Deadly Cost of Goods

by Margaret Evans

“I bet he eventually stopped asking,” Connor commented.

  She just smiled.

  “You wrote that list with both hands, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “It drove the teachers crazy when they saw me switching hands all the time. They couldn’t believe I could do it.”

  “So you mastered your ambidextrous handwriting just to spite them.”

  “I never knew when it might come in handy. I wrote that list this morning after I woke up in front of the TV that was still on from last night. Had a very long and busy day yesterday. Oh, you know the sign is only up for you to see today and I have to take it down so no one else will see it. I’ll keep it upstairs on the inside of my bedroom closet door to remind me from time to time.”

  “As long as you keep the promise, it doesn’t matter where you put it. Why don’t you stop for a quick lunch and I’ll help you finish stocking the shelves.”

  * * *

  Connor marveled over the fact that Laura always had good food in her refrigerator. His own was often empty of just the thing he wanted at any one particular time. Yet he consistently found exactly what he wanted at any random moment in Laura’s and concluded it must be another of her super powers.

  “How’d your week in Minneapolis go?” Laura asked, loving being enveloped in his arms and his kiss. She had felt so lonely the past several days. She imagined he had, as well.

  He said nothing but made her sit while he set his white glove aside temporarily, washed up and made their sandwiches. He noted there were no brownies in the fridge.

  “There aren’t any brownies,” she said, guessing the reason for his searching the shelves. He had the I-want-a-brownie look on his face. The sandwich meats, cheeses, and spreads had been easy to find, along with the bread and lettuce.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need them.”

  “There are grapes and strawberries on the second shelf down, all washed and stemmed.”

  “Found ‘em. Thanks.”

  He placed one sandwich plate in front of her, one in front of where he planned to sit, two chilled bottles of water, and the berries and grapes in front of them. Then he sat.

  “The week was tiring,” he said.

  “Not because of the glove?”

  “No, everyone understood the challenge and why I’m doing this, and for the most part, they were interested in the new technology. All the time speaking and waiting and coaching and mentoring was pretty exhausting. Answering endless questions about the program, how it works, and they also had questions about problems they thought might come up. Tiring when it goes on day after day.”

  “But you do that here, too.”

  “There’s more activity here to break up the talking.”

  She nodded, enjoying the sandwich she didn’t have to make. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Once the sandwich was gone, she dove into the grapes.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “I was kept very busy,” he responded, with a tease in his eyes. He picked up a grape from the bowl and reached across the little table to shove it in her mouth, joining the other three already in there being chewed.

  She looked at him in surprise over her mouth full of grapes.

  He sobered.

  “It was lonely there, even with the crowd. I’m glad I’m back.”

  “Did you do any good?”

  “For the cadets?”

  “Mmm.”

  “No way to tell just yet. But I may have influenced some of them at least to come visit our little town.” He left off why.

  “Wow. That might be good for our shops and restaurants. It’s been busy here. I have lots to tell you.”

  Connor looked up from his sandwich.

  “How’s the research going on the Web?”

  “I still think there’s something going on at the Old Library. I’ve found out some more about its history and how often whitewashing and re-tarring the roof was done. Oh, and we’re making lots of progress on the display set up in the New Library for Heritage Days.”

  “Good to hear. About the Old Library and your suspicions, nobody has gotten back to me about this. So, short of breaking down the doors and storming the place, what are your suggestions?” Connor asked.

  His question surprised her. Usually, he drove the conversation on police procedure.

  “You know there’s another way in,” Laura pointed out. “You could snake a camera into the place from one of the secret passages and see what’s going on.”

  He thought about that. For almost a whole minute. Popped two strawberry pieces into his mouth.

  “And that’s supposing they haven’t found the passages already. I’m not even sure we could still get in from the other side of the road. The bait and tackle shop has a small, gravel parking lot with maybe three spaces. Whoever’s in the Old Library must have a lookout watching the road, so they’d see us coming. And it might be impossible to get through that door in the shed. Last time we saw it, the wood was rotting and fractured. The shop owner might not be happy about our destruction of property.”

  “But I don’t think he owns the shed; the town does. Or the county. Or the state. It’s on the other side of the three parking spaces. There’s even a mini-fence barricade there. Surely that’s a property line. And you can—or somebody else can—go incognito. Plain clothes and old car or pickup and just one person. Remember the old dirt farm road on the other side of the shop? There are dense, evergreen woods surrounding it. Either you or somebody else could park along that road, sneak through the woods and walk right into the shed without being seen, maybe at night.”

  “Which ‘somebody else’ were you talking about, Laura?” he directed at her with a slight crease between his eyebrows.

  “Not me, if that’s what you think I was thinking. I’d love to do it, but it has to be someone way more official than I am. Besides, I don’t have one of those snaky camera things. I’ll have to put one on my letter to Santa this year. And I’d have to get Daddy’s gun out of the safe deposit box to defend myself if they caught me.”

