Someone would need some serious equipment to physically take it.

  My shoulders sagged.

  The two women I’d identified as potential suspects might have had the motive to steal the statue, but they certainly didn’t have the means.

  Which meant I was right back to square one.

  ELEVEN

  MIKEY WALKED ME FROM the kitchen to the dining area and stopped cold.

  A man was standing in between two tables, holding a thick folder. I squinted in the low light, trying to figure out if I knew him.

  But he was a stranger, at least to me.

  “Lance,” Mikey said, with a bit of caution in his voice.

  The man gazed unsmilingly at Mikey. He looked to be in his early forties, with thinning brown hair and thick-framed black glasses. Mikey left my side and flipped a switch on the wall, illuminating the space and allowing me a better look at the man standing in front of us.

  There was nothing remarkable about him—average height, average weight, dressed in jeans and work boots—but the t-shirt caught my eye. It was an emerald green, and sported a shamrock. The name “O’Rourke’s” was splayed across his chest.

  It was the name of a restaurant...the restaurant that had formerly occupied the building we were currently standing in.

  Lance held out the folder. “Have those owners manuals I was telling you about.”

  “That was fast,” Mikey said, taking the item from Lance’s outstretched hand. “Thanks for getting them to me.”

  Lance gave a little shrug. “I don’t need them anymore.” He glanced around the restaurant. “So, you just about ready for the big day?”

  Mikey hesitated, and I knew what he was thinking about. The missing statue. “I think so,” he responded carefully. “Still have a few loose ends to tie up.”

  “It looks nice,” Lance said gruffly.


  I cleared my throat. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Mikey glanced at me and then at Lance. “Oh, right,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “Lance, this is my friend Rainy Day. She was one of my best customers at the Wicked Wich. Rainy, this is Lance Larson. He owned O’Rourke’s, the restaurant that was here before...” His voice trailed off.

  “Before I had to shut it down,” Lance finished. He gave me a nod. “I’ve heard about you.”

  I forced a smile. I was getting that a lot lately; first from Chuck, and now from him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a reputation in Winslow as well as Latney.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand to shake and resisting the urge to clear my name. “Your restaurant closed recently, right? I seem to remember it being open last summer.”

  Lance nodded again. “We shut down right after the holidays. Business just wasn’t what it needed to be to stay open. And I had medical bills piling up. “He thrust his shoulder in my direction. “Rotator cuff surgery and then rehab.”

  I gave a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I waited a beat. “So it just closed in January. That’s a pretty quick turnaround, getting it sold and then remodeled.”

  Lance’s expression darkened. “You’re telling me. I was hoping I might have a chance to negotiate some different terms or plead my case with Walter, but he pretty much sold it right from under me.”

  Mikey shifted from one foot to the other, and I could tell the conversation was making him uncomfortable. I didn’t blame him; I was feeling a little uneasy, as well.

  “I’m going to take these to the office,” Mikey said, holding up the folder. “Put them in a safe spot.”

  “Those are for the walk-in freezer, the refrigerator and the dishwasher. I don’t have the manuals for either stove. Not sure where those went. You might be able to find them on the internet if you use the model numbers.”

  Mikey waved a hand. “It’s fine. I appreciate you bringing us what you had.” He looked to me. “You sticking around?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I have work to do.”

  He smiled. “Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  He disappeared into the back of the building and I was alone with Lance Larson. He was studying the dining area, his gaze moving from floor to ceiling as he surveyed the room.

  “It looks nice in here, doesn’t it?” I said.

  He gave a curt nod.

  “I’m sorry you lost your restaurant. This probably isn't fun for you.”

  He glanced in my direction. “Me, too, and no, it's not.”

  “What are you doing now?” I asked.

  His brow furrowed. “Delivering manuals to the new owner.”

  My cheeks flushed. “Of course. I mean, have you opened a new business or anything? Another restaurant or something?”

  “No,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. But I have some feelers out. I’ve got a great idea for a series of fast-food huts.”

  “Huts?”

  He nodded. “You know, like the old photo huts where you dropped off film to have developed?” He studied me. “You look like you’re old enough to remember those.”

  I nodded. I was, but I didn’t like to be reminded of this. “So drive-through fast food places?” I asked. “No seating?”

  “Yeah, but I want them to have specific things. Unusual things, food you can’t get anywhere else.”

  “Like what?”

  He hesitated, and I didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to share his secrets or if he didn’t want to jinx it by talking about it or what.

  “I’ll tell you one,” he said, lowering his voice. “But you have to promise not to say anything to anyone.”

  I leaned forward so I could hear him. “Promise.”

  “Especially him,” he said, his voice almost a hiss as he motioned to the back of the restaurant.

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  This apparently satisfied him because he inclined his head and whispered, “Taco dogs.”

  I cocked my head. “What?”

  “Taco dogs,” he repeated.

  “Taco dogs?”

