Smothered in Onions

by Tracey Quinn

  That night I had a strange dream that my phone was ringing and wouldn't stop. When I opened my eyes I saw that my phone was ringing and wouldn't stop. It was 6:17 am. The caller ID said “Charlene”. I reached for my phone to turn it off. I didn't have to be to work till 2 pm so I had stayed up late last night finishing some housework and then I sat down to have a cup of tea before I went to bed. Of course, I had to wait till the tea cooled down so I turned on the TV. I knew better than to turn to a shopping channel because I know my weaknesses so I went to YouTube and came across some videos that showed innumerable hacks on how to use common household objects in “ways to make your life better”. I had never realized that I could hot glue an ordinary clip-on clothespin to my wall to hold important documents instead of putting them in a drawer.

  Since I had learned that at about 2 am, I decided that whatever Charlene had to say could wait, and I closed my eyes again. After a few seconds the thought occurred to me that, being Charlene, she might be calling to tell me that she had accidentally burned the Breezy Spoon down. I reluctantly picked up the phone and hit the button.

  “Do you know what time it is, Charlene?”

  “No, but if you hold on I can go downstairs and look at the clock in the kitchen,” she replied.

  “No, no, no, just tell me what you want,” I said quickly.

  “I just wanted to tell you that Mr. McGee dumped a truckload of onions on Lloyd Duval and killed him and then he robbed the bank to get money for his getaway and an angel came and took Mr. Duval's soul away in a grocery cart and Pearl's mother Georgene saw it all because she was parked behind the grocery store with a gentleman she had just met at Sammy's Lounge and I wanted to ask if you think angels are real or if Pearl's mother could have been wrong and maybe it was a saint because Jimmy thinks it was the ghost of Florence Nightingale but I don't think she would-”

  I heard the call waiting tone and saw that it was Mark. “I'll have to call you back, Charlene. There's a call I have to take,” I said.

  “Oh, that's okay, Miss O'Shea,” she replied. “I have a whole bunch of people I have to call about this before I go to school. I wonder if it's safe for me to go out with Mr. McGee on the loose?”

  “Go ahead to school, Charlene. I'm sure you'll be safe.”

  “If you're sure...”

  “I'm really sure. Good-bye.” I hung up and then pressed the call button again and said, “Mark! Did Gene McGee really kill Lloyd Duval?”

  “I assume that you've just been talking to Charlene?” Mark said.

  “Who else?”

  “That's what I thought, so I decided I should call and give you a version of the events that didn't involve Bigfoot.”

  “So is Lloyd really dead?”

  “Indeed he is. Phil Dawkins from the cannery was making a delivery to McGee's Market when he saw a hand sticking out from a big crate of onions. He dug out the onions and found Lloyd lying in the bottom of the crate. We got the call at the firehouse from emergency dispatch to go out to the scene and help while the ambulance was on its way, but when we got there it was clear there wasn't anything we could do. Lloyd's body was already cold.”

  “I suppose there's no chance that it could have been an accident?” I asked. “Maybe he slipped and fell into the crate and whoever filled the crate with onions didn't notice him...”

  “If he also shot himself twice in the back while he was at it, then sure, it could have been an accident.”

  “Oh. What did the sheriff say when he arrived?”

  “He said we should leave and stop contaminating the crime scene,” Mark replied. “But I suppose you're asking if Gene McGee did it. Well, there was only a little blood in the bottom of the onion crate and nothing on the ground around it, so it seems like Lloyd was killed somewhere else and just dumped there by whoever killed him. Still, from what Pearl says, Gene was heard threatening to shoot Lloyd just yesterday at the Breezy Spoon and here he his dead at McGee's Market, so it doesn't look good for him.”

  “Pearl? From the beauty salon? What was she doing at the crime scene?”

  “She wasn't. She had heard it from Charlene and she in turn told Jolene who then told Pat Duffy's wife who called Pat over the radio in the firetruck and told him, and then Pat told me when I got back in the truck after the sheriff arrived. Wait, I may have left one or two people out of the chain; Charlene, Pearl, Jolene, Pat's wife....”

