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“I talk to reporters all the time,” Garibaldi called down from the landing, then disappeared for a moment, before returning, this time wearing a nice powder-blue shirt that he was buttoning up. “As the CEO of a candy factory, I give press conferences. I give interviews. I even organize press junkets every time we launch a new product.”

“The story was that you hate reporters for the stories they wrote about your aunt,” Odelia explained. “And the police because you accuse them of botching the investigation.”

Garibaldi was finally dressed, and sat down in a small salon near the window, which offered a nice view at the courtyard of the apartment complex, complete with rock garden and landscaped greenery. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t like the way you people wrote about my aunt. That she’d run off with my uncle’s money and some lover and had disappeared to Mexico or the Bahamas or wherever. There was never any proof of that. And the police seemed to believe the same lies, so…” He shrugged. “But I was a cocky kid back then, and as far as I’m concerned it’s all water under the bridge now.”

“What do you think happened to your aunt?” asked Odelia, taking out her notebook and a pencil.

Garibaldi placed his hands behind his still wet head.“I think she was kidnapped and murdered. Or maybe sold into slavery by human traffickers. My aunt was a very beautiful woman, only a couple years older than I was at the time, and I can see how she would have attracted the attention of some very wrong people.” He got up swiftly and walked over to a cabinet adorned with knickknacks and picture frames and picked one up, then carried it over to Odelia and handed it to her. “This was taken three months before she disappeared.”

I glanced up at the portrait, and had to admit that Bobby Garibaldi had a point: his aunt had indeed been a very attractive woman.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” asked Odelia.

“I doubt it,” said the man, placing the picture on the coffee table, where also a very large coffee table book lay devoted to ‘Candy through the ages.’ “If she were still alive, she would probably have been found by now.”

“Your uncle… he really suffered, didn’t he?”

“He still does. I don’t think he ever got over it. He hired a bunch of private detectives over the years, but they all came up empty-handed. I think he pretty much gave up.”

“Do you and him… get along?”

Bobby Garibaldi smiled.“What are you implying, Miss Poole?”

“There’s rumors of a succession war.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard those rumors myself. But I can assure you that we are a very united family, and that the succession war, as you call it, has been fought and dealt with years ago. I’m in charge of the company, and as soon as my uncle decides the time has come, he’ll step down as chairman, assign his shares to me, and then I’ll be fully in control.”

Dooley had wandered off, and I followed him. He was looking up at that cabinet full of knickknacks, and gestured to one in particular.“That looks an awful lot like the figurine Harriet broke, doesn’t it, Max?”

I stared at the thing. In fact it didn’t just look like Marge’s goatherd. It was the exact same goatherd, only this one hadn’t been smashed to pieces. “I wonder where Garibaldi got it,” I said.

“And if there’s a message inside,” said Dooley, as if he’d read my mind.

We shared a glance, and then I was jumping up and swiping that goatherd from the cabinet. It hit the ground and smashed into pieces, and even as Garibaldi flew up out of his chair with a shouted,“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” I’d already noticed that there was indeed some kind of writing inside. And when Garibaldi picked up the pieces, he saw it, too.

“What the…” he muttered, and studied the message. To read it completely, he had to break off another piece, but then he slowly read, “Help me—Vicky Gardner—October 11, 2000.” He looked up at Odelia. “I don’t understand.”

“Where did you get this figurine?” asked Odelia.

He paused for a moment, confusion written all over his features.“My… my mother gave it to me as a present.”

Chapter 40

“Don’t push!” Scarlett said.

“Then get a move on!” Vesta returned.

“It’s too tight!”

“No, it’s not. Lemme try.”

Scarlett wiggled, then Vesta gave her a final shove against her rear end and suddenly she was gone, having dropped down into the basement through the little window.

“See?” said Vesta. “I knew you could do it.”

“It’s filthy in here,” Scarlett’s voice came back. It sounded hollow. “So are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Vesta, as she lowered herself through the little window and moments later was jumping down into the basement, joining her friend and fellow watch member. She glanced around. It looked just like all basements: cement floor, cement walls, cement ceiling, a big heater in the corner, and that pervasive, musty smell.

“I hope there are no rats,” said Scarlett, as she studied one of her shoes. “I knew it. I’ve got a scuff mark.” She gave Vesta a dirty look. “You’re buying me a new pair, buddy.”