The Swedish Days Swindle

by J. B. Michaels

  The Swedish Days Swindle

  A Mac and Millie Mystery

  JB Michaels

  Harrison and James Publishing

  “From the opening pages to the final sentence, you are treated to a rollercoaster of fun and frights.”- DT Chantel

  SEE THE BACK OF THE BOOK FOR MORE!

  For Division 013

  The Swedish Days Swindle

  By JB Michaels

  Chapter One

  Mac O’Malley, retired cop and prospective author, stepped out of his car and into the seemingly gelatinous, humid air that often dominated the clime of said midwestern small towns like Geneva, Illinois in late June. His usual parking spot at his favorite local retail palace, The Tiny Wanderer, was next to the yellow awning covered side entrance. Today it was taken up by the employees. All hands on deck in preparation for the week’s festivities: the annual summer gala, Swedish Days. Many towns, provinces, neighborhoods in the Chicagoland area named their festivities after the founding ethnicities of said areas. The far southside of Chicago held their very own Southside Irish Parade, African Americans had the Bud Billiken parade along King drive, again on the Southside, and the 26th Street Mexican Independence parade, among many other ethno-centric fests.

  In Geneva around 1892, the Swedes along with the Irish and later Italians, helped swell the village’s population and thus the etymology of the Swedish Days festival. It was usually held over five days with a parade, special food items, carnival rides, and, of course retail tents like the one that Edith and company were setting up in front of the Wanderer.

  Mac hobbled over with his cane. “What is happening here, Edith?”

  “We are setting up for Swedish Days. Juan should have your breakfast all ready.” Edith carried a box of labels and tag guns. “Just go ahead in.”

  “Do you guys need help?” Mac asked.

  “No. We really have this. Debbie, will you make sure those are put out in their own section of the table?” Edith nodded toward a box of plastic water bottles with fans attached to them.

  Mac said, “I will eat and come back and help. Why not?”

  “Thanks, but you still have not finished that manuscript. Get it done. I am so sick of asking you about it. I may need your help tomorrow or the next day when we have an important delivery scheduled to arrive. I will call you about that later. Just get your book done!” Edith walked away and to the tent.

  Mac’s eyes were wide. She was right: he’d put it off enough. He and Millie had helped solve two local murders and those did nothing but distract him from the actual work he needed to get done. Mac was very-nearly-almost-completely-for real-done with his very first manuscript on his heroics in preventing a bombing at the Chicago marathon. Now, the last murder he’d solved was in February, but after that, Millie decided to move to upstate New York. He’d spent a great deal of time supporting her through those couple months and visiting her for the weekends—sometimes longer.

  Ultimately, she’d decided to come back to her old position at Geneva’s Salem Bank. He didn’t influence her career choices directly. Millie missed her family and frankly, she did help with the transition of the newly acquired upstate banking branches to Salem Bank’s way of doing things. Now, there really wasn’t much else for her to do but monitor and manage—and that she had decided someone else could do. Her boss, Gerald, was fine with that and approved the transfer back to Geneva.

  Mac was relieved. The long distance was taxing even though Millie’s use of magic made the distance issue, frankly, a non-issue. She used instantaneous travel magic. The distance mattered not. It was the continuity issues and having to explain where he was to everyone and how he’d got there that was a problem. Keeping the lies straight to keep Millie’s magical ways a secret proved a bothersome and stressful task. Still, the fast travel magic absolutely captivated Mac, among many other spells, potions, rituals, etcetera, that came with dating a witch.

  One other problem with using magic for any extended amount of time was the attention it merits from other magic-users. Millie needed a steady supply of essence of hummingbird to keep the travel magic flowing and to be used at her beck and call. Other witches and wizards started talking and poking their noses into who bought up all the essence powder over those two months. So yes, there were those issues as well.

  But, it didn’t matter anymore. Millie was back home.

  Mac entered the Tiny Wanderer through the side entrance and the welcome respite of cool air relieved his sweat glands. To the café he went. A day of finishing up his manuscript seemed possible and his very first Swedish Days with his sweetheart lay ahead.

  Chapter Two

  Millie settled back into her office chair at Salem Bank of Geneva, or as most people referred to it, Salem Bank. The last few months were hectic, strange, and challenging, but she loved that she had moved and experienced someplace new. She’d established herself in a new community, even with a built-in safety net of instantaneous traveling to her hometown via magic powder.

  She smiled. It was good to be home.

  “Welcome back Millie! I’ll be honest. I know you did a great job out there, but I’m really glad you are back here.” Gerald gave her a rather soft hug, obviously trying not overstep his bounds.

  “Aww, thanks Gerald.” She hugged him back and then pulled away.

  He let her go without any awkward pauses and then walked into his office. “Very good. Have a good day!”

  “Thanks everyone. So happy to be back!” Mille felt the love in the bank lobby and felt good about her decision to move back. The tellers were happy to see her as well. A box of chocolates with a big welcome back card lay on her keyboard.

  Her desk phone rang. “Salem Bank, how may I help you?”

  “Millie Paderson.” A raspy, older male voice wheezed through the receiver.

