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And as the good doctor put down his phone, a sudden fear struck him. He’d recently come into the possession of some very valuable gnome art. The painting, spray-painted with a steady hand by famous gnome artist Jerome Metzgall, had cost him a pretty penny. First Mrs. Baumgartner’s Picasso had been stolen, and now Mort Hodge’s original drawings taken from his home. And in recent weeks other people had been robbed, too. Like the Wigginses, Bambi and husband, where a sculpture had been taken, and the Sudses, Rory and husband, where a plastic mushroom had been yanked from its base.

What would stop the burglars from stealing his gnome painting? Nothing!

And it was with a sense of urgency that he called his wife. The moment the call connected, he blurted out,“Marge—you have to get home now! My gnome painting—you have to take it off the wall and hide it!”

“Tex, honey, what are you talking about?”

“The art thieves—they took Ida Baumgartner’s Picasso last night, and Mort Hodge’s entire collection of original Mort’s Molly art. I’m afraid they’ll go for my painting next!”

“I don’t think your painting is that popular, Tex,” said Marge, a little acerbically he thought. She’d never approved of his love for garden gnomes, and even less of his love for gnome art, even though he’d tried to explain to her it was an investment, not a whim.

“Look, you can take down that painting yourself tonight.”

“But…”

“I’m busy, Tex. Your gnome will have to wait.” And with these words, she disconnected, leaving him to consider hanging up a ‘Closed’ sign on his office door and legging it home himself to safeguard his precious painting from theft. But just then a patient walked in and he sank down in hischair again.

Marge was right. His gnome would have to wait. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late!

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Charlene Butterwick was smiling widely before herself, seated at her desk at Town Hall, and thinking roseate thoughts about the new man in her life. And as luck would have it, just then this new man chose that moment to call her.

“I was just thinking about you, hunk,” she spoke into the phone, having picked up on the first ring.

“And I was thinking of you, sexy.”

She walked over to the window and glanced out in the direction of the police station. She watched how Alec Lip, chief of police of the town she was responsible for, waved at her from his office. She smiled and waved right back.

“Did you see the news?” asked Alec.

“What news?”

“Well… us, I guess,” said her boyfriend, though he was more man than boy.

“Us? Someone’s written about us?”

“Yeah, and not very favorably either. Check the Gazette home page. Some member of the public was snapping pictures of us while we were out having lunch yesterday.”

She walked over to her computer and pulled up the home page for the Hampton Cove Gazette.“Oh, dear,” she said as she saw the pictures of herself and Alec lunching and kissing and clearly having a whale of a time.

“Check the comments. If you have the stomach for it.”

She checked the comments, and her stomach turned a little. That’s what you got when you lunched past your regular lunchtime, and were high on love and good food. “Oops,” she said. “Looks like people aren’t too happy with us right now.”

“No, you can say that again.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Not get caught canoodling during office hours?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, she giggled.“Canoodling. I like that.”

“Not my word,” grunted the Chief. “Something commenter #113 seems to be fond of. Unlike commenter #225, who uses much stronger language—the kind of language Dan probably shouldn’t have allowed to pass moderation.”

“I’ll talk to Dan. Tell him to take down the article. And the comments.”

“You mean you want to use your position to curtail the free press?” chuckled Alec.

“Of course not. I’ll simply tell him we won’t do it again, and could he please not feed the trolls and unleash the online lynch mob.”

Alec paused for a moment, then said,“I’m looking forward to lunch, poppet.”

“Me, too, muppet.”

They both giggled like a couple of teenagers in love, then disconnected.

And with a sigh, Charlene called Dan Goory. She was all for freedom of the press, but she failed to see the significance of an article dealing with a mayor and chief of police’s love life. They might both be public figures, but even they had a right to a certain measure of privacy, and that was exactly what she intended to tell Dan. But even before the call connected suddenly two intruders, both dressed in nice suits but with their faces covered with black masks, waltzed into her office and pointed a gun at her head.

“One word and you’re history,” barked the biggest of the twosome. “Now sit down.”

Chapter 16