by JoAnna Carl
“I’m willing to apologize to all of them,” Paige said. “I hope they’ll all forgive me.”
Nobody pledged their forgiveness—I know I kept my mouth shut—but nobody formally refused it either. Hogan and Sheriff Vinton started chatting, and the tension at the table settled.
I did feel some sympathy for Paige. She sat silently, with her head down, and she had made what seemed to be a sincere effort to apologize.
So I did make a few efforts to talk to her. I learned that she had grown up in Kalamazoo, and she had majored in law enforcement at a junior college, working her way through school as a discount-store clerk. She was single and had a small apartment in our county seat, Dorinda.
We chatted, but I certainly didn’t feel that we’d made any steps toward becoming friends.
After my first few questions, Joe carried the conversation, asking what had attracted her to law enforcement, which parts of her training she had found most interesting, and if she was particularly drawn to any specialty, such as juvenile work, sex crimes, or traffic control. Paige said she was undecided. She gave him the big eyelash treatment that Hogan had received, too.
I appreciated Joe’s efforts to lead a conversation. I think we were all glad when the checks came. Hogan, the sheriff, and Paige stood up, shook hands all around, and said good-bye.
“We’ll see you at three o’clock,” Vinton said. And Hogan nodded. The three law officers left while Joe was still waiting for his change.
“Well,” I said. “That was an interesting meeting. And I’ve got an important question.”
“What is it?” Joe asked. “Not that I have any answers.”
“Why wasn’t Mike here?”
“Hogan told me that’s what the meeting at three is about.”
“Oh.” I thought about it. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
“I thought so. Mike’s a great guy. But he can be hotheaded. If he wants to blow off steam, Hogan thought it would be best to give him the chance in a more private setting.” Joe sighed deeply. “Of course, if Mike wants to keep this job, he’ll have to learn to handle his temper. He managed to do it last night. At least he waited until he got to our house before he let loose.”
I nodded, and Joe looked at the ceiling. “What did you think of the beautiful Miss Paige?” he asked.
“I’m withholding judgment,” I said. “How about you?”
“No comment,” Joe said.
“Really?” I said. “I thought you and Hogan were eating up her act.”
“You thought it was an act?” Joe sounded surprised.
“I suppose she had every right to be nervous in this situation. So any uneasiness might have been perfectly sinister. I mean, sincere! Perfectly sincere.” I looked at my watch. “But in any case, I’d better go.”
“Busy afternoon?”
I stood up. “I have some important phone calls to make. I’m waiting to hear from the burglar alarm company, and I need to get a line on a raccoon trapper. And actually I think I need to stop at the drugstore and pick up some aspirin. Would you please watch my purse for a moment while I visit the ladies’ room?”
Herrera’s facility was usually clean and ordinarily uncrowded. I scooted to its door with my head down; the only surprise on the way was that I saw Paige in the main dining room talking to someone I didn’t know. She didn’t see me. I had thought she’d already left.
Two minutes later I was in the back stall in the ladies’ room when I heard the restroom door open and someone come in. I guess I wasn’t paying attention, because I didn’t make the customary cough or clear my throat to inform new callers that there was already someone there.
I jumped when I heard a voice. “Yes, I’m still here,” a woman said. “It went over like a charm.”
Was that Paige’s voice?
“They bought the whole story. I’m now known as ambitious, but not too bright.” She laughed sarcastically.
It was definitely Paige. I pulled my feet up so that they wouldn’t be visible if she looked under the door.
There was a long pause, and Paige spoke again, even more sarcastically than before. “Listen, Bob, I’ve done the stupid-broad act you wanted in front of some real idiots. Don’t push me any further! I could reach the blowing point! I’ve got to run; Vinton’s waiting for me.”
She paused, then spoke again. “Of course I’m not going to drop it! Not when we’re on the edge of a historic deal.”
The door to the ladies’ room closed with a whoosh, followed by a dull thud.
