A Potluck of Murder and Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  “Other than me . . . at the end?”

  “Yeah. Other than you.”

  “Hmm. No. He was rather well liked.”

  “That’s what we’ve discovered, too.”

  “Anything else?” I was afraid for Tom. From a law enforcement perspective, he wasn’t faring too well.

  “Between Ed and me, we’ve met with everyone who was in the bar yesterday afternoon. Now, we’ll get together and compare notes.” He narrowed his eyes. “How about you? Have you learned anything else I should know?”

  I wiggled around on my stool. “Well, I . . . I visited with Janice a little while ago at the hockey arena.”

  That caught him by surprise. “You’ve been busy. First, the bar in Lake Bronson. Then, the Hallock ice rink.”

  I picked up my napkin and began tearing it into tiny pieces. When nervous, I normally doodle. But since I didn’t have any paper or a pen, I was left to rip my napkin to shreds. “Barbie and I discovered that Janice has spent a fair amount of time in the Maverick over the past several months. She also went home with Boo-Boo on a couple occasions.” I shrugged, doing my best to act nonchalant. “Because of that, we figured she might have some useful information.”

  “Did she?”

  I fingered the tiny napkin pieces while considering how much of my conversation with her to share. It didn’t take long to decide to skip all references to her feelings about Boo-Boo and stick to what she knew about the other people in the bar. Of course, I began with the President.

  “She’s pretty sure the President’s up to no good. She’s of the mind he coerced Burr Nelson into resigning from the Kennedy City Council in an effort to get himself appointed.”

  “What makes her suspect that Burr was forced out?”

  “She doesn’t see how a little cold water would send him packing.”

  Randy’s lips tipped upwards at the corners. “On top of that, he refused to talk to her about it, which isn’t like him. They’re friends. They trust each other.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well . . .” Expectancy captured his face. “There was a monster of a man in the Maverick. He goes by the name of Tiny. He and Barbie used to know each other. In the biblical sense.” At that, Randy’s countenance changed from interested to stunned and slightly amused. “It was a long time ago. Before Barbie and Tom got married. When she still lived in the Twin Cities.”

  “And?”

  “And, according to Barbie, Tiny asked a lot of questions about Boo-Boo. Enough to make her uncomfortable. I guess the guy’s been around for a few weeks. He supposedly works road construction. Janice also knows him, but he swears—and she admits—not intimately, although she’s done her utmost to rectify that.” Randy shook his head as if having difficulty coming to terms with Janice’s behavior. “Anyhow, Janice thinks the guy’s ‘fishy.’ You may want to check him out.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “Still, I think the President’s your best bet, despite what he supposedly saw outside the bar.”

  I made a pile of my napkin scraps and reflected on the final piece of information I needed to relay. “Randy, there’s one last thing.” He dropped his head against his chest, feigning exhaustion. “Sheriff Halverson came by the café this morning to ‘visit’ me.”

  With those words, he raised his head, and it was plain to see he was back in serious cop mode. “What did he say exactly?”

  “Nothing of consequence, though he did warn me to stay out of his investigation.”

  “We assumed he’d do that.” He rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait until the election. Ed’s going to whip his ass.”

  “He also implied any interference on my part could cause you problems at work.”

  “Let him try.”

  I rested my hand on his forearm. “Believe it or not, I didn’t plan to get mixed up in this case. But Barbie begged me to go with her tonight.” I abruptly bit my tongue. I couldn’t blame Barbie. I’d wanted to help her. At least to some degree. “Wait. The truth is, I wasn’t willing to turn my back on my friend.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s more, I couldn’t let the sheriff bully me. He’s a jerk.”

  “Yeah, you may have mentioned that a time or two.”

  “And, in spite of myself, my curiosity got the best of me. It does that sometimes.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I woke to a quiet room and noisy thoughts. I was still puzzled as to why Randy had gone all Oprah on me the night before. I was also disappointed he went home despite my repeated requests to join me upstairs. He had insisted our first time together be more than a quickie in a rented room above a café. But, because he was in desperate need of shut-eye, he said he couldn’t offer me anything else. Consequently, I let him go, albeit reluctantly. Yeah, that’s right. I whimpered just a little. What can I say? Whenever he was around, I was reduced to being a wanton woman in a J. Crew sweater set.

  After brushing my teeth, I quickly showered and dressed, then snatched Otto from the bed and made tracks downstairs. Starved, I intended to grab some breakfast before Barbie arrived. We planned to check out the observation tower at Lake Bronson State Park. She also had her mind set on revisiting the Maverick Bar. With the images of the bathroom bullies seared in my brain, I was less than thrilled by that prospect and hoped we’d spend too long at the park and be forced to skip the bar.

