Dew Drop Dead by James Howe

Raymond Elveri’s rough hands to Abraham’s knobby outstretched fingers and he wondered—
    Who?

24
    â€œPROFESSOR PLUM in the billiard room with the lead pipe,” said Rebecca Quinn. They were so engrossed in their game that neither she nor Josh nor Rachel looked up when Sebastian and David barged noisily into the Lepinsky kitchen.
    â€œYou guys,” David said.
    â€œShut the door, it’s freezing,” said Josh. He waved a vague sort of hello and muttered, “Professor Plum, it can’t be Professor Plum. And you call yourself a detective?”
    â€œYou guys,” David repeated.
    â€œSshh,” said Rachel.
    Rebecca looked at Josh. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “I guess one murder case a day is all I can handle.”
    â€œMurder?” said Sebastian. “So you think it’s murder, too.”
    Rebecca stretched. “Well, we don’t have anything conclusive. We don’t even know who the victim was. But murder looks like a definite possibility.”
    â€œHow was the guy killed?” David asked.
    â€œWe think a blow to the head.”
    â€œLead pipe?” asked Josh.
    Rebecca smiled weakly. “No, and not in the billiard room either. We don’t have the murder weapon yet.”
    â€œWe do,” David said. “It was a rock.”
    â€œA rock?” said Rebecca Quinn.
    â€œYou know what I mean, right, Sebastian? We found a rock with blood on it near the inn.”
    Josh looked from his son to his son’s friend. “You saw it, too?” he asked.
    Sebastian nodded slowly. “I’m not convinced it was blood,” he told Josh and Rebecca. “It could be, but—”
    â€œGee, Sebastian, thanks a lot,” said David. “What else could it be? We find this dead guy, and the police say he’s been conked on the head, and there’s a rock between him and the inn that’s covered with this dark brown stuff and—”
    â€œAnd then there’s the shirt,” said Sebastian. “That’s what we came to tell you about.”
    Josh and Rebecca exchanged glances. “Don’t tell me you’ve found the murderer,” Rebecca said.
    â€œYes!” David cried triumphantly.
    Sebastian laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “Slow down,” he said. “We didn’t find the murderer. But we think we know where you can find him. Or her.”
    Rebecca regarded Sebastian with interest. “Go on,” she said.
    â€œWell,” Sebastian began, “remember that shirt we told you about? The red-and-black one?”
    â€œThe one we found a piece of at the inn,” Rebecca said. “What about it?”
    â€œWe found the rest of it,” said David excitedly. “We know it belongs to one of the people staying at the church. We just don’t know who.”
    Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure it’s the same shirt?”
    â€œDefinitely,” said Sebastian. “The sleeve is torn.”
    â€œThere’s a button missing,” David added.
    â€œAnd where exactly did you see it?”
    â€œHanging over the back of a chair. That’s why we don’t know who it belongs to,” Sebastian answered. “But it has to belong to one of them, right?”
    Rebecca thought for a moment. “Maybe not,” she said.
    â€œHuh?” said David.
    â€œIf we assume the murder victim was wearing the shirt and that the murderer removed it from his body after he or she killed him, we might also assume that the murderer threw it away.”
    â€œI don’t get it,” David said.
    â€œThe person at the church—whoever has the shirt now—might have found it somewhere. In a Dumpster, lying by the side of the road, wherever the murderer ditched it. I’m not saying you’re wrong. But the shirt itself isn’t conclusive evidence.”
    â€œMrs. Peacock in the library with the candlestick,”