  “Yes, this is she. How may I help you? Need an appointment? You’re in luck, I have zero on the schedule for today.” Millie laughed.

  “Then, it is true.”

  “What?” Millie’s mood shifted from her happy contentment to a rising measure of anxiety. “Sir?”

  She heard shuffling and then the buzz of the dial tone. The mysterious man had abruptly ended the call. Millie quickly examined the small LED screen on her desk phone for a caller ID, but he’d blocked his number.

  Not the best first customer interaction to have upon coming back home.

  She decided to brush it off and open her card or, perhaps indulge in piece of chocolate from Geneva’s own world-renowned Cocoa Kitchen. Today would be a good day and a fun night with Mac at Swedish Days.

  Mac labored at his keyboard all day. It was nearly 3pm and he had deleted and rewritten the last chapter five times. One would think the final chapter would be thrilling, exacting, and compelling, yet Mac struggled with it. His reluctance tapped into his insecurity and, frankly, post-traumatic stress. His leg injury hurt more intensely with each keystroke, each memory. Reliving a moment that forever changed his life for both the good and the bad didn’t come easy. It was not like playing a movie, or putting on a VR helmet, or even opening the pages of your favorite book. This was real. Palpable pain. He needed to convey his feelings just right so that his editor wouldn’t send the chapter back to him with too many notes. This chapter needed that genuine feeling, that authentic experience. The actual honest truth was oft times the hardest to write without coming off as preachy and forced.

  He sighed and leaned back in the café chair. He’d gone through two meals, four cups of coffee, and three cokes. Was writer’s block an actual thing? Mac didn’t know and didn’t want to ruminate on the possibility it might be the reason for his laborious day of writing. He just needed some grit, to just power through and finish.
He would meet Millie soon for dinner and their inaugural Swedish Days date.

  Chapter Three

  Mac and Millie walked down Third Street with considerable vigor, given that the heat index inched ever closer to the ninety-five degree mark. The crowds filled the sidewalk in front of them. Lots of laughter could be heard. Kids informing their parents of what flavor ice cream they wanted. The usual complaints about the heat but still, positive energy abounded.

  Dinner was good: pub food at Stockholmens. A well-done cheeseburger and ice cold beer did much to satisfy the rather simple, albeit plain, taste of retired Officer Mac O’Malley. Millie took it a little easier on her digestive system with a steak salad. Leafy greens were something that Mac needed to incorporate more into his diet. He just didn’t see much point, but did applaud the fact that Millie ate much healthier than him. He wanted to be better—some idealized version of himself he sometimes considered—but he knew he really just wanted burgers and beers most meals.

  “Shall we grab some dessert from Kraham’s? Something? Or are you full?” Mac walked next to his love.

  “You can if you want. I am full, but thanks anyway. Perhaps we can get something to eat later? Like some chocolate covered pretzels or something?” Millie smiled.

  “That is a good idea. Now, if only we could make it down there in one piece?” Mac pointed with his cane down Third. There were many white tents, vendors, food stalls, and retail pop-ups lining Third Street. Swedish Days was in full-swing and it attracted many visitors from neighboring towns, not just Geneva’s residents. Many people use any excuse they can to visit the beautiful, quaint, and charming town. A special event like Swedish Days was no exception.

  “People do love Swedish Days even when it’s a hot night. It is probably the next most popular event in Geneva besides the Christmas Walk.” Millie looked around still smiling. She loved the fact that she was back home.

  “I’m happy to see you so happy, Mills. I really am. It just feels right to be here with you.”

  Mac and Millie weaved their way through the crowd by the courthouse and made their way down Third Street to Krahams: a classic ice-cream parlor and confectionary .It felt just as refined and established in its antiquity as the Tiny Wanderer. Kraham’s was a smaller white house in comparison to the Tiny Wanderer but, nonetheless, a staple of downtown Geneva. The great flagstone front porch had many deep wooden chairs to enjoy ice cream on a hot summer night. Plus, from the porch one could see inside and observe the ice cream and treats being made, a rather analog way to enjoy an evening in an increasingly digital and distant world.

  Mac walked to the screen door on the right front side of the small, white house of Kraham’s and opened it for Millie.

  “Why thank you, sir.” Mille walked in.

  Mac followed her and after observing a family of four with ice cream cones of differing types—waffle, regular, and sugar—leaned over to Millie and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any ice cream?”

  “I’m really okay. Honestly, I can’t have too much ice cream anyway.”

  “Oh, duh, lactose intolerant.” Mac inwardly cringed. “I keep forgetting. Why can’t I remember that?”

  “You are an idiot. It really is okay to admit it.” Millie teased.

  “Hahaha! No, no, I am.”

  “I feel like you are a bit lactose intolerant yourself. I mean, it’s nice that you try and shield your gas from me still at this point in our dating life, but you need to be faster with that cane to totally clear the distance needed for it not to assault my olfactory receptors.” Millie laid into him, her lips spread into a sweet grin.

  “Haha! Oh man! I thought I did a good job of not passing gas around you!” Mac realized he’d been very loud. The family of four started to laugh, especially the roughly eight-year-old boy.

