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for me. Ends up being a lot of sitting around the fire station. That’s how this happens,” he patted his belly.
    Brian laughed. At least Simon was honest. He thanked him and Marshall and turned to go.
    “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you,” Marshall said.
    As Brian tucked his notebook in his pocket and gathered up his camera, he looked back at the pair.
    “Are you still afraid of fires?”
    Simon grinned. “Around here, there’s not too much to worry about.” He looked at the dummy by his side. “And Marshall helped me a lot with that.”
    Brian smiled and waved. Before he left, Marshall had to get the last word in.
    “In case you were wondering, I’m not afraid.”
    On his walk back to the office that day, Brian felt a little depressed. What had he gotten himself into? No, what had Darcie gotten him into? Is this what the rest of his life was going to be like, covering stories like this? Good career move, Keays, he said to himself. They will be polishing up that Pulitzer soon. Who was the real dummy here?
    But now Brian had latched on to the kind of story he never imagined he’d find in Smokey Hollow. The whole town was buzzing about the discovery of the skeletons. The only problem was that he now had a whole week before he could put out more details on the story. The other news media would have daily updates. A weekly was not a good way to dispense real news.
    Of course, Steem was going to be pretty tight-lipped on any information on the investigation. That was obvious from the captain’s demeanor. He wished Noah was taking a more active role in the case instead of just being the local lackey for the State Police. He’d probably be able to goad him into leaking whatever information he could get out of Steem and Wickwire. That was if they’d give the chief any information.
    He already knew they were having trouble locating Ruth Snethen. Tax records had shown she owned the house at the time the newspapers in the trunk were published. So the real question was, did the trunk belong to her? If not, what was it doing in her house?
    Brian stared out his office window toward the Mustard House atop the ridge, with its gables and four great brick chimneys. Nurse Snethen worked there. But did the trunk have any connection with the Mustard House?
    Brian thought maybe he should pay a visit to Dr. Wymbs.
    He drove out of town and up the rise. He kept the windows down in his car to let air in. He despised air conditioning, and the day was turning into a hot one. He could feel sweat trickle down his chest. At the top of the rise, he turned left onto Ridge Road and drove along it, the Mustard House looming larger as he got closer. Brian slowed and eased into the gravel driveway that snaked its way toward a small parking area in front of the institute.
    There were only two cars in the driveway, a large Cadillac and a small economy coupe. Of course the patients wouldn’t have any vehicles, but he wondered where the staff members’ cars were parked. Maybe there was an employee parking area in the back.
    As he stepped out of his car, Brian looked down toward the town. It was a great view of the small village, and its Main Street looked picturesque. He spotted his newspaper office and Cully’s Pub across the street from it. Down the street from that was the police station, where no doubt Chief Treece was summing up his uneventful day of reviewing parking fines and illegal brush burns. He’d had the case of a lifetime fall in his lap, yet he’d rather sit back and let the bozos from the State Police have all the fun. Brian couldn’t understand that.
    As he studied Main Street, it dawned on him that the town wasn’t quite suited for a post card. He scanned the shops and buildings along the downtown drag. On one bookend was the Town Hall and fire station. On the other end were the library and the elementary school. Between the municipal buildings were a hardware store, a taxidermist shop, Wigland, Wibbels Fruit Market and Real