The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up by JoAnna Carl Page B

any fun to talk to.
    I heard a tap at the office door, and I turned around to see Joe standing there. “I brought Patsy a cup of coffee,” he said.
    “Oh, Joe, that was nice of you,” Patsy said. “You didn’t have to make coffee.”
    Joe grinned and came into the office. “I didn’t. They had a jug of it on the patrol boat. Frank said you didn’t take sugar or cream.”
    Patsy sipped the coffee. “I’ll try to straighten up. Then Frank and I will go home.”
    “Before you go, I’d like to know how Hershel got the idea that I knocked down the Root Beer Barrel.”
    “I don’t know exactly what made him think that. You know how he prowled around town.”
    “But the Root Beer Barrel came down during the last big snow storm. In March.”
    Patsy patted her eyes again. “I know. Hershel loved to walk in the snow. Especially along the lakeshore. He told me the Barrel had fallen down before I heard it anywhere else.”
    Joe thought a moment. “It’s at least a mile from Hershel’s house to the Root Beer Barrel property,” he said. “Just what did he tell you he saw?”
    “Hershel never made much sense. It was something about a truck. What difference does it make?”
    “It would make a lot of difference to me,” Joe said. “It might give me problems selling that property. We’d better tell the chief about it. Can you stand to talk to him?”
    Patsy gave a weak smile. “I’ll try. I need to apologize to Hogan anyway. He tried to be patient with Hershel.”
    We went back outside, but Joe, Frank, Patsy, and I stood around waiting while the chief finished up with the water patrolman. By the time he joined us, there was only a little sunset glow left in the western sky and Jerry Cherry’s portable lamps were casting a harsh light on the dock. Meg and Trey were gone.
    At Joe’s insistence, Patsy repeated her story. In fact, Joe cross-examined her. Joe doesn’t do his lawyer act too often, but when he does do it, I can see that he must have been good at it. He went at Patsy from six different angles.
    But Patsy didn’t know anything else, and Frank swore Hershel had never said anything to him about the old Root Beer Barrel.
    “Why does it matter?” Patsy said. “I didn’t believe it. Apparently Hershel didn’t spread it around town. Why do you even care, Joe?”
    Joe and the chief looked at each other. “It’s the Historic District Regulations,” Joe said.
    “I’ve never heard of the city having to enforce a case,” the chief said.
    “Yeah, it’s usually just obeyed,” Joe said. “I certainly would never buck the city regs.”
    “Historic District Regulations?” Frank said. “I know we had to follow them when we renovated Patsy’s mom’s house. Trey did the design, and he advised us. We didn’t have any problem.”
    Joe nodded. “Trey’s an expert on the regulations. They aren’t all that onerous, but there’s a part that deals with ‘demolition by neglect.’ In other words, if you own a historic structure and you just let it fall down. That’s not allowed. I’d have to look at the ordinance to see what the penalty would be. Then there’s a section about deliberately demolishing a historic structure—a property owner couldn’t get away with that. He’d have to pay fines. He might even have to restore the demolished structure in some way.”
    I was confused. “But why would the Historic District Regulations even apply to the old Root Beer Barrel? It didn’t have any artistic or historic merit, did it? Not like—oh, say, Gray Gables. That’s a real mansion.”
    “Right, Lee,” Joe said. “Gray Gables is worth preserving because it’s beautiful—at least to people who like High Victorian architecture—and because it was owned by a famous man—Trey’s great-grandfather, the ambassador—and because it’s a great example of the late nineteenth century summer home. But as I understand the ordinance—and I studied it pretty carefully—ordinary structures are also