Poisoned by the Pier

by Ellen Jacobson

  Heads bobbed up and down. “We own that?” I asked Scooter.

  “Of course,” he said. “In fact, we own ten of them. It was on sale at Melvin’s last week.”

  I sighed. Ten containers of whatever that product was. Just what we needed. But it was my own fault. I had made the mistake of letting Scooter go to the local marine store by himself. Somehow, he always ended up maxing out our credit cards buying stuff for Marjorie Jane that we didn’t need. Rather than worry about having willpower when it came to food, he would be better off learning how to just say no to the temptations at Melvin’s.

  While Scooter and Wanda focused on what Ned had to say about respirators, safety goggles, and work gloves, I managed to achieve a new high score on the latest game I had downloaded on my phone. I glanced over at Wanda’s notebook. Not one single doodle, just pages and pages of extremely boring information written in very precise, compact letters. At least she had jazzed things up with a green gel pen and tiny circles for the dots over her i’s and j’s.

  “Okay, I’ll open it up to questions now,” Ned said. “Raise your hand, and one of my helpers will make their way over to you with a microphone.”

  After a few questions on how to keep your pets from ingesting toxic chemicals (that was mine), the legal ramifications if you spilled diesel into a body of water (Mike chimed in on this one), and what to do if you inhaled epoxy fumes (Scooter seemed oddly interested in this topic, which was worrying), Jeff rose to his feet. “Excuse me, mate, but isn’t the proper ratio three to one when using that, not two to one like you said?”

  “You mean when you’re using this?” Ned asked, holding up a bottle with a pump handle. Jeff nodded. “Yes, normally three to one would be correct, but in certain applications, you’ll want to go with two to one instead.”

  “Yeah, I think you might have that backward,” Jeff said.

  Ned frowned as he peered at the back of the bottle. “Uh…I don’t think so. It says right here, two to one when you’re…” His voice trailed off as he squinted at the label.

  “You’re probably reading that wrong,” Jeff said as he bounded up the steps to the stage. When he reached Ned, he grabbed the bottle out of his hand and put his arm around his shoulders. “Totally understandable, mate. It’s hard to see the fine print when you get to a certain age. No shame in reading glasses.”

  Jeff proceeded to tell the audience all about ratios for different products. Wanda’s ankles continued to sweat profusely while I got a headache from all the math involved. Then he started describing tips and tricks he had learned from watching YouTube videos.

  Scooter leaned over. “I’ve seen that YouTube channel. It’s a couple of twenty-something kids who bought a sailboat without ever having been on one before and having virtually no sailing experience.”

  “Sounds familiar,” I said dryly. “Except for the age part. Change that to a middle-aged couple and you’d be on to something.”

  Scooter stared at me blankly. “Huh?”

  “That guy’s a bit of a know-it-all,” Wanda said as she adjusted her legwarmers. Scooter nodded in agreement.

  “I hate know-it-alls,” I said. “People always think they know better than the experts. Take Chief Dalton, for example. Just the other day, I was telling him the latest statistics on UFO sightings, and he completely dismissed me out of hand. He should just stick to handing out parking tickets and leave alien investigations to the pros.”

  Scooter laughed. “Not exactly the same thing, my little Milk Dud.”

  “I thought you were going to come up with a new pet name for me.”

  “I’m working on it. But I want to make sure I get it just right.”

  I was afraid Jeff was going to keep prattling on and on, but fortunately he broke into a coughing fit when he opened up one of the canisters to demonstrate something. I guess Ned was right—some of the fumes from marine products were bad for your health.

  Ned took that as his opportunity to wrap things up. “We’re out of time, folks. But if you have any more questions, please feel free to come up to the stage and chat. You can also have a look at the various products we talked about today.”

  Both Wanda and Scooter shifted in their seats, eager to run up front and check everything out in more detail. “And don’t forget to enter the drawing for a hundred-dollar gift voucher to Melvin’s Marine Emporium,” Ned added. “I’ll be handing out the entry forms. Just put your name, phone number, and email address down, and we’ll draw the lucky winner next weekend.”

