Beware False Profits (6 page)

“You haven’t heard anything?”

She gave a minimal shake of her head.

“I gather you don’t think Chad’s trustworthy?”

She looked at me, eyes clear and untroubled. “Joseph thinks he’s trustworthy, and that’s all that matters.”

I felt the urge to educate her, to stir up any traces of independence that hadn’t completely been extinguished. “Maura, Joe’s not the only one with instincts and opinions. I think if you really believed Joe was right about Chad, then you would have told him the truth. So maybe you have some concerns?”

She examined me, as if she was trying to decide if
I
could be trusted. Then she looked away. “Joseph always believes the best about everybody. But I just wonder…” She glanced back at me. “What if Chad wants Joseph’s job? Wouldn’t this be exactly the right moment to make a grab for it?”

She seemed embarrassed at such a negative sentiment, and color suffused her cheeks. “Is that being too harsh? Am I just reacting to this
problem
we’re having at home?”

At least she hadn’t said “little problem.” I rested my hand on her shoulder. “Maybe something’s happened in the past to make you worry about Chad. Maybe you’re simply reacting to something you’ve seen or heard about him. That’s good, isn’t it? That you paid attention?”

She seemed less embarrassed. Perhaps the encouragement was taking, because she continued, “Of course the food bank is Joseph’s territory, not mine. But I’ve always wondered if Chad is waiting for him to move on so he can swoop in and become the director.”

“Then I’m sure you made the right decision.”

“Do you think so?”

I was glad I was here to give her a shot of confidence. “Absolutely. You have good instincts and you’re using them.”

She looked pleased. “I’d better move along and talk to people like nothing is wrong. I’m good at talking to people.”

“You’re very good at it.” I held myself back from chanting “Go Maura!”

We parted company and I looked for Ed. He was still talking to our board president and motioned me over. Tom Jeffrey teaches math at Emerald College, the excellent liberal arts college that lifts Emerald Springs out of rural obscurity. He’s a nice, average-looking guy, a bit stuffy, but earnest enough to take his position seriously.

“Tom’s just given us passes to the VIP tour,” Ed said in welcome. “There’s a reception afterwards.”

“I’m on the board,” Tom said. “You can hear a little more about what’s going on.”

For a moment I thought he meant what was going on with Joe. Then I realized he was talking about Helping Hands.

Ed gave a slight nod, invisible to anyone not married to him.

“Great,” I said. Maybe I would pick up something that would help explain Joe’s disappearance. Or maybe I’d just pick up something deliciously chocolate at the reception to make up for having to hobnob with Hazel Kefauver.

We took our leave and started toward the fortune-teller’s tent. “Thanks for agreeing,” Ed said. “Tom’s been trying to get me to join the food bank board since I got to town. I just couldn’t get out of this.”

“Why haven’t you joined?”

“Hazel.”

“I’ve heard she gives Joe a lot of trouble. Do you know anything about that?”

“Tom was telling me a little. Hazel’s a big proponent of organic food, whole grains, macrobiotic diets. She wants the food bank to refuse donations that don’t fit a narrow profile she’s drawn up. Apparently she says that beggars can’t be choosers, and the people who need help should learn to eat whatever they’re lucky enough to be given.” Ed’s tone grew steadily icier as he spoke.

“Ouch.”

“She’s probably not quite that vindictive, but that’s what you get when you take away the smiles and the flowery language.”

“I’ve never seen her smile, and she wouldn’t know a rose from skunk cabbage.”

“Joe’s been able to thwart her because nobody else on the board agrees with her. But she has a lot of clout in the community, and they don’t want to cross her if they don’t have to. So it’s been a difficult dance.”

“Could that explain why he vanished? Joe just got fed up?” I thought about it. “Forget that. He wouldn’t leave Tyler just because he couldn’t stand Hazel.”

We were in sight of the fortune-telling tent now. I hoped my mother was settling in. I hoped I could drag my daughter out.

Ed stepped out of the way of a trio of giggling middle schoolers. I recognized them as some of the Green Meanies, a group of girls of which Deena is a part. But Deena wasn’t among them.

“Tom also said Hazel put her foot down about a number of things at Mayday! this year,” he said. “She claims the costs were too high even though they make a lot of money to offset it. So she cut out one of the popcorn machines and a couple of the food vendors—”

“Oh, if only they’d served buckwheat groats and mashed turnips.”