Chapter 6
What was all that about? I asked myself that while I washed my hands. Not that the answer wasn’t pretty evident.
Paige’s whole contrition act had been a fake. She was trying to convince the sheriff and Police Chief Hogan Jones that she had handled Mike poorly because she was overly ambitious. And that could be true.
But maybe there were other reasons. Who was Bob? It was a common name.
When I left the ladies’ room, I was dying to tell Joe the whole story. But Joe was at the front door, pacing back and forth. He shoved my purse at me and said, “Gotta run.” So I filed Paige’s phone call under “later” and forgot it for the moment. But I vowed to tell Joe, and Hogan, about the episode the first time I could.
As soon as I got back to the office, I called Wildflower Hill. The person, not the place.
Sometime back in the hippie era, a group of nontraditional people moved to a plot of land east of Warner Pier. One of the women had inherited the wooded tract, and they planned to form a commune and live there. They were going to be raising tomatoes and strawberries, and they pledged to live the simple life.
But they discovered that life is just not that simple. The tomatoes and strawberries didn’t grow well. The commune members began to realize they might be able to live their simple lives in the woods and fields, true, but they were going to need day jobs as well. Eventually most of them left. One of the few who stayed—Wildflower Hill—trained to become a taxidermist and opened a business.
Wildflower had been the original owner of the property, and its ownership remained with her. She continued to live there with, eventually, her granddaughter and great-grandson. I even hired Wildflower’s granddaughter, Forsythia “Sissy” Smith, as a bookkeeper for a few months. We all remained friends, but Sissy left her job with TenHuis Chocolade to enroll in college. Now I rarely saw Wildflower, because she did most of her shopping in Dorinda, and I hung around Warner Pier.
By the time raccoons invaded Warner Pier, Wildflower lived alone at the former commune, now known as “The Moose Lodge.” The name was nothing to do with the fraternal organization, but instead referred to a stuffed moose head that decorated Wildflower’s living room.
Wildflower still ran her taxidermy shop, specializing in small animals and trophy fish. And through our friendship, I had learned that if anybody in Warner County had the lowdown on trapping small animals, it was Wildflower Hill. Not that she was a hunter herself, but she knew who was willing and able to trap animals.
Wildflower seemed happy to hear from me. After a few minutes of chatting about Sissy and her son, we got around to the problem at hand.
“Hey, Wildflower,” I said, “we’ve got a raccoon problem.”
“I’ve got a nice one in my showroom,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s for sale.”
“I don’t think the one I have is for sale either,” I said. “But it’s living under the back steps at TenHuis Chocolade, and I’d sure like it to live somewhere else.”
She whistled. “An urban raccoon? I hear that they’re incredibly hard to get rid of.” Her voice became suspicious. “You don’t want to go the poison route, do you?”
“No. I’m not saying that’s never the solution, but I’d rather just encourage the raccoon to move away. I’m not crazy about putting out poison in or near a food-production fac
ility.”
“Hmm,” Wildflower said.
“Is there anybody around Warner Pier who would be willing to relocate a raccoon?” I asked. “I know some companies advertise, but could you recommend any of them?”
“I think the person you need is in Warner Pier. Try Watt Wicker.”
“Watt Wicker? I don’t think I know him.”
“You ought to know him; he works for your father-in-law. Hey, Lee, a client just drove in. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up, leaving me confused.
The raccoon catcher worked for my father-in-law? For a moment I couldn’t even think who my father-in-law was.
My father-in-law would be Joe’s father. But Joe’s dad died when Joe was in kindergarten. Wait, my father-in-law would also be Joe’s mother’s husband. Joe’s stepfather.
“Oh!” I said. “Mike Herrera!”
My relationship with Mike Herrera was further confused because Mike was also the father of Joe’s best friend, Tony Herrera; he was the grandfather of T. J., Tony’s son and kitchen cleaner for the three restaurants Mike owned; and Mike was also the mayor of Warner Pier. But I usually thought of him as just a friend.