  Scooter whistled appreciatively. “A hundred dollars. Imagine what we could buy with that.” I shuddered as I pictured all the bottles of marine products we didn’t need that he would want to add to our already extensive collection.

  * * *

  While Wanda and Scooter hustled up front to enter the drawing, I rummaged in my purse for some pain relievers. I washed a couple of tablets down with some water, then surreptitiously tore open a bag of M&M’S.

  “Oh, if you like those, you’re going to love the cupcakes I have for sale at our booth.” I looked up and saw Penelope. She was wearing one of her trademark Sugar Shack purple polka dot aprons over a white sundress. “They have miniature M&M’S inside, and they’re frosted in bright colors like the candy. Want me to set one aside for you?”

  Hmm. If you scrape the frosting off a cupcake, it’s basically a muffin, and everyone knows muffins are healthy, right? Could I convince Scooter of that logic? Probably not.

  “Sure. How about a blue one?” Penelope nodded. “But, if you don’t mind, can we keep this between ourselves? Scooter and I are doing that Rutamentals diet.”

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to have cupcakes if you’re on Rutamentals,” Penelope said.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a technicality,” I replied. “Just set one aside for me, and I’ll grab it when Scooter isn’t watching.”

  She chewed her lip. “If he asks me directly, I’ll have to tell him the truth. I wouldn’t feel right lying to him.” She frowned. “And you shouldn’t lie to him either.”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t come to that.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I can’t wait to see your cake.”

  “You won’t even notice it next to Jeff’s,” I muttered.

  She sat in the chair next to me and smiled brightly. “I’m sure that’s not true. Besides, you shouldn’t compare yourself to everyone else.”

  “But it’s a competition. Comparison—that’s the whole point. The judges compare the cakes and decide which one is the best.”

  “If I had my way, we wouldn’t hand out prizes.”

  “Don’t tell me. You’re one of those participation-ribbon kind of people, right?”

  “Sure. The important thing is trying, don’t you think?”

  “Trying to win,” I said. “Maybe you better save me two cupcakes. I have a feeling I’m going to need more than one after I lose out to Jeff.”

  Before she could try to convince me that winning wasn’t everything, the chocolate Labrador bounded over to us and dropped a coconut at Penelope’s feet. The Lab wagged her tail so enthusiastically that I was afraid she would knock a passerby over.

  “Hello, Chloe,” she said, scratching the dog’s head. “Did you bring me another coconut?” She turned to me. “Chloe is crazy for coconuts. She loves husking them. Her owners give me the meat that’s inside for my coconut pies.”

  Penelope bent down and inspected the coconut. “Seems like you need to do a little more work on this one.” Chloe nudged her hand out of the way, grabbed it in her mouth, and sat under a nearby tree, holding the coconut between her paws.

  “Looks like she’s got company,” I said, smiling at the pack of dogs surrounding Chloe.

  “That one’s named Chica,” Penelope said, pointing at the German shepherd. “And those two Yorkies are—”

  “Frick and Frack,” I said. “We’re acquainted. Or should I say Mrs. Moto and the two of them are acquainted.”

  “Do
you think your cat would get along with a dog?” Penelope asked. “See that terrier over there? Bob’s not crazy about the water, and his humans are heading off to the Bahamas soon on their boat.”

  “We’ve barely got enough room on our boat for the three of us. I can’t see getting a dog. But I know someone who might be interested. Do you know Jeff? He was talking about getting his fiancée a dog to keep her company when he travels.” I spotted the young couple by the stage talking with Scooter. “That’s them over there.”

  “I’ve seen him at the bakery before, but she doesn’t seem familiar.”

  “She’s not a local. She lives on Destiny Key. Ever been there?”

  “When I was in elementary school, one of my friends invited me to spend the weekend at her family’s cottage on the island, but my mother refused. She got really worked up about it. Funny how that memory has stuck with me. Maybe one of these days I’ll get out there. But first, I better head back to our booth and tuck those cupcakes away for you.”