“She also cut out a couple of games on the midway and a trio of professional mimes who were always crowd-pleasers. Claimed they could get local mimes from the high school to do it for free, but Tom says not to expect much. The new guys kept talking to each other during rehearsal.”

“I feel a headache coming on. Tell me you aren’t joining the board.”

“I’m not joining the board. I’m going to be polite and interested and say no if they ask me again.”

We had drawn within ten yards of the tent when I realized that we were about to run smack-dab into the topic of our conversation. Hazel Kefauver and her mayor husband were standing just outside the tent flap. And wonders of wonders, they were talking to my mother.

“That headache?” I said. “What’s bigger than a migraine?”

“A stroke.”

“If I have one, can I just sink to the ground right here?”

He took my arm. “She’s
your
mother.”

I didn’t point out that had this been Ed’s mother, Nan, she and Hazel would have faced off by now, one-upping each other with the names of important people they counted among their acquaintances.

When we reluctantly approached the circle Junie was regaling the Kefauvers with plans for the tent. “I’ve got my tarot cards, candles, incense, and an Indian print tablecloth.”

“I’m sure that’s all well and good,” Hazel said, “but the important thing is to move people through quickly. Joe refused, and we could have made a lot more money if he’d just told his customers they were going on a trip or having a surprise visitor and turned them right back out again.”

Hazel was large enough to block the entrance to the tent if she so desired. She was muscular, with a snapping turtle jaw that looked lethal to me. Her hair was a drab brown cut short to expose a head shaped like a football helmet. She wore a gray suit that would have been more attractive on her husband, sensible lace-up shoes, and a glare.

“I’ll certainly remember that,” said Junie, no stranger to the troublesome. She had sweet-talked her way through craft and Renaissance fairs for decades. She has a wonderful way of drawing the positive from everyone she meets. I was just afraid that this time, she’d met her match.

“We’re glad you stepped in,” Brownie said. Today his bow tie was a natty yellow stripe. Personally, I think he’s trying to draw attention from his receding hairline and protruding ears. Or maybe Hazel sits on his chest and forcibly knots them around his throat.

“Yes, we’re glad you stepped in,” Hazel repeated. “But it’s beyond the pale that Joseph Wagner didn’t come himself.”

“I can see you’re stressed about that,” Junie said soothingly.

“Anybody would be. The nerve of that man.”

Ed stepped up, and the Kefauvers saw and grudgingly made room for us. They aren’t members of our church. Hazel has voiced her dislike of a religion that doesn’t tell people exactly what they should do. We pray for her minister.

“Mayday! looks impressive again,” Ed said. “The food bank is such a valuable contribution to the community.”

“Yes, well it’s more valuable since I took over. You have no idea how much money the previous board spent. Shameless!”

I detected less vehemence in her tone than the words suggested. She seemed to be struggling to crank up her rhetoric, but not quite succeeding. Now that I was standing beside her, I noted that she looked pale and tired. Normally her skin is an angry flush, as if her blood pressure is about to establish record highs. Today she merely looked gray. I wondered if she had succumbed to the unusual spring flu that was making its rounds through the schools. It wouldn’t stop her, though. Hazel would run the world from her deathbed.

“I’ve seen a lot of areas of the country that have nothing similar,” Ed continued, undeterred. “Helping Hands is something we can be proud of.” He turned his gaze to Brownie. “In fact, I hope the city council will reconsider its cuts in the budget and fully fund their portion. It would be a great example for the other counties. We should be the leaders since the food bank is right here.”

“There’s too much waste already,” Hazel said, before Brownie could answer. He looked grateful. I suspected this was the way their relationship always worked.

“Better a little waste than people who need food going without it,” Ed said.

“We have people taking food who don’t need it. I’m convinced of it, and I’m going to stop it. The regulations need to be stricter. I can tell you there are some other big developments in the wind for Helping Hands. I’m going to make sure that nothing is hidden anymore.”

“Why don’t you let me see your palm,” Junie said, “and I’ll tell you if you’re about to get your heart’s desire. We can’t always be certain, can we, that we’re on the right path?”

Before Hazel could refuse, Junie lifted her hand and turned it to see Hazel’s palm.

I glanced at Ed. For the first time since we’d approached the Kefauvers he was smiling. I wondered what he hoped Junie would tell Hazel.