  Entering the café, I spied Margie at the prep table. Her elbows were propped on the metal surface, her head in her hands. In the background, on the jukebox, Don Henley and Dolly Parton were singing, “When I Stop Dreaming.”

  I started our conversation by saying, “No one in her right mind is up this early.”

  “True enough,” she muttered without moving.

  “Do I sense a hangover?”

  She peeked at me through her splayed fingers. “I wish it were that simple.”

  I detoured from the table to let Otto out. Then, I settled him down with his breakfast near the back door. “Sounds ominous. What’s wrong?”

  She lowered her hands. “John and I had a colossal fight last night.”

  “And if the bags under your eyes are any indication, you were upset enough that you didn’t sleep a wink.”

  “Ya got that right.”

  “Care to talk about it?”

  She slurped some coffee. “We’ve known each other forever, so we’ve had our share of disagreements, but this was different.”

  “How so?” I moved to the refrigerator, convincing myself I’d be a better listener if I didn’t have to contend with my noisy hunger pangs.

  “Well, as ya might imagine, much of the conversation at the groom’s dinner centered on Owen Bair’s murder.”

  I pulled out a container of Heavenly Hash. “Makes sense.” I scooped a large portion of it into a soup bowl. Since it contained cranberries and nuts, among other things, I decided it made for an acceptable breakfast.

  “Everyone had a different theory as to what happened to ’im, but the discussion soon deteriorated into a shoutin’ match between John and Burr Nelson. Uff-da, it got so bad I was afraid they might start throwin’ punches. Vivian’s husband, Vern, must of feared the same thing ’cause he got between ’em, though I don’t know how in the world he expected to keep ’em apart bein’ he only has that one arm and all.”

  After pouring myself a glass of orange juice, I returned to the table, my breakfast in hand. “Back up.” I settled on my stool. “Burr Nelson was at the groom’s dinner?”

  “Well, yah, he’s John’s—or was John’s—best man.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, I guess I forgot to tell ya that John’s best friend, Pete, who was supposed to stand up for him, got called to Two Inlets yesterday. His uncle died, and it was up to him to make the funeral arrangements and such.”

  With both hands, she brought her cup to her lips only to lower it again. “Have ya ever been to Two Inlets
? If not, you should go. It’s not far from Itasca State Park, so ya can visit the source of the Mississippi River, then scoot on over. Now, there’s not much there. Just a Catholic church, a saw mill, an old, one-room schoolhouse, and a little store that serves as a grocery, gas station, bar, and gift shop all in one. Still, it’s worth the trip because of the grotto. Father Daley told me about it. And, sure enough, it’s beautiful with all the stone work and statues and flowers and such. Even though I’m not Catholic, I liked it a whole lot, just like he said I would.”

  “Margie, what about Burr Nelson?”

  “I’m gettin’ to that.” She folded her hands and settled them on the table. “Anyways, John asked Burr to fill in for Pete. And he agreed, which was awfully nice of ’im since it was such short notice and all.” She grimaced. “But how did John repay ’im? He got into a shootin’ match with the guy, that’s how.” She momentarily pressed her fingertips together. “Made me madder than a pianist forced to play in a marchin’ band.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  “I asked Vivian to give me a ride home. I wasn’t about to go anywhere with that stubborn old coot, that’s for dang sure. Certainly not after he yelled at me right there in the parking lot of Hasting’s Landing.”

  “John yelled at you in public?”

  Margie mumbled, “Well, I might of been the one doin’ the yellin’.” She regarded me sheepishly. “It was real embarrassin’. I’ll never dare show my face in Drayton again, which is depressin’ since I like the food at that restaurant almost as much as my own cookin’.” She stopped for a second. “I can only pray that my bomber hat and the big collar on my parka kept me from bein’ recognized.”

  “Margie, what exactly did John and Burr fight about?”

  She swept a strand of fly-away hair away from her eyes. “Well, like a lota folks, Vivian and Vern claimed that Owen Bair was probably killed by some jilted husband or boyfriend. I guess they’d heard stories about him bein’ a philanderer and all.”

  “But what does any of that have to do with John and Burr’s argument?”

  “Hold your horses. I’m gettin’ to that.” She slouched over the table. “Ya see, John was of a different opinion. He was convinced the President was somehow connected to the murder.”

  “I happen to agree.”

  “Barbie thinks you’re basin’ your suspicions on nothin’ more than your dislike for the man.”

  “Well, I’m not.” I picked up my spoon. “Not entirely, at any rate.” I repeatedly turned the spoon over while doing the same with the thoughts in my head. “See, Randy said something last night that’s bothered me ever since.”

  “What was that?”

  I set the spoon back on the table. “The President reportedly saw Tom arguing with Boo-Boo in the parking lot of the Maverick Bar on Thursday afternoon, not long before