"We have to talk," I said. "I don't even know the outcome of your discussion with Julie. This whole operation is going to hell in a hurry!"
"Yes," she answered. "I agree." But neither of us suggested a remedy for calming things down.
Next I telephoned After to update them on Mr. Delabama's Canadian adventures. Frank Vasapolli was not available so I spoke with Agnes Delanco. I related in detail what I'd learned on line.
"Good catch!" she said. "We don't monitor Canadian crimes. We have our hands full with cases down here. I just pulled up a map of the area on my screen. It looks like he's moving east and maybe will drop down in the states in New York or New England. He's heading your way." I'd temporarily forgotten she knew our whereabouts in Keene from my neglect in using an unsecured phone.
"Or Boston," I said. "That's where the newspaper lady is based." I told Agnes about my concerns for Ethel Reagan's safety. She agreed it had been prudent to warn her.
"I'll pass on this information to Frank but I don't know what he can do until this guy makes a mistake. We're still following up on the electric bike but there are a lot of purchases to check, one by one."
I thanked her and closed up shop for the day and left for home. There I'd try to get some time alone with my wife and mull through this train ride to oblivion.
Rutland, Vermont. Blast Publishing Company is a stupid name for a stupid publication. Why did they call off their million dollar quest for the Psychic Tipster? Was it because all the stupid clones out there who read this trash lack the brains to come close to finding her? It can't hurt to ask. Irv Goldman was in charge of their ill-conceived venture while it was running, so their switch board tells me. As long as I'm in the area, perhaps I'll have a chat with the gentleman. Together we might peruse some of the more notable entries submitted to that inane contest in case a gem lays molding in the rubble heap of stupid begging missives from fantasying idiots.
No stone left unturned until I see the blood of my tipster-nemesis flood the ground beneath her panicked body.