A Sticky Situation (8 page)

“Yup, the chief's in. You got something special on your mind?” Myra asked, as eager as ever for something juicy to share at the Stack come lunchtime.

“Can't a girl just want to stop in and say hello to her favorite godfather?” I pushed on past her desk and poked my head around Lowell's office door. His back was to me and he had his chair tipped back, his fingers laced behind his head. I cleared my throat and smiled at him when he turned around.

“How's your grandmother holding up with Hazel in the house?” Lowell asked.

“She's spending a lot of time in the laundry room starching and ironing the sheets,” I said as I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

“That bad?”

“Hazel believes laundry is beneath her. Even though
she grew up in the house I'm not sure she even knows where the laundry room is located.”

“Your grandmother is a smart cookie. But she's not why you are here, is she?”

“Have you identified the body yet?”

“There hasn't been much to go on.”

“Maybe this will help.” I pulled the napkin-wrapped spoons from my jacket pocket and placed them on the desk.

“What's this?” Lowell reached out and unwrapped the small bundle.

“Something Russ found with the body.”

“Why didn't he give it to me at the town hall?”

“He said he forgot he had it but I think he wanted to have a souvenir of his big adventure. You know, something to brag about to his wife and kids.”

“How'd you get it?”

“He headed to the Stack right after he left the town hall and was showing these off to Tansey and Piper. Tansey fainted dead away when she saw them.”

“Myra let me know Tansey had some sort of fit but no one said what brought it on. So Russ just left them there?”

“He left the restaurant in an awful hurry without them when he saw the effect they had on Tansey.”

“You should have turned these in right away.”

“I thought about it. I came by to turn them in but you weren't here and I didn't want to give Myra anything else to gossip about.”

“I guess I can see your point.”

“I think I know who they belonged to, too. Do you
remember a guy named Spooner Duffy?” I asked, watching Lowell's eyes widen as he heard the name.

“Of course I do. There was a lot of flap when he and the fund-raiser money went missing at the same time.”

“Tansey and Grampa both identified these spoons as belonging to him.”

“Well that would explain how he never could be tracked down after the money disappeared.”

“So someone went looking for him years ago?”

“Everyone thought he made off with a whole lot of money. We certainly did go looking for him.”

“How much money are we talking about?” I was curious how much the fund-raiser made before I was born.

“All told, about twelve thousand dollars. Which would be somewhere around thirty thousand dollars now.”

“Did you work on the case?”

“Both the chief and I worked it for months. I've got the file on it right here somewhere.” Lowell spun in his chair to face a beat-up metal file cabinet. He yanked open a drawer and tugged out a file. “The chief was always sore that we never closed this one.”

“And you never found the money either?”

“No we didn't. Not a trace of it.”

“How did you hear about the theft?”

“Here it is, March 26, 1984. We got a call from Karen Brewer. She was the town clerk at the time and when she got to work on Monday morning Jim Parnell was already standing at the door waiting for her.”

“What did Jim have to do with any of this?”

“When he was just starting out in the real estate
business he was always on the lookout for ways to get his name out in the community. He was one of the heads of the festival committee. He'd left the money in a bank deposit bag in Karen's locked desk drawer in her office at the town hall. He was there to pick it up and to run it to the bank to deposit it.”

“But it wasn't there?”

“No. The desk lock had been picked and the bank bag was empty. Karen called us in immediately.”

“Did someone force their way into the town hall, too?”

“Well that was part of the problem. The locks on the outside doors to the town hall hadn't been forced, at least not that we could see. It looked like someone had used a key.” Which didn't necessarily mean that narrowed down the list of suspects by very much. Lots of people had keys to lots of places in Sugar Grove, like the Grange hall or the churches.

“Why was Spooner suspected? Was it just because he left at the same time as the money disappeared?”

“It was that and the fact that he was one of the people with a key. The selectmen hired him to paint the inside of the town hall and it was easier for him to do the work when the town hall was closed.”

“So it looked like he took it?”

“He was the primary suspect. According to Tansey, after the festival finished up on Sunday night he was planning to do some more work on the town hall job. No one ever saw Spooner again after Sunday evening.”

I returned from my errand at the police station and spent what little was left of the day working in the sugarhouse. Before I knew it the sky was dark and Celadon's voice was crackling through the intercom we have connecting the main house to the sugarhouse.

“Grandma says supper is on the table and all Greene backsides are to be in their seats in the dining room in two minutes. You know how Grampa is about cold food.”

For such an easygoing guy Grampa is rabid about the temperature of his food. The only time I've heard him raise his voice to any of us was when Loden came in fifteen minutes after we were called to the table. A skin puckered the surface of the gravy in its boat as Grampa poured it onto his mashed potatoes. Suffice it to say none of us was ever late again. Loden still doesn't like gravy.

I hurried back to the house as fast as my dread-filled legs could manage. Jade was sure to be at the table, sitting right where she always did. The light from the chandelier would hit her hair in just such a way as to make her look like an angel in a shampoo commercial. She'd compliment the cook and get away with not washing the dishes afterward. Just thinking about all of it made me lose my appetite.