  East Spoon Creek City runs on gossip. I think it's our main export. Just then I recalled something else Charlene had said. “Charlene told me about a bank robbery, too. Was the Farnsworth Bank robbed?”

  “Yeah, we heard about it when we got back to the firehouse,” Mark said. “When the bank staff got in this morning they saw that someone had sawed through the wall and gotten into the bank vault from the rec center on other side.”

  “Wait, how did the robbers cut through the steel vault with a saw?” I asked. “I would have thought they'd use explosives like they do in movies.”

  “They probably would have if the walls of the vault were made of steel, but since only the front of the vault is steel they only had to cut through drywall and plywood to get in.”

  “You're kidding! Who makes a bank vault like that?”

  “Apparently George Farnsworth's grandfather did when he built the bank. I suppose it saved money and he figured no one would suspect that a bank would have a safe that was so vulnerable. It worked until it didn't, I guess.”

  “I'll bet Lloyd Duval did it! That's why he started renting out the rec center and giving lectures; it was all a front so he could break into the bank! It's probably the only reason he came back to town at all!”

  “Maybe, but a lot of people went into the rec center, and who would have told Lloyd about the vault? Besides, he spent his evening hanging out with the produce at McGee's Market, in case you've forgotten.”

  “Yes, that's just it!” I said. “Lloyd must have had a partner; once they cleaned out the bank vault the partner decides he doesn't want to share, and it's bang-bang, goodbye Lloyd! Then he dumps the body at the market to throw suspicion on Gene!”

  “Now look, before you start playing detective again just remember that this is all speculation,” Mark cautioned. “And wasn't Lloyd going to run for mayor? Didn't sound like he was planning to skip town with the money from the bank vault.”

  “But still-”

  “Dani, the sheriff is already investigating the murder and the robbery and he doesn't need your help. Just do me a favor and don't make him have to investigate your murder, too.”

  “Well, if you and I work together this time...”

  “I do have some suggestions about what you and I can do together but none of them include chasing a desperate killer. Just leave it alone, okay?”

  “Okay! I was only talking!”

  After Mark hung up I decided that he was right, I wouldn't get involved. It was definitely too dangerous and the sheriff would be on top of it anyway. Besides, the city fair started soon and the Breezy Spoon was going to have a booth there, so I'd have to manage that as well as the diner. I wouldn't have time to think about anything else, certainly not about the bank getting robbed and Lloyd Duval ending up smothered in onions....

  Chapter 5

  It was almost two in the afternoon and I had just finished writing the dinner specials on the menu board. We were featuring skillet roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with Parmesan and chives, sesame green beans, sweet potato rolls, and German chocolate cheesecake. I was reaching up to hang the menu board on the hooks when I felt an iron glove clamp around my biceps. I hadn't felt such pain since I tried the blood pressure machine at the drugstore, which is why I quit taking my blood pressure.

  “Yep, you've got the goods, Sunshine,” I heard a voice say as my arm was released seconds before I probably would have passed out. I turned and saw a rather large, sturdy-looking woman with blonde pigtails standing beside me, looking me up and down.

  “Hey, I'm Pollyanna. Nice to meet you, kid,” the
woman boomed, grabbing my hand and shaking it violently. “You must be Dani O'Shea, right?”

  “Er, right,” I said. I had never met Pollyanna before but I knew who she was; Sammy Brown had met her at a women's wrestling show in Kettletown a few months ago where she was wrestling in the main event. He fell in love with her after he saw her performance that night and she fell in love with him after she saw the financial records for Sammy's Lounge and Gentlemen's Club. Within a couple of weeks she became his third wife and business partner.

  “Great! I've got a business deal for you that you're gonna love!” Pollyanna said. “Got a minute to talk?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Why don't we sit over there in a booth. Would like something to eat or drink?”

  “Well, some coffee and one of those caramel pecan rolls would be nice. Actually, make it two of the rolls.”

  Pollyanna downed her coffee and rolls with a gusto that I had previously seen only on nature videos involving lions and zebras, then wiped her mouth on a napkin and said, “Here's what I wanted to run by you; I just came up with a plan for how we both can make a killing at this city fair thing they're putting on. Sammy says the Lounge always sponsors a booth and he's not very creative so he just has a kissing booth every year.”