Hazel looked as if she wanted to snatch her hand back. But Junie, soft and cuddly though she is, has traveled the country back and forth subduing recalcitrant RVs, putting up and taking down vendor’s booths, and raising three scrappy daughters. Hazel might best her if they arm wrestled, but not by much.

“First your heart line…” Junie looked up and smiled. “You’re a sexy woman, Hazel. You sly thing.”

Brownie looked astonished, and Hazel was outraged. “I really don’t believe in this nonsense!”

“And you have a strong will, but you have a softer side. You take on these projects, like the food bank, because deep inside you want so badly to help the less fortunate.”

“Hmph!” Hazel sputtered, and she tried to jerk her hand away, but Junie wasn’t quite finished.

“And you have a marvelous life line,” Junie said. “I think you’ll live to be ninety. Maybe older. That’s a lot of time left to do good works.” She let Hazel take back her hand. Then Junie smiled. “Was that quick enough for you, dear?”

I always love my mother. Right now I loved her a little more than usual. I tried not to smile.

Hazel turned to go, but Junie touched her hand. “Just one more thing? Your hand is like ice, and your skin is much too dry. I’d recommend a sweater and having your circulation checked. We don’t want you catching your death of cold. There’s still a nip in the air.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my circulation,” Hazel said haughtily.

“Then maybe there’s something wrong with your heart. I’d consider the possibility.”

They were gone before Ed spoke. “You know, if you weren’t my mother-in-law, Junie, I think I’d adopt you.”

Together we leaned over and kissed her cheeks.

Since I was certain Teddy would be bored silly by a VIP tour, I promised she could stay with Junie if she promised not to raise the table. In the hour before we met the other VIPs, Ed, Teddy, and I knocked down bowling pins with baseballs and reeled in plastic fish, cheerfully accepting our candy bar prizes. Holding hands we watched Teddy make three circuits on a pony named Snapper.

While Teddy and I waited at the end of the line for circuit number four, Ed wandered off to try his swing in the batting cage. It was Teddy’s last ride since the tour was due to start in fifteen minutes.

She nodded toward the cotton candy vendor. “Miss Hollins is over there.”

Jennifer Hollins is Teddy’s first grade teacher, and our relationship has been less than stellar. My attempts to be a supportive, thoughtful parent have been met with skepticism. Recently I’ve kept the lowest possible profile, but now, as she headed our way, I was trapped.

“Good afternoon, Teddy.” She leaned over to look Teddy right in the eye. In her loose, flowered dress, Mary Janes, and brown hair fastened on both sides with barrettes, Miss Hollins didn’t look much older than my daughter.

“I’m riding ponies.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d ride them, too, if they’d let me.”

Teddy giggled. She liked her teacher, and I thought the feeling was mutual.

Miss Hollins straightened and smiled at me. With a year of teaching under her belt, I think she was finally starting to feel a bit more comfortable with parents, too. “Are you enjoying Mayday!?”

She would be surprised at my real answer. I hedged. “It’s a lovely day for it, isn’t it? We couldn’t have ordered better.”

“I’m glad I ran into you two. I have some good news.”

I was in the mood for good news. I smiled expectantly.

“Teddy’s going to be the star in our end-of-the-year play. She’s been chosen to play Cinderella. What do you think, Teddy?”

Teddy is a hard child to impress, but at this news, she positively glowed. “I get to wear the glass slipper?”

“You certainly do. But you have to promise not to break break it.”

Teddy giggled.

I’m not a hard parent to impress. I was glowing, too. Who doesn’t want to see her child so delighted? Teddy gets lots of praise for her quick little mind, but how many times in her life will she be the star of a fairy tale?

Miss Hollins read my expression accurately. “Just so you know, it’s not your mother’s Cinderella. The fairy godmother only gives suggestions, and at the end, Cinderella has to rescue Prince Charming from a dragon before they can marry, then she teaches him how to clean the castle.”

“You’re kidding.”

Miss Hollins smiled, too. “Uh-huh. Although we have changed some of the dialogue to make it a little less oppressive.”

I laughed. Maybe Jennifer Hollins and I were over the hump. She’d developed a sense of humor, and I’d developed the ability to keep my lips sealed. She said good-bye to Teddy and wandered off. Teddy was next in line, but she was so happy, I was afraid she might float right off Snapper.