  He seemed distracted, skipped completely over her mention of her father’s old service weapon. Perhaps he was still tired from his time at the academy.

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it since I got back, but I will, and I’ll bring up your suggestion to see if they want to proceed in that direction. Nobody’s been in that tunnel for years. No idea of its condition or stability.”

  “Who are you going to consult? Your boss, Chief Mallory?”

  Arthur Mallory was the chief of police in Raging Ford. Most days, he was traveling, speaking to politicians about increasing the town’s budget for the peace officers, which left Sergeant Connor Fitzpatrick totally in charge of the Raging Ford Police Department. During a recent major incident, Mallory signed a contract with Laura Keene to be an occasional consultant with the department, an action that Connor greatly appreciated.

  “No, my dad.”

  Connor’s father was the deputy chief of police in Duluth, a significantly larger city near the shores of Lake Superior. He knew more about Raging Ford than even Connor did, but the biggest benefit was that he was in his office almost every day and reachable on Sundays when Connor often ate dinner at his parents’ house.

  “Probably a good idea. Let me know what he says…if you can.”

  “Will do,” Connor said, rising.

  “There’s something else we need to talk about, Connor. I think I found a clue about one of the items in the box of clues my father gave me, one we couldn’t figure out before.”

  Laura referred, of course, to the four clues her father left for her, should anything happen to either him or her mother, which it had. The clues were designed to help her figure out if there was a real conspiracy against Samuel Rage’s descendants. There was a root beer lollipop, a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow Matchbox car, a small stuffed animal, and a stick that looked hand-carved but was neither a baseball nor a cricket bat. Connor and Laura hadn’t yet figured out
where all four clues pointed.

  “I’ll let you know the first minute I have some free time,” he replied. “You’ll have my full attention. I just got back and I have a lot to catch up on with the staff. As soon as possible, I promise.”

  He followed her into the workroom behind the shop and together, they scooped up what needed to go into the store for the afternoon crowd. The shelves were soon filled to bursting. Then Connor had to leave.

  “Can you stop by for dinner?” she asked.

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

  He headed to the back door of the workroom behind the shop, then stopped, turned around and came back to kiss Laura.

  She caught the distraction in his quick hug and kiss.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, I just have a lot on my mind these days.”

  Laura was bursting to tell him about the toys, including small, furry animals, that photographers used with small children to distract them from the bright lights. But Connor was unable to come back for dinner.

  Chapter 22

  “First day, first event is the flea market on June 28,” Brenda Christmas read out from her project plan. She tossed her hair extensions back over her shoulder where they belonged. “All the booths and tables are taken, and the nominal fees of ten dollars per spot will gross one thousand dollars. We provide water stations donated by the parents and three port-a-potties covered by the table fees. The school will net eight hundred dollars. No food because buyers aren’t usually at a flea market for very long. The sellers bring their own snacks.

  “On the 29th, we have the games, crafts, food and other booths that will be priced according to the cost of the booth. General tickets are fifty cents each so the younger children can access the Fishing Pond for little items such as small rubber balls, a mini-domino pack, a four-color crayon pack, a balsa airplane kit, mini-sized decks of cards, key chains, and a variety of other items. Based on the past three years’ activity, the town should net at least three or four thousand dollars. Craft stalls net the town twenty-five dollars per booth which adds up to another two thousand dollars. Food booths cost one hundred dollars each. Right now we have eleven different food booths contracted, so that nets the town another eleven hundred dollars. Any questions at this point?”

  There was a minor discussion among the committee members, and Laura noticed that Brenda’s big, purple, leather bag had fallen over, spilling some of its contents, including small stuffed animals! Marla Branson, the nurse at the medical center, tapped Glenda Thursson’s arm and pointed to the spillage. Glenda reached over to pick up one of the animals.

  Laura was close enough to hear the entire conversation.

  “These are cuter than ours,” Glenda commented and motioned to Brenda that her pets were escaping.

  Brenda laughed and scooped them into her bag and set it straight against her chair leg.

  “Those babies at my school just love the big eyes. Something about those eyes. When I solidified the program into the budget, we targeted the pre-k, kindergarten and first grade classes for kids who were shy, sad, lonely, or had learning disabilities. I’ve never regretted it.”

  “I guess that makes ours at the library substandard, but most of the kids like them. It’s been so successful with shy kids in our holiday reading programs and puppet shows. They get to keep their animals and take them home. Sometimes they want to make costumes for their new pets and bring them back to share at the next reading time.”

  Marla Branson asked Brenda where she got them.

  “ ‘Super Baby Eyes’ on the Internet.”

  “Do they come in individual, sealed bags?” Marla asked.

  “No, just a big jumble in one big bag.”

  Laura had to interject.

  “When did you start giving them to the kids at the library?” she asked. They certainly weren’t doing it when she was fifteen and helping in the reading program.

  “Oh, for years. I can’t remember exactly how long,” Glenda acknowledged.