  “Uh, not to be insulting, but do a lot of women line up to kiss Sammy?” I asked.

  She laughed and said, “Oh, no, he's not that dumb! He's dumber; he always has Dora Crenshaw in the booth.”

  Dora Crenshaw is one of the two waitresses who work at “Hotters”, Sammy's Gentlemen's Club. Dora and Priscilla Henley are both in their sixties, wear low cut shirts with push up bras struggling against gravity, very short skirts that barely cover the thongs that they wear over incontinence underpants, fish net stockings and shapeless black comfort shoes. Top it all off with about an inch of pancake make-up, false eyelashes and wigs and you have the “Hotters Girls”.

  “Does the booth make any money?”

  “Well, I hear it made a dollar last year when Cooter James lost a bet, but otherwise, not a dime,” she replied. “That's why I've decided to deep-six the kissing booth and put on a wrestling show! Of course, I'd need someone to wrestle and I think you'd fill the bill. You have a one piece swimming suit, don't you?”

  “Well, I have a tankini, but I don't think--”

  “Good Lord, girl, you couldn't wear a tankini in a wrestling ring! You need something skin-tight! Don't you have something spandex?”

  I try to avoid spandex at all costs, but I didn't think there was any point in telling Pollyanna that. “Gee, that sounds like fun,” I lied, “but the Breezy Spoon has a booth at the city fair too, and I'll be so busy there that I just wouldn't have time to wrestle.”

  “I hear ya. Business is business after all,” Pollyanna said. “I guess I'll have to find somebody else. Sammy suggested Al Sholes wife, Noreen, but that's just because he hates her and wants to see me beat the stuffing out of her. ”

  Noreen is a snobby social climber whose condescending attitude has rubbed a lot of people in town the wrong way. “Everyone in town would pay to see that,” I said.

  “They wouldn't have to,” Pollyanna said, as she got up to leave. “I'd do it for free.”

  As I returned to the counter to finish the dinner specials I saw Dorcas Hodge waddling toward the door with her six year old son Mutt Jr. beside her. Dorcas's father, Harvey Loggins, is a local dairy farmer that supplies the Breezy Spoon with milk and cheese. The Loggins family lives way out in the country and they don't come into town often, which is fine by most folks in town. It's not that we don't like the Loggins family, it's that we don't like Mutt Jr. Think of him as the meanest, smallest tornado you ever saw and you get the idea. Dorcas dotes on the little mischief machine, which only makes things worse, so no one was sad that they don't visit East Spoon Creek City more.

  As Dorcas started through the door of the Breezy Spoon, Mutt Jr. tried to get through the door ahead of her which resulted in their both being wedged in the doorway. Dorcas was laughing and calling him a little rascal and he was calling her a fat bitch as he struggled to get in. Just as I thought I was going to have to call for the jaws of life, Mutt Jr. broke through and ran for one of the stools in front of the counter. He jumped up and began spinning around in circles, kicking the tiled front of the counter viciously with each rotation. He seemed to have a gun in his pocket and it wasn't plastic.

  “Hi, Dani,” Dorcas said, ignoring the little twerp as she sat down at a table. “We brought up them dresses that Daddy said you could use. I told Mutt to put them in the back seat of your car. I hope that's okay.”

  About a month ago Harvey Loggins had overheard me joking about how I didn't own many dresses since I wear a uniform most of the time, and it took it seriously. He decided to have Dorcas bring me some of her dresses that she had outgrown. Outgrown was a tactful way of saying that she had put on 200 pounds of what he referred to as baby fat after Mutt Jr. was born.

  “It sure is, Dorcas. It was really nice of you to give them to me,” I said as I was trying to remember where the closest Goodwill was located. “By the way, is that a toy gun that Mutt Jr. has in his pocket?”

  She laughed. “No, he wanted something that looked real, so we were over at the flea market in Kettletown and Daddy saw this gun that was really a cigarette lighter so he got it for him. Mutt Jr. just loves him a good fire. Last year when he climbed all the way up the ladder to the barn loft and set the hay on fire, I knew he was going to grow up to be a fireman! Your friend Mark is a fireman and I been wondering if he'd like to mentor Mutt Jr; you know, show him the ropes and all that?”