  * * *

  The crowd had thinned out at the main stage. Only the true diehards seemed to be left discussing marine products. Ned, Wanda, Jeff, Mike, and Scooter were clustered around the table debating the merits of different brands of epoxy. Emily was leaning against the podium looking bored. I feared she was going to be marrying into a lifetime of sailboat obsession on Jeff’s part. I’d have to invite her out for a girls’ night and commiserate.

  “Can you clear some room on that table?” Nancy asked as she climbed up the steps holding several large cardboard boxes. “These are heavy.” She was followed by our restraining-order crazy neighbor lady, also bearing boxes.

  After Ned moved the marine products to the side, the two of them set their boxes down. “Are those for Sofia?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Nancy said. She lifted the lid off the top box. “Can you believe how many bottles she has in here? This is just a small-town festival. There’s no way she’ll sell that many.” Nancy held up a small brown glass vial and inspected the bottom. “She forgot to put the price stickers on them. That’s what happens when you’re not organized.”

  Ned reached into another box and took out an envelope. “Are these the ones?”

  Nancy pulled out a sheet of labels. “Yes, those are them. See how she used pink stickers in the shape of a sailboat? She printed these up especially for the festival.” While Ned took the bottles out of the box, she affixed the stickers.

  “What are these?” Emily asked.

  “Herbal remedies,” Nancy said. “Our daughter has a business selling them online. She also exhibits at fairs like this one, selling them in person.”

  “Is she the one who makes ointments and balms from plants in her garden?” I asked. “You gave me one of those to try once. It worked wonders.”

  “I’ve tried some of them too,” Mike said. “Highly recommended.”

  Nancy beamed. “I’m glad you liked them. There’s some of those in one of the other boxes. But the bottles, like this one, she imports from an overseas supplier. You all should stop by her booth later. She has something for everything that ails you.” She held up a bottle. “This one is for chronic snoring. Just two drops in a cup of chamomile tea at night, and your partner will thank you for it. It’s made a world of difference since Ned started taking it.”

  “There’s no need to tell everyone about that,” Ned muttered.

  Scooter looked on in interest as Nancy described a concoction that suppressed your appetite. I wondered if it had rutabagas in it.

  “Do you have anything for headaches? I took some pain relievers earlier, but they aren’t doing the trick.” I asked.

  “I think there’s something in here for that.” She rummaged through a box, then pulled out a clear bottle with a stopper top. “Just a couple of drops on your tongue, and your migraine will be gone in no time.”

  “Oh, it’s not a migraine, just a tension headache,” I said.

  “You need to be careful with these things,” Jeff said. “They aren’t regulated.”

  “Mr. Know-It-All,” Wanda said under her breath.

  “He’s right,” Emily said. “I would never touch any of those. Not in a million years.”

  “They’re perfectly safe,” our former neighbor said. “You just need to use common sense.”

  “It’s a bunch of pseudoscience,” Jeff said. “And some of this stuff is downright dangerous.”

  “You’ve been brainwashed by Big Pharma,” she retorted. “I could give you all sorts of examples of doctors prescribing medicines their patients don’t need just to satisfy the pharmaceutical industry. And half the time they don’t even think about drug interactions.”

  Jeff said. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? People in the medical field are trying to heal people, not harm them.”

  “Line their pockets is more like it!”

  Emily laid her hand on Jeff’s arm, but he yanked it away. “You sure could use some—”

  Before he could finish his thought, the pack of dogs ran across the stage—correction, a pack of dogs and one very familiar-looking Japanese bobtail cat—and darted under the table, causing one of the legs to collapse. All the boxes fell onto the ground, spilling their contents everywhere. As we scrambled to pick everything up, I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye.

  “Say cheese, everyone,” Alan said, holding up his camera. At least I think that’s what he said. It was hard to hear over the dogs barking.

  “Alan, put down that camera and come over here and help,” Nancy ordered. “The organizing committee hired you to take publicity shots of the festival, not pictures of scenes like this!”