After she finished her ride and gave Snapper an apple slice, I took her by the hand and started toward Junie’s tent.

“No lifting the table,” I warned again.

“What if Junie asks me to? Who should I listen to? She’s older than you are.”

“I’m directly in charge of your future.”

“But if it weren’t for Junie, you wouldn’t even be here.”

This was not an argument. It was a philosophical discussion. I’m surrounded by them and somewhat immune. I explained that Junie would expect her to do what I asked her to, that after all, Junie herself had taught me the value of following a mother’s advice, and thus if she followed my advice, she was also following Junie’s. That was complex enough to give her food for thought and me an interval of silence.

We were almost at the tent when I saw Deena. I was surprised to find that she wasn’t with any of her girlfriends. I was particularly surprised to find that the
boy
she was with was Tyler Wagner, a cleaner, neater version of the one I’d seen earlier that day.

“I didn’t know Deena and Tyler were friends,” I said.

“Deena said that if I saw her with Tyler, I should pretend I didn’t.”

“Hmmm…” So Deena hadn’t been as unhappy to have her parents drive her to Mayday! as she had been to have us here at all.

I remembered suddenly that I was twelve the first time I fell in love. My heart did a double flip-flop. I wasn’t ready for this. She was just barely twelve. A baby. Our entire future flashed in front of me. A decade when she rolled her eyes every time I tried to give her advice about men. Another when she came home regularly to tell me her heart had been broken. Then another decade when she rolled her eyes every time I tried to give her advice about her children.

I wanted to grab my daughter by her strawberry blonde braid and yank her back to yesterday.

“I’m going to pretend I don’t see her, too,” I said, although I wanted to follow them around the grounds quizzing Tyler about his intentions.

“Is pretending like lying? How do you tell the difference?”

That discussion took us to Junie’s tent. There was already a short line outside, and I heard discontented mumbling that Joe wasn’t telling fortunes. Considering everything, it seemed like a bad sign people were disgruntled
before
they went inside. Imagine how they would feel when Junie finished with them?

I dropped Teddy off with my mother and hoped for the best.

When I got to the warehouse Ed was with the rest of the guests waiting by the door. To my surprise I found Detective Kirkor Roussos chatting with him.

“Solved any more murders lately?” he asked when I extended my hand.

Roussos and I have an odd relationship. Since arriving in Emerald Springs not quite two years ago, I’ve been involved in two murder cases. Both times I’ve figured out whodunit just in time to get myself in serious trouble. Nevertheless, I did figure out who the bad guys were, and I think Roussos more or less respects me for that.

Roussos is whipcord lean and gorgeously Greek. I’d have to be dead not to be impressed. He’s also smart, cynical, and occasionally witty. He’s one of those guys who makes me glad I’m happily married. Because if I weren’t, I could be in trouble.

“Not lately,” I said, when he shook my hand, noting the faded jeans and nubby silk sports jacket that were more or less his uniform. “But if you need my help, you know where to find me.”

“How could I forget? I’ve worn a path to your door.”

“Trust me, it will grow over if you just stop suspecting my family of murder.”

“You’re sure? You’re not addicted to detective work?”

I glanced at Ed, who seemed to be hanging on my answer. And what could I say? I had just trooped all over Manhattan trying to find out what happened to Joe Wagner. Only that time Ed was one of the gang.

“You just keep the murder rate in check, and I’ll be fine,” I said. “Helping with homework and gutting houses keeps me plenty busy.”

“I’d hate to get too close to you if you had a crowbar in your hands.” He sent me half a grin, then turned to talk to a couple of men who had just wandered up. I recognized one of them as our chief of police, and another as a member of the city council, who was often the only voice of reason.

Chad came out of the warehouse and everybody turned expectantly. He began with his most fetching grin and a few jokes. Then he launched into an apology for Joe. He delivered it with such charm and good humor that by the time he finished, I don’t think anybody really cared whether Joe Wagner was in New Jersey or Hong Kong.

“Maybe Maura was right,” I told Ed as we all marched into the warehouse. “Chad’s something of a smooth operator, isn’t he? Could be he wants Joe’s job.”

“Every second in command wants to be first. Chalk one up to Maura for noticing.”

With both of us cheering her on from the sidelines, Maura would be so self-actualized by the end of the week she could run for president.