  “Well, I'll be sure to ask him about that,” I replied. “I imagine Mutt Jr. is going to get to know a lot of firemen if he stays in town long. Uh, do you plan to stay in town long?”

  “We're staying with your Grandma and Grandpa O'Shea for a couple three days so that we can take Mutt Jr. to the fair.”

  Mutt Jr. was spinning faster on the stool now and his kicking against the front of the counter was getting louder. Brendan came out from the kitchen and said, “Say, sonny, I've got some chalk here. How would you like to go outside and draw on the sidewalk?”

  Mutt Jr. grabbed the chalk and said, “Yeah, I'm gonna draw dirty pictures and dirty words all over your stupid sidewalk!”

  “Have at it, kid,” Brendan said as he returned to the kitchen.

  Dorcas laughed. “Ain't kids something? That little guy has folks in stitches every time he opens his mouth! He's very advanced for his age, y'know; his teacher even told me he was special.”

  Just then a big pickup truck with dried mud splattered all across its sides pulled into the lot outside.

  “Well, I'd best get going,” Dorcas said. “Looks like Mutt Senior's back from delivering a load of pumpkins to McGee's Market. Say, Dani, d'you figure ol' Gene McGee done away with that Duval fellow like everyone says? Gene always seems so nice and has such good prices on canned goods. Me, I don't see how a man who'll give you canned beets two-for-a-dollar could turn around and murder a fellow in cold blood.”

  “No, I don't think he did, Dorcas,” I agreed. “Lloyd made a lot of enemies and the sheriff has a lot of suspects that he's investigating.”

  “I bet he has. If it were me I'd check into them two fellas from the glove factory.”

  “The glove factory in Kettletown? What two guys?” I wasn't sure if Dorcas knew something or if this had something to do with the price of beets.

  “Oh, I expect you didn't hear about it,” Dorcas said. “It was when we was in town last; we was walking down the street to where the truck was parked when Mutt Jr. had to tinkle and just couldn't wait. So we sent him down an alley to do his business and me and Mutt Sr. were just talking and waiting; well, the next thing you know we heard Mutt Jr. laughing and, sure enough, he'd started a little fire in the alley with his new lighter gun! Don't that beat all?” Dorcas laughed heartily and slapped her knee.

  “It sure does, but what about the guys
from the glove factory?” I prompted.

  “Well, Mutt Sr. went down the alley to put the fire out and while I was waiting I saw Lloyd Duval come out of a building across the street. I guess he had just given one of them speeches that he gives, for folks were walking out and he was shaking their hands and such. But then these last two fellas come out and they start talking to him after the rest of the folks left. Pretty soon the talking turns to shouting and Lloyd Duval is telling them to go away and never come back! Well, the two of them get right up in his face and the older fella pokes Mr. Duval in the chest. Mr. Duval didn't take kindly to that and he grabbed the fella by the front of his shirt and just about lifted him off the ground! Then the younger fella takes a swing at him; can you imagine?”

  “That's really shocking,” I said. “Could you make out what they were saying?”

  “Can't say I was listening too closely, but when they started in with the scuffling I'd seen enough! I wasn't gonna put up with that kind of violence in front of a gentle child like Mutt Jr.! I hollered right out that I was gonna call the sheriff on them if they didn't stop that instant! Mutt Sr. had finished taking a whiz on the fire to put it out, and he came out to see what the shouting was about, so those two fellas saw they weren't going to get away with any of that rough stuff, and they ran off to their van and lit out of there. It said Kettletown Glove Factory right on the side of the van, it did.”

  A wheezing honk sounded from the truck outside. Dorcas waved impatiently at the window. “Well, I reckon we'll be moving on; your grandma is probably getting dinner ready by now. Anyhow, I hope the sheriff don't arrest Gene McGee. We're just about out of canned beets and I don't figure to pay 75 cents for them in Pumpkin City.”

  I said goodbye and went back to the kitchen, where Brendan was mashing potatoes. “I need to leave a little early today,” I said. “Can you cover for me til the end of the shift?”