““Lydia?” I continued to stare at the note. It wasn’t signed. Instead, there was a small pencil sketch of a Beagle in one corner. I turned the paper over. Nothing was written on the back. “What do you think it means?” “That’s perfectly obvious. It means that Lydia Applebaum had a motive for murder.” “Maybe.” I put the note and the newsletter back in the envelope. “But what do you suppose Monica knew? What was Lydia hiding?” “Only one way to find out.” Aunt Peg walked over to the bed and picked u...p the kennel club file. She jammed the top back on the cardboard file box and nudged it back against the desk with her knee. “Bring those newsletters, would you?” I gathered them up and hurried after her. Aunt Peg in high gear was a sight to behold. She had us out the door and back on the road without a single wasted motion. “Do I dare ask where we’re going?” “Melanie,” she sniffed. “Don’t be dense.” Lydia’s house. That’s what I thought. Lydia Applebaum’s house was only a ten minute drive from the Freedmans’; but it was light years away in terms of location, style, and money spent.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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