Until I got to the table. Grandma had outdone herself. Sure I was miffed about Jade's arrival and how Grandma had kept that information to herself but it is hard to hold a grudge when you are looking at one of my grandmother's hams. Grampa sat at the head of the table with a fork and knife in his hands, ready to carve. Everyone was in their seat. Except for Hazel and Jade.

Supper at Greener Pastures is always at six o'clock. Always. Grampa doesn't like to eat so early as to still have any lunch taking up room in his belly. He wants the whole business cleared out and ready for more of whatever my grandmother might decide to magic onto the table. By having a set suppertime he is sure to be prepared.

And prepared he was. His fists clenched and tensed on the worn wooden handles of the carving set with the same rhythmic talent Celadon had displayed when she had been popping her jaw earlier. As much as Grampa adored his older sister I wouldn't want to be either Hazel or Jade whenever they decided to arrive.

Grampa checked his watch. Everyone else shifted silently in his or her seats. The smell of the ham filled
the dining room. My mouth was so full of water from the delicious aromas I wished I had one of those suction straws like they use at the dentist's office. Not only was there a ham, Grandma had baked fresh rolls, made her famous carrot and turnip mash and au gratin potatoes with just a hint of nutmeg.

At six twenty Grampa cleared his throat. “Looks like we might as well get started. This all looks delicious, my love.” He tried to wink at Grandma but didn't quite manage to pull it off. Everyone rushed to talk all at once to fill the quiet. No sense ruining one of Grandma's meals on account of the rudeness of others. At least not as far as I could see.

Even though the food was outstanding it was hard to enjoy it to full capacity. Grandma tried to hide her disappointment under idle prattle but her face looked stricken. You could tell Grampa was upset by the way he was off his feed. He ate only three helpings of ham and four of the potatoes.

For a man who requires his own butter dish at dinner each evening this was saying a lot. Grandma's au gratin potatoes are one of his favorite things. He's mentioned he wants to be buried with a recipe card for them tucked into his shirt pocket right next to his heart.

“Should we call Lowell?” Loden finally asked. I imagined his question echoed everyone else's thoughts. No one had ever completely missed one of Grandma's meals unless they had been unconscious at the time. For example, my father had been late for dinner once when I was six. His truck had slid off an icy road with a
hairpin curve and had tumbled nose-first into a ravine. Fortunately, he was wearing a seat belt but he still ended up cracking three ribs and knocking himself unconscious.

I hoped for their sakes Hazel and Jade were at least as injured. Besides, if they were seriously hurt Jade could stay at the hospital until I found an apartment instead of bunking in my room with me.

“Lowell says they'll be along any minute. No one needs to worry.” My mother decided to chime in with something that from the expression on her face meant she was trying to be helpful. Grandma didn't seem inclined to agree. Grandma's face puckered up like a drawstring bag getting a good solid yank from a person with a beefy hand.

“I don't think that means no one should worry,” Celadon said. She tapped her fork against the edge of her plate the way she always did when a lesser woman would start swearing a blue streak.

“They will do as they're a mind to. And so shall we. Who wants dessert?” Grandma asked, a plastic smile fixed on her face.

*   *   *

Despite the quality of all three desserts the meal ended on a dismal note. Loden ate only one piece of each offering and Celadon took just a sliver of the triple ecstasy cake and looked like it pained her to choke it down.

By the time the table was cleared and I had my arms sunk up to the elbows in hot steamy soapy water I was
glad to be alone instead of struggling to pretend everything was fine. The back door into the kitchen popped open before I had finished scrubbing the pots. Lowell, Hazel, and Jade all trooped in, dragging a trail of mud.

“I thought you said you'd be here for dinner,” I said to them. Jade stomped past me with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. I heard the sound of her boots clattering up the stairs.

“We were unavoidably delayed,” Hazel said. Her fedora sat askew on her head and she was limping. Which I assumed was on account of her injudicious choice in footwear. No sensible woman runs out on errands when the snow is knee-deep in a pair of leopard-print pumps with three-inch heels. Especially women in their eighties.

“You're not hurt, are you?” The thought of having to provide Hazel with any sort of nursing care flash-froze my very marrow.

“Of course not,” she said. On closer inspection I could see her awkward gait was caused by the lack of a heel on her left shoe. “No thanks to that car of yours.” She shed both shoes and hurried after her granddaughter.

“What did she mean,
No thanks to my car
?” My MG Midget was my prized possession. It had belonged to my father, who had restored it when I was a kid. After he died I had taken to driving it myself. In the past few months it had survived a cassowary attack and a run-in with a key-wielding vandal. It had been in the body shop more often than out of it lately.

I'd been driving the family minivan most of the time
recently in order to save wear and tear. Between the potholes and the frost heaves and the fact that I was on the outs with my mechanic I hadn't wanted to risk anything happening to it.

“There's been an incident.” Lowell pointed to a chair at the kitchen table. “I think you should sit.” Lowell isn't inclined toward unnecessary drama. I sat.