  He huffed out an impatient breath. “You know, a hot dog, but served in a tortilla. With cheese and salsa and sour cream. With any taco toppings, really. Taco dog.”

  I just stared at him. “Of course,” I said, beginning to nod.

  He beamed. “Isn’t that brilliant? No one does taco dogs. No one. You can find them once in a while at fairs in the summer, but they aren't done with fresh ingredients and aren't served right. No one does them right. The overhead is cheap and the margins are great.”

  I didn’t know if that was a true statement or not, but I also knew that it didn’t sound particularly appetizing...at least not to me.

  “It’s a very...original idea,” I said, searching for something positive to say.

  “I know.” He sighed. “I just need to find a location and the money to make it happen. Now more than ever.”

  “Well, I hope it all works out for you,” I said.

  “Me, too.” His expression hardened and his eyes swept across the room once more. “Because this certainly didn’t.”

  I tried to maintain a neutral expression, but inside I was reeling.

  Because I was pretty sure I’d discovered more than just a new, weird restaurant idea.

  I was convinced I had a new suspect in the case of the missing cow statue.

  TWELVE

  I TRIED TO THINK OF the best way to approach the subject of the missing statue, but without coming right out and accusing Lance of stealing it.

  Before I could formulate a question, though, the front door opened. A stream of sunlight beamed into the room, which was soon blocked by the figure of a man.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the man said.

  He closed the door and turned back expectantly. “Are you the owners of the restaurant?”

  “Former owner,” Lance muttered.

  “Former?” the man asked. He had a notepad and pen in his hands and he scrawled something down. He was probably in his late twenties, with reddish-brown hair and a well-trimmed goatee. He wore jeans and a striped hoodie t-shirt, and something that looked like a cross between deck shoes and tennis shoes.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I'm Sam,” he said, offering a quick smile that exposed a mouthful of metal. I knew more adults were getting braces, but it still always took me by surprise when I saw them. “Sam Walz.”

  “Can we help you with something?” I asked.

  He looked around the restaurant, his eyes taking in everything. “I was hoping to learn a little more about the stolen statue. I’m a reporter from Virginia News Now.”

  “A reporter?” I echoed.

  Lance’s eyes widened and he strode to the front door and opened it. He stuck his head outside, then looked back at me. “The statue was stolen?” he asked, his mouth agape. “I didn't even realize that when I pulled up.”

  I nodded.

  Sam cleared his throat. “I assume the statue was outside, not in here, right?”

  I gave a hesitant nod.

  “When did it happen?” Lance demanded.

  “A couple of nights ago,” I said. I felt like I was a ball in a ping pong match, the way I was bouncing between conversations. To Sam, I said, “You’re here about the statue?”

  Sam nodded. “Can you tell me when you first noticed it was missing?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him I wasn’t the owner, either, but Lance spoke first. “Who would steal a cow statue?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out,” Sam replied.

  “And how would they steal it?” Lance asked, scratching his head. “That thing was huge.”

  “World’s largest cow statue,” Sam said, nodding. “That’s why it’s a big story.”

  “How did you find out about the statue?” I asked.

  “Oh, we’ve known about it for a few wee
ks,” he said. “We got the press releases you sent. We're planning on covering the grand opening.”

  He was still under the impression I owned the restaurant we were standing in.

  “I didn’t send the press release,” I told him.

  Sam frowned. “Well, we got one. Who would send it if you didn’t?”

  I didn’t answer. “I meant, how did you find out it had been stolen?” I wondered if Sheriff Lewis had anything to do with broadcasting the news. Maybe he’d said something on his police scanner. Or maybe this Sam Walz had been at the bank, too, when the call had come in.

  Mikey’s voice sounded from the direction of the kitchen. “Can I help you with something?”

  Sam glanced in his direction. “Who are you?”

  “The owner,” Mikey responded coolly as he approached us. He wiped his hands on the towel he was holding and then held out his hand. “Mike Grisham.”

  I blinked. I’d never heard him called anything but Mikey. Mike sounded grown-up, professional...which he pretty much was. But I would always think of him as Mikey.

  Sam gave me a curious look. “You two are partners?”

  “No,” I said, and watched as his expression morphed into a frown. “I tried to tell you but—”

  But he was no longer interested in me. All of his attention was now focused squarely on Mikey.

  “I’m here about the stolen statue.” He held the pen poised over the notepad. “What can you tell me about the events of two days ago?”

  Mikey folded his arms across his chest. “Who are you?”

  “Sam Walz from Virginia News Now.”

  “Who told you the statue was missing?”

  Irritation flickered in Sam’s expression. “Well, I thought you did,” he said. “Someone called and said they were the owner of the Cow & Vine and that they wanted a story done on their stolen statue.”

  “Chuck,” Mikey said curtly. He sighed, not bothering to hide his own irritation.

  Lance cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head out,” he announced. “Uh, good luck with your opening. And, uh, I hope you find your cow.”

  We watched him leave and then Sam turned back to Mikey. “Is Chuck your business partner?”