8. Mina

The next morning, Morrie woke me in bed with a cup of tea and a cinnamon roll from Oliver's bakery.

"Where are Heathcliff and Quoth?" I patted the empty bed beside me. I was used to waking up with Heathcliff's arm draped over me and Quoth curled into my shoulder.

"They're off on important wedding business," Morrie said as he clinked his teacup against mine. "I have you all to myself. Whatever shall we do with our morning?"

His lips brushed my neck, sending a shiver of delight down my spine. It would be so easy to lie back in our soft bed and let Morrie do all sorts of filthy things to me.

But that wouldn't help Maisie find James Pond. I gave Morrie a light shove.

"We've got work of our own to do today. I'm going to Maisie's house to look at the crime scene and maybe try to talk to her neighbor. Are you going to come?"

"I never say no to snooping. But I need to stop by Argleton Presbyterian on the way."

"Morrie," I frowned. "Don't tell me you're going after Dorothy Ingram. She's harmless, and remember, we know her dirty little secret from when we were investigating the Banned Book Club murders. She got pregnant out of wedlock and got an abortion. She talks a big game because she likes to look good in front of her church friends, but she can't do anything to mess up our wedding or the whole village will know about her secret abortion. So let her have her little prayer meeting."

"I know that, and you know that, but I think that Dorothy needs a reminder." Morrie held up his hands in mock surrender. "A non-violent reminder, I promise. Come on, gorgeous, let's get going."

I finished my tea, rolled out of bed, and headed over to the portable rack I used as a closet. I chose a pair of red cuffed trousers with little black cats leaping all over them. I couldn't actually see the cats, but Quoth went shopping with me and described them, and they sounded like my kind of trousers.

One of the things I worried about when I lost my sight was that I wouldn't get any joy from fashion any longer, but it's simply not true. If anything, I appreciate fashion on a new level now. Because I couldn't get so distracted by colors and patterns, I shopped based on texture. It was fun to have people describe patterns and colors to me, and I would always remember a garment by the way someone described it.

Like my wedding dress.

I reached into the back of the closet and stroked the garment bag. I designed it myself and Mrs. Ellis and her knitting club created it for me, since sewing was a bit difficult for me now. It was a lovely ivory silk with a tight corset bodice, and layers of tulle to create this incredible layered skirt. I didn't think I wanted a white dress, but Mum insisted, and I felt like Stephanie Seymour when I wore it.

I pulled back my hand. Today wasn't about me. Thankfully, Heathcliff had all of the wedding arrangements under control. And I wasn't thinking about my book. Not at all.

Today, I was going to solve Maisie's case and prove that I was needed.

On with a red shirt with puffed sleeves, my leather jacket, and my trusty scuffed old Docs, a matching red bandana for Oscar, and we were ready to leave. Morrie, however, wasn't. We had to wait another ten minutes while he shaved and got his hair looking just the way he liked it. I had to admit, though, that when he exited the bathroom and slid his arm through mine, he smelled amazing.

We walked together up Butcher Street and across the village green to Argleton Presbyterian Church. Oscar and I waited beside the lychgate while Morrie strode towards the church. I might believe that Dorothy Ingram was basically harmless, but that didn't mean I wanted to talk to her. She'd made it clear numerous times that she disapproved of me and my relationship and everything I stood for. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her know that her efforts to derail our wedding mattered to me.

Morrie returned a few minutes later, a note of triumph in his voice. "Good news, gorgeous. She wasn't there, but the notice for her prayer meeting is gone, and Father Clarence tells me that she decided not to do it. I guess she did listen to reason after all."

"Listen to reason? Morrie, you didn't tell me that you've already been talking to her."

"I did nothing illegal. I merely reminded her of the little secret of hers that we know." Morrie practically skipped down the road. "She won't be bothering us again."

We turned down a narrow cobblestoned street that curved behind the church, crossed a footbridge over the stream, and headed along the footpath in front of a row of neat brick townhouses.

Maisie lived in a block of smaller one- and two-bedroom townhouses on tiny sections. She flung open the door before we even knocked. "Hi, Mina, hi, Oscar. I'm so glad you came. I kept thinking that James would appear in the middle of the night, huddled up on top of the blankets the way he likes, but he's still missing."

"We're going to get to the bottom of this, Maisie. We're not about to let a duck-napping go uninvestigated." I gestured to Morrie. "This is Morrie, one of my fiancés. He's going to help me with the investigation."

Maisie sounded worried. "Do you have any experience?"

"Oh, yes. I have an uncanny knack for seeing deep inside the mind of the criminally inclined," Morrie said with that cheeky tone in his voice. I didn't have to see him to know that he was winking at me.

Maisie led us out to the back yard and showed us James Pond's pen. I don't know what I was imagining when she described it to me, but I certainly didn't expect the duck palace she created. Morrie described to me how James had a large children's paddling pool, a bunch of plants for him to hide in, three decks at different levels for him to sun himself on, a palatial mansion for when he needed private time indoors, and a bunch of food stations and toys.

Maisie crouched down behind the duck mansion. "Here's the hole."

I ran my fingers along the edges of the wire netting. It was rough to the touch, the wires warped. "It's quite a small hole, only just large enough for a duck. I'm surprised someone was able to reach both hands in here and drag him out."

"James is a friendly duck. If you stuck your arm through, he'd come right up and headbutt your hand, and it would be easy to grab him." Maisie's voice rose. "I can't believe someone would do this."

"Mina, there's a footprint here," Morrie said. I heard his phone camera click.

I ran over. Morrie took my hand and directed me to feel the earth near the fence. My fingers brushed over damp earth, feeling the lines of a well-formed shoeprint. I didn't know enough about shoes, but it had distinctive herringbone stripes across the print. I thought it would be pretty easy to match…if we found the duck-napper.

"This fence connects to the neighbor you told me about?" I asked Maisie.

"Yes. Stanley lives there. He's the one who reported me to the council because of James Pond's quacking. He claimed that he loved birds but that James wasn't the right sort of bird for this area. And now James is gone and?—"

"Good riddance."

I stood up and turned toward the voice. Oscar growled low in his throat.

I could make out the shape of a man's head peeking over the fence. He sounded older, maybe around Mrs. Ellis' age, and grumpy enough to give Heathcliff a run for his money.

"That bird was a menace," Stanley snarled. "It quacked all day and all night, and when she walked it around the neighborhood, it pooped all over the sidewalk."

"I picked up all of James Pond's poop," Maisie snapped back. "And the council said it wasn't against the rules to keep James."

"The duck needed stimulation during the day. You shouldn't leave an animal like that alone for so long. Ducks are social animals."

"I have to work, Stanley. We can't all afford to sit on our asses at home all day, spying on our neighbors."

"I'm not spying! I never spy!"

"You do, too. I've seen you on your back porch with those binoculars of yours. And Darcy McKlenn from three doors down said that someone reported her art shed for violating planning laws. That was you, wasn't it?"

"That construction is two feet too close to the boundary line!"

"It's an art shed! It's not hurting anyone!" Maisie sounded close to tears. "You're allowed to be a miserable old man on your own property, but how could you take James? Where is he? Is he okay? If you've hurt him, I'll…I'll…I'll sic Morrie on you!"

"I'd never hurt an innocent bird when it's the owner's fault it misbehaves." Stanley snapped. "I hope that you've learned your lesson about keeping a drake."

He stomped away. A moment later, his porch door slammed shut, followed by a beautiful singsong noise that must have been his radio or something.

"He certainly made it seem as though he was guilty," Morrie said. "I think we need a little investigation."