I tried to concentrate as Chad showed us how and where food was stored. He gave statistics about where the food came from, how much from local farmers, how much from community food drives, how much from grocers and wholesalers worried about expiration dates or outdated packaging. We saw the kitchen where volunteers prepared meals for the elderly and homeless and a small classroom where schoolchildren came to learn about world hunger and the way food is grown and distributed. We saw the office in the back, where all supplies were carefully accounted for and donations were logged and acknowledged for the IRS. We saw the garage where two trucks used in the transfer of food were housed, and the tool room where the community garden supplies wintered over.

I was impressed by how clean and orderly everything seemed, and I had to give Chad his due.

He kept moving, and we visited the administration building to see the store. He showed us the new and brighter paint, and the way shelves had been rearranged to better show off the merchandise. I recognized several baby quilts that Junie and our church needleworkers had made and donated. Some lucky families would be able to wrap their new babies in handcrafted warmth.

The administration offices and conference room were excluded from the tour. I imagined that Chad had little to say about what happened there. But by the time he walked us over to the VIP tent, I thought everyone was impressed by the food bank and by Chad himself. I was even more worried about Joe.

“Please enjoy our hospitality,” Chad said as he ushered everybody into the tent, which had been set up beside the warehouse, out of Mayday! traffic.

Clearly the food bank valued their VIPs. I had hoped for a plate of brownies, but there were tea sandwiches and delicate pastries, platters of fruit and cheese, and best of all a chocolate fountain with cubes of pound cake, fresh strawberries, and other assorted goodies.

“I like this VIP stuff,” I told Ed. “If I’d known there was a chocolate fountain in my future, I wouldn’t have squawked so loudly when I discovered what you planned to do with your life.”

That was meant to be a joke, but Ed wasn’t paying attention. I followed his gaze to the table. My first glance had stopped at the fountain. Now it stopped at the punch bowl, where his was riveted.

“That looks like the Women’s Society punch bowl.” He glanced at me. “Why would our church punch bowl be at Mayday!?”

I understood why Ed was looking at me for the answer. The punch bowl and I have a history. Not exactly
this
punch bowl, since its two predecessors more or less collapsed into a million pieces. But since the last time, I’ve sworn off relationships with cut glass. I stay ten yards away. I have nightmares about Waterford crystal.

I held up my hands. “If it’s ours, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”

“If you want punch, let me get it, okay?”

“I would die of thirst rather than get too close.”

“Don’t look now, but the chocolate fountain is right next to it.”

“Then I’ll stand on the opposite side. I promise.”

I looked over and realized that Sally Berrigan, a member of our church and Women’s Society, was standing to one side of the table with a small group of volunteers, looking proudly at their handiwork. Sally is involved in almost every social justice organization in town, and they’re all lucky to have her. She always gets things done, and obviously had been instrumental in creating the spread before us.

I walked over to her as everybody descended on the food and gave her a hug. “This looks yummy.”

Sally beamed. She’s an attractive older woman in a no-nonsense, Ivory soap sort of way. You only have to look at Sally to know you’re in the most capable of hands.

“I wanted the VIPs to feel good about their trip to Mayday! Of course if Brownie Kefauver bites his tongue instead of my cucumber sandwiches, I won’t be sorry.”

I knew the context. Sally ran for mayor in the last election and was soundly defeated. Her platform was thoughtful and well considered, which apparently was the problem.

I looked over my shoulder and saw that indeed, the Kefauver family had arrived. They hadn’t been on the tour since Hazel knew everything she needed to about the way the food bank worked—and planned to throw her axe into those gears anyway.

“That woman,” Sally said softly. “You have no idea how much trouble she caused with this reception. We had everything planned, then she came in and slashed the budget.”

I tried to soothe. “Well, it looks like you did a wonderful job.” I hesitated. “You even thought to borrow the church punch bowl.”

“Not because I wanted to. We had everything set to rent from Quite the Party, and Hazel cancelled our order. She said we would have to borrow whatever we needed. So we did, with a lot of effort. And the chocolate fountain? We had one on order that came with an attendant. They aren’t as easy to operate as you might think. But Hazel decided we could learn.”

“It looks great. You learn fast.”

“Yes, and as long as the bees don’t find it, we don’t have strong winds, we got all the lumps out of the chocolate, nobody trips over the cord, and the fountain is perfectly level, it should work just fine.”