  “Mac! Shush! Let’s just get some pretzels.” Millie motioned for him to enter the crowded confectionary.

  Chapter Four

  Internally, Mac struggled. The palpable grip of anxiety and uncertainty clouded his judgement. Millie and he had been dating for almost one year. The year anniversary fast approached and he wanted it to be perfect.

  This night did not feel perfect. He had a rough day at the keyboard in the Wanderer and something just didn’t feel right, even though Millie was back and all should be well. Something nagged at him.

  The couple had decided to walk down to the Fox River, away from the crowds and noise of the band tent in front of the courthouse. They walked down Rt. 38 to the Fox River bridge and the corner that the Hennington Inn occupied: the place they interviewed Lacy’s employees about Patricia’s death last Christmas.

  “Should we cross the bridge or no?” Mac asked. He took a deep breath to ignore his aching leg.

  Millie shook her head. “No, no, we can just stay here and chill. This bridge is full of spiders in the summer and I just can’t take it.”

  Mac walked onto the bridge and examined the railings. Sure enough, spiderwebs everywhere. In the center of most of the silken structures rested considerably large arachnids.

  “Holy hell, you weren’t kidding! What the heck? So, we just stay here on the corner or what?”

  “Yes, let’s just chill and enjoy the sunset. Maybe break out a pretzel or two,” Millie said.

  “Sounds good to me. I have to say, I didn’t know you were scared of spiders. One would think a witch wouldn’t be afraid of spiders.”

  “Believe it, Officer O’Malley.”

  “Why don’t we walk down closer to the river, away from the spider bridge? That sound good?”

  “Sure, I think there is a gazebo with some benches where we can sit. Let’s do it.”

  “I will clear any webs with my cane I assure you, madam.” Mac spoke in a fake, yet proper, English accent. “Can you believe it’s almost been a year?”

  “I can’t believe it. What a crazy year it’s been. Don’t take offense, but it feels a hell of a lot longer than just a year!” Millie put her arm around his arm and they strolled down in front of the Hennington, close to the river.

  Mac abruptly stopped. “It appears that you and I can’t seem to catch a break. Don’t look at the riverbank.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do—oh no!” Millie gasped.

  “Are we cursed? Or what?” Mac walked away from Mille and leaned over the riverbank, shining his smartphone’s flashlight on to the dead body floating in the Fox River.

  A man floated face down, his body stuck on some tree debris and his bald head bobbing in the current. He wore a black leather jacket. From the look of him, he died fairly recently.

  “I’d better call my brother. He’s probably starting to think we kill people for fun so we can play detective with him!”

  Chapter Five

  Vince’s unmarked squad rolled up in the parking lot of the Hennington Inn and he made his way down the path to Mac and Millie. Three other marked squads followed Vince to the site.

  “Can we ever just meet up in normal situations? I thought we were all supposed to have dinner together tomorrow night. What we got this time?” Vince spoke loudly as he jogged to the riverbank and the offshore, floating corpse.

  “Like I said, deceased male. It doesn’t look like he died pretty recently, which could mean he was gassy and rose to the surface in only a few hours rather than days.”

  “Oh, gross.” Millie covered her mouth.

  “Seriously, Mac, spare Millie the details. You have no idea how long he has been down there. Let’s wait for the coroner to give us time of death. I’ll get my guys to fish him out.”

  “You’re going to call me, right? I can help, of course.” Mac nodded to his brother.

  “Sure. Sure, go on and get out of here. Enjoy the rest of your night—if that’s at all possible after seeing a floater. Millie, you good?”

  “I will be fine. Thanks Vince.” Millie walked up the path back to the spider bridge and Rt. 38.

  “Keep me updated Vincey. Wait up, Mills!” Mac followed Millie up the pa
th, limping without the use of his cane.

  Millie stopped halfway up the path.

  “What is up? You okay? It’s not your first dead body discovery.” Mac caught up to his love. He hated to see her like this.

  “That is the second unsettling thing to happen to me today. I’m beginning to think we should have stuck with the upstate New York arrangement.” Millie wiped sweat from her forehead. The humidity, still thick even at dusk, made her curly hair that much curlier and voluminous.

  “Well, you wanted to try it out…”

  “I know Mac. I was just thinking out loud, I didn’t mean I want to move back there. Just give me a minute.”

  “Okay. What happened earlier?” Mac asked.

  Millie shot him a look.

  “Right, right, sorry. It hasn’t been a minute yet.” Mac gritted his teeth in regret. Now was not the time to be over-anxious and make her feel like he was conducting an interrogation.

  “Someone called my work phone, a creepy man. He said something like ‘so it is true.’”

  “What is true?” Mac’s furrowed brow showed his puzzlement.

  “I’m not sure.” Millie continued to walk towards Third Street, now back on Rt. 38.

  “You don’t think it was what we talked about before? The use of the instant travel magic? It may have attracted unwanted attention from other magic users.”

  “That could be it. I suppose we should ask my mother about it. Maybe she would know more. She was worried about us using it so much over the last couple months.”

  “Let’s call Beck then. Did you get the number on caller ID?”

  “No, whoever called blocked the number.”