I asked Moose as we parked in front of Sylvia Jones’s place near Molly’s Corners. It was a pretty stately manor on the outskirts of town, with a long and winding drive that went past an expansive pond with a freshly painted gazebo perched on its edge. “I think we should hit her head on,” Moose said. “Let’s not beat around the bush. Let’s ask her for an alibi straight away.” “You always were one for the direct approach,” I replied. “Hey, it’s been known to get results in the past,” my grandfather said with a grin. “Sure, but we’ve also gotten kicked out of a few places before the engine of your truck even had a chance to cool off.” “You’ve got a point. What do you suggest?” “Well, she did just lose her ex-husband, no matter how she felt about the man. Why don’t we start with our condolences and see where that gets us?” “Okay, that might just work,” Moose said. “If we’re going that route, you can take the lead.” “Wow, did I seriously just win that easily?”