  “So have we, at the medical center,” Marla chimed. “But we get them from a company that guarantees they are clean and in individual, sealed bags. Costs a little more, but worth it for a medical center. Every child gets a new, bagged animal of their choice—they pick. It stays with them throughout their stay in the hospital and they get to take it home with them.”

  Laura’s mind was in a whirl: photography studio, elementary school, library, and medical center. To which one did the item in her father’s envelope of clues refer?

  * * *

  Brenda resumed the discussions about the activities. The second day also included the much-awaited dunk tank. The town would cover the tank rental and the school would pay the water. All profits from the event would go directly to the repair and refurbishing of the two big brass railings in the police station.

  “What is the ticket price?”

  Laura nodded to Jenna to answer.

  “We’re asking five dollars a ticket.”

  “Your estimate of the profit?”

  “We are looking to hit about seven to eight thousand dollars.”

  Whistles flew about the room.

  “Is that enough to do the railings?” Bryce asked.

  “The last estimate I heard was about ten thousand dollars. Laura has collected fourteen hundred with all of her in-store, fund-raiser products. We plan to approach a local contractor with whatever funds we have and at least get them to sign a contract with us. If we need additional funds, we’ll hold another silent auction like the last one that covered the renovations to the nurses’ quarters at the medical center.”

  “And boy, was that appreciated, Jenna!” Marla Branson piped in. “They’ve already begun the work. We can’t wait!”

  “So you think that many people will want to dunk RFPD’s finest?” Bryce asked, smiling.

  “I’m going to approach the volunteer fire department and EMTs, and Jenna has already reached out to the public swimming pool lifeguards. We want to get more of a mixture,” Laura added.

  “Excellent,” Bryce mentioned. “And that brings us to the third day of the Heritage Days Festival, formerly called Founders’ Day. Harry?”

  Harry Kovacs ran Founders’ Day. He hated committees and was here only on this night to advise the status of his generally unchanging plans for the third day of the annual festival because he was obligated to be present. He knew the spiel by heart and only added the bit about the booklets and the dunk tank.

  “Entrance fee for the tour is twenty-five dollars. The booklets that Laura and Jenna are putting together will be eight dollars. The coloring books will be fifty cents, which is the cost of the four-color crayon packet that’s going with it. The town will eat the cost of printing, some of which gets reimbursed by the tour fees.

  “We start at the usual place, the old cemetery, walk through the grave stones looking at the people who used to live here. Then we give the tour through the Freedom Tunnel down to the river and talk a little more about the history of that. Then everybody returns to their cars and follows us to the shopping center on Brakelight Circle where they can park for the home walking tour.

  “If the number of participants is too big for one of us, Charlie and Will can each take a group around. The tour hits a number of historic homes and all the original public buildings, including the post office which has its own display inside with photographs of what it used to be like in the ‘olden days.’ Which, by the way, brings me to another new thing we’ve added this year. Laura is working with the New Library folks to create a display of what it was like in the Old Library. She’s digging out the original card catalogue and lots of photos and other good stuff. Should be fun to see and we’ll hit that next. After that is the first church built here and we end up back at Brakelight Circle, because we’ve walked in a circle. We’ll have a couple of sag wagons following us around should anyone not be able to finish the walking tour.

  “There is no way to estimate what we’ll bring in for the town
because it varies pretty widely from year to year depending on people’s vacation plans. Plus, this year they will have likely spent all their money on dunking our fine constabulary.”

  When the laughing died down, Kelly spoke up.

  “The coloring books are in their final stages and will be presented to Harry for his approval prior to going to the printer later this week in order to meet our deadline. Jenna or Laura, did you want to give an update on the Heritage Days Festival booklets?”

  Again, Laura deferred to Jenna.

  “We are also in the final stages of drafting for Harry’s approval. Kelly, Laura, and I met to make sure we had a good cross-over of ideas and themes in both booklets. The Memorial Day flyers are all distributed and free and ready for the Memorial Day parade on Monday. We’re in good shape.”

  Brenda then steered them back to the next event which was Independence Day with its picnic, parade and fireworks. Everything and everybody was on schedule, and the meeting adjourned early.

  * * *

  Elijah Simms was almost ready to finish his shift and go home, when he noticed something about one of the pills he had taken from a bottle. He continued to stare at it, and as he did so, he realized he no longer had the ability to tell if it was a good pill or a dud.

  Bronco Turner came up behind him.

  “Something wrong?”

  Elijah didn’t even jump. He just couldn’t seem to focus. Turning his head to the man behind him, he said he was double-checking the pills and wasn’t sure this was the right one to go in this bottle.

  It was his very calmness that struck Turner as odd. Elijah was usually so goofy and good-natured about everything. Not a thing in the world worried him. So who was this new Elijah he was seeing now?

  “I think we have the wrong pill in the wrong bottle, Bronco. Can you take a look?”

  “You’re not even supposed to be opening them, Simms. Just put them in their little boxes with the inserts and load them into the bigger boxes for distribution. We have to stay on schedule. Why are you even looking into the bottles?”