“Does Hazel need a lawyer? Loden's around here somewhere.” My older brother practiced law but only under duress. Even though he was a member in good standing of the New Hampshire bar he preferred making additions to his model train set instead and only provided legal counsel to townspeople who couldn't otherwise afford the help he was willing to provide free of charge.

“Fortunately, no. The young man she had with her during the accident wasn't underage.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“She decided to drive the Midget over to pick up Jade. According to the kid the rescue crew pulled out of the passenger seat, she endeavored to have a little fun first.” Images of tangled steel and torn upholstery flashed through my mind. Hazel's ideas of fun generally could not be described in terms of good or clean. Lowell was not the first policeman to have brought her home.

“She picked up a boy and took him joyriding in my car?”

“That's the gist of it. He says he was leaving the Gulp and Go. Before he knew what happened Hazel had sweet-talked him into the seat beside her and was flying down the road like she was piloting a magic carpet.
They were catching air like the little car was a kite.” Lowell shook his head. I'm not sure if it was disbelief or admiration. Hazel has that effect on a lot of people, especially men.

“He must have had one heck of a sweet tooth to let a little old lady convince him to get into the car with her.”

“I expect she singled him out because of it. He said he was just standing there with a hot chocolate in one hand and a candy bar in the other when she pulled up next to him and revved the engine.”

“What about my car?”

“I'm not sure. When I left, Byron had just gotten there with the tow truck. What I do know was the rescue guys had to use the jaws of life on the door to get the kid out.”

“The kid wasn't hurt, was he?”

“No, just thoroughly rattled. I don't expect he'll be taking rides with strange ladies again any time soon.”

“It sounds like my car might not be in the position to be driven soon either.” I was so angry at Hazel my head felt light and my skin was prickling with heat. And knowing Hazel, she wouldn't even consider apologizing let alone offering to arrange for the repairs.

“I can't say for sure. What I can tell you is Byron just took one look at it and shook his head. He didn't have anything to say at all.” The news about my car was bad. The fact that Byron had been the one to tow it off made it awkward as well. Byron had been the only one I had trusted to work on my car since my father died but a few weeks earlier we had exchanged some heated words and hadn't spoken since.

I knew apologizing was the right thing to do but I had managed to repeatedly convince myself I was too busy. I felt like the universe was kicking me in the pants and reminding me to act like a civilized adult. I hate it when that happens.

“This situation calls for dessert. You want something? Grandma made three kinds on account of Jade's homecoming.”

“Is lemon meringue one of them?”

“Of course.”

“Sold.” Lowell leaned back in his chair and his eyes drooped a bit at the corners.

“How's your investigation going?” I asked, placing a wide wedge of pie in front of him. I settled into a chair opposite with a square of gingerbread dolloped with whipped cream. It wouldn't have been polite to leave him to eat alone.

“Even with the body identified there hasn't been much progress. I'm starting to think there may never be any.” I thought about Tansey's request and the possible line of inquiry it might open if Lowell were aware of her relationship with Spooner.

“There's something I didn't tell you the other day about Spooner.” Lowell's hand paused halfway to his mouth.

“Which was?”

“Tansey asked me to try to prove Spooner didn't steal the money.”

“And why would she do that?”

“Spooner was Knowlton's father. Tansey's afraid your
investigation is going to drag everything up and make things difficult for Knowlton.”

“There were rumors at the time about Tansey and Spooner. I don't think Tansey ought to worry.”

“Well she is worried. I'd say worried sick. She won't leave her house, and is considering selling up and moving south.”

“Why does she think you should help instead of the police?” Now I was embarrassed. Being called a snoop had not been flattering at the time and I had no desire to repeat what she had said.

“She values my discretion and suggested that my nonprofessional status would stir up less curiosity than questions from the authorities.” I felt my posture improving and my lips starting to pucker primly. Every time I lie I turn into a Victorian spinster version of myself.

“Judging by the way you look like you're sucking on a pickled egg I'm going to guess that what she really said was you're an effective snoop.”

“Something like that.”

“I'm sure she meant it kindly enough.” Lowell took a big bite of pie. It was hard to feel irritated when he was right and when he had bits of fluffy meringue clinging to his mustache.

“That's exactly what she said. It was sort of embarrassing but she really felt I could help. You're not going to tell me to butt out, are you? Tansey threatened to drop out of helping with the festival if I didn't do something to clear Spooner's name.”

“I'll tell you what. I don't mind if you poke around
asking some questions about Spooner and what people have to say about the missing money as long as you tell me what you discover.”

“Thanks. You're the best.” I reached over with a napkin and dabbed at Lowell's mustache.

“You might want to have a cover story for your questions. Have you thought of one?”

“Telling them I'm working on a commemorative booklet to celebrate the fiftieth year of the festival might work.”

“Sounds perfect. Just remember, this doesn't make you a police detective. Stay out of trouble and if you're getting any sense someone is especially riled up you get ahold of me immediately. Okay?”