“Ye gods!” I said. “Mike has a ton of employees!”
They included cooks, clerical workers, waiters and waitresses, dishwashers, bartenders, and even my close friend Lindy, his own daughter-in-law. Plus, Lindy and Tony’s three children.
I couldn’t recall any raccoon catchers among them. And the name Watt Wicker did not immediately ring a bell.
Until now. Suddenly I had a mental picture. Tall, slightly stooped, wearing a black baseball hat and sometimes carrying a bucket and a pail.
“Of course.” I said it aloud. “He’s the guy who deep cleans the kitchens for all three of Mike’s restaurants. T. J.’s boss. T. J. introduced him to us last night.”
Next step was a call to Lindy, one of the managers of Mike’s trio of restaurants. Lindy said she would have Watt call me.
“Watt—and T. J. as well—work such crazy hours that I’m hesitant to call them in the daytime. You could call at three p.m. and get them out of bed. But Watt and T. J. have dinner at one or another of the restaurants every night. It’s one of their benefits. Both are usually on the job by ten thirty or eleven.”
“That’s fine for me,” I said. “We’re always up late.”
The evening grew long, especially because Joe did another one of his evening sessions of skipping dinner and working at the boat shop. The news from Paige—information I had eavesdropped on in the ladies’ room—was almost forgotten because I never saw Joe long enough to talk to him.
I was still waiting to hear from Joe or from Watt when the phone rang at eleven p.m., and a gruff voice identified the speaker. “This is Watt Wicker. I hear you have a raccoon problem.”
“An urban raccoon, Watt, if you can call Warner Pier ‘urban.’ Any ideas on how to get rid of one?”
“It’s not easy. Do you want a live-trap job?”
“I’d prefer that. I’d also prefer that you have a place to move them that isn’t our backyard. We already have raccoons at our house, but out there the wildlife and I sort of ignore each other.”
“Ignoring usually works if you don’t put in a garden or get careless with trash. But in town, it’s different. Can I come by around noon tomorrow and look the situation over?”
I happily agreed to meet Watt at the rear entrance of TenHuis Chocolade. Joe didn’t come home until I was asleep, so I didn’t have an opportunity to tell him about Paige before I left for work. He was the one sleeping then.
By one o’clock the next day, I had struck a deal with Watt. He’d make the raccoon under the back steps disappear, and I would pay him a moderate amount of money.
“I appreciate you doing this,” I said. “Raccoons are so cute that people always act pleased when they find one in their yard. But they’re not pleased when they find out how destructive they can be.”
“I’ve seen ’em tear up a whole set of outdoor furniture,” Watt said. “They can rip the stuffin’ out of cushions—just for fun, I guess. But I appreciate the work. Huntin’ coons is more fun than cleaning grills. I just moved to Warner County, and a few local recommendations would help me build up that business.”
“I could put out a flyer to all the stores in this block. Would that help?”
“I’ll do it myself—after I catch your coon, Mrs. Woodyard. I can put a cute picture on the flyer, make people want the critters taken away and humanely released. It’ll be more convincing if I can tell people I’ve already removed some from their neighborhood.”
“Where do you take them?”
“Out near the Fox Creek Nature Preserve.”
I nodded. Wildflower’s property backed up to the Fox Creek Preserve.
Watt and I shook hands on it, and Watt used his phone to take some snapshots of food debris the raccoon had left in our alley after she dug garbage out of the Dumpster.
Then Watt climbed into the bed of his pickup and brought out the live trap—a sturdy wire cage with a small door. He placed it next to the stairs leading to our back door, a spot he said should be most enticing to the raccoon. He baited it with dog food he said he specially seasoned to appeal to raccoons.
I laughed. “That critter’s taking my parking place.”
“ ’Fraid so,” Watt said. “But with any luck, it won’t be for long. Just a few days.”
“With the traffic in Warner Pier, it’ll mean one more car in the municipal parking lot.”
We both smiled, and I felt that I had successfully solved one of those problems they don’t discuss in business school.
Only one surprise arose out of the whole deal. Mike Westerly also offered to do the job—for free.
I still hadn’t had a chance to tell Joe about my arrangement with Watt. So when, at that morning’s coffee club, Mike mentioned trapping the raccoon, Joe—my helpful husband—told him he was sure I’d take his offer.
I got the news at breakfast the next day. I was horrified. I couldn’t have both Mike and Watt as raccoon catchers.
“Oh, Joe,” I said. “I can’t snub Watt! That’s really nice of Mike, and I’d take him up on it in a minute, if I hadn’t already talked to Watt.”
“Of course you can’t, Lee.” Joe grinned. “You’ll just have to cough up the money to pay Watt. Mike was simply offering to do us a favor. He won’t be upset.”
I growled. “Next time say you’ll ask, okay?”
“Right. You stay out of boat repair, and I stay out of the chocolate business.”
We shook on it. It was only then that I remembered to tell Joe about Paige’s big reveal in the ladies’ room. Joe immediately went to the phone to call and tell Hogan. This time Hogan was the person who couldn’t be reached. Joe left a message, but Hogan was tied up with the state police detectives.
Changes are noticed quickly in small towns, so I wasn’t surprised when Alex Gold called that afternoon.
“Lee! What’s that wire contraption in the alley? I heard about it clear to Chicago!”
“The gadget is a raccoon trap, Alex. How’d you hear about it?”
“Bill Vanderwerp told me. Who’d you find to catch the critters?”
“We hired the guy who deep cleans Mike Herrera’s kitchens. But how are you doing after your scary ordeal? It would take a long time for me to recover from being bound and gagged.”
“Oh, I’m fine. I didn’t need any special treatment; I’m just letting Garnet pamper me in my Chicago apartment for the week. Then I’ll be back setting up the new store. But what’s the raccoon situation?”
I chuckled. “Downtown Warner Pier seems to have a few.”
“I have a family of them in the attic of the new shop.”
“That’s not good. Apparently this is a fertile year for the wild ’un
s.”
I told Alex about my deal with Watt Wicker and gave him Watt’s phone number, warning him about Watt’s odd working hours.
“I may give him a ring,” Alex said. “I guess the kits are big enough to start scurrying around. The noise from the attic seems to be increasing. I don’t know how they’re getting in.”
I pointed out that Watt hadn’t yet produced any results from the trap behind TenHuis Chocolade. “It’s only been a day,” I said, “so that’s not a criticism.”
But I didn’t get a report from Watt that day, and on the next day I grew impatient and called him.
“You’ve got a smart raccoon under your porch,” he said. “She hasn’t gone for the trap yet, but I haven’t given up. I think I’ve found where she’s raising her kits.”
“Oh, gee! So she is a mama!”
“I’ll try to snag the whole family. This time of the year the little ones are beginning to move around and follow their mama. I think one of them will go for the trap pretty soon.”
Another day went by, and I could still hear the raccoon under the porch. Around eight o’clock that evening I called Watt again. He didn’t answer his cell phone, so I tried Herrera’s Restaurant. Watt wasn’t there either, but T. J. came to the phone.
“That’s funny, Lee,” he said. “I told him I was heading to Herrera’s for dinner, and he said he wanted to check that trap first, and then he’d meet me here.”
“That is odd,” I said. “I called the cell number I have, but he didn’t answer.”
“I’ll go over and check.”
“Don’t worry, T. J. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”
“It’s time to go to work anyway. I’ll find him.”
As I hung up, Joe laughed. “You’re nagging the poor guy to death, Lee.”
“Maybe so, but if I can’t park in the alley, I have to find a space in the municipal parking lot and walk to the shop. I’m tired of hiking half a mile to my office.”