The next morning, after breakfast, I hopped into my little car, drove down Second Street and turned up Stagecoach Terrace. I continued up the hill, past the Iowa Welcome Center, which stood at the highest point next to the bridge that spanned the Mississippi from the Illinois side to the Iowa side. Having told no one, (except my aunt, Uncle Ed, and Weeks), where I was going, I drove on, listening to my tunes, but my stomach twisted into knots. I thought it best not to tell either of my friends—Wendy especially, since she"d had such a hissy-fit about my snooping around the murder scene. I reasoned I could function better by myself, anyway. Nadine would probably question my sanity for doing such a thing. Whatever.
Arriving at The Chandelier, I met Madeline Couch, who I judged to be in her l