  5

  MATH-INDUCED HEADACHES

  After everything had been cleaned up, those of us involved in the cake competition made our way over to the sports pavilion while Ned and the crazy neighbor lady carried the boxes of herbal remedies over to where the booths were set up.

  The pavilion consisted of one large room, which was normally used for exercise classes. A poster on the double doors at the entryway advertised an early-morning Trixie Tremblay boot camp. At the rear of the building, near the door leading out to the enclosed courtyard, there was another poster—this one extolling the virtues of wearing legwarmers.

  If I had fingernails to chew, I would have devoured them while I watched the judges file into the room with their clipboards in hand. I paced back and forth while I admonished the butterflies in my stomach. Guys, you’re getting out of hand, I told them. If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to down one of Scooter’s rutabaga smoothies. We’ll see how you like that.

  Nancy had set up a barrier for members of the general public to stand behind while the judges appraised each cake and asked the contestants questions. My creation was the last on the table—because I had dropped it off right on time as I saw it or late as Nancy saw it—so I got to hear the judges’ comments on the other entries before they reached mine.

  They began with the twins’ cakes. “I see you made German chocolate again this year, Gretchen. It’s nice to see the official Coconut Cove cake represented today,” Nancy said. She jotted something down, then peered over her reading glasses at Gretchen’s sister. “And Gertrude, what do you have for us today? A classic white cake with buttercream frosting. Very nice.”

  Nancy was awfully generous in her praise of the ordinary, obviously made-from-a-box mix cakes. Had the twins bribed her? If so, what could one possibly bribe Nancy with? The crotchety old lady seemed to love only two things in the world besides her family—organizing people and things and rules and regulations. Wait a minute, was that two things or four things? My math-induced headache was getting worse.

  While I rubbed my temples, Norm came up behind the twins and put his arms around their shoulders. “How about a picture of me with these two lovely ladies?” he said to Alan. “Make sure you get my good side. Wait a minute, I don’t have a bad side.” He laughed, not seeming to notice no one else joined in. “Now, you two ladies are going
to vote for me in the election, aren’t you?”

  “Really, Norm,” Nancy said. “We’re here to judge cakes, not campaign.” She pointed at his clipboard. “Why don’t you step aside, and let the chief and Penelope have a look at the entries while you fill out the scoring sheet.”

  Next up was Wanda. “Let’s see, what do we have here? It certainly looks attractive,” Nancy said. “Very skillful use of icing, dear. I could almost swear those vegetables on top were real. What are they made of? Marzipan?”

  “No, they’re real—baby peas, asparagus, and carrots. See how they spell out Rutamentals?”

  Nancy adjusted her reading glasses. “Hmm…I’ve heard of carrots blended into cake batter, but never raw vegetables used as decoration, especially asparagus and peas.”

  Wanda held up a pamphlet. “This is Trixie Tremblay’s newest creation, the RutaButaTooting Gâteau—designed for celebrations of all kinds. Anyone who’s interested in ‘Living Healthy, Living Long, Living Strong,’ let me know, and I’ll be happy to give you a brochure that includes the recipe for this cake plus a voucher for twenty percent off the Rutamentals program.”

  Nancy grabbed the brochure, walked over to the trash can, and threw it in. “Just in case I wasn’t clear, this is a cake competition, not a campaign stop or an opportunity to sell the latest diet fad.” She glared at two young boys who were tossing a ball back and forth in the back of the room. “Let alone a place to play games.”

  Scooter walked over to the barrier, leaned down, and removed the brochure from the container. While he eagerly read the recipe, I watched as the judges moved on to Mike’s cake. He had gone with a classic chocolate fudge creation. While I’m sure it tasted delicious—it was made with chocolate, how could it not?—his decoration was pretty plain. Chocolate frosting with a few chocolate shavings on top wasn’t exactly the stuff of gourmet magazines. Things were looking up. So far, three ordinary cakes and one cake made of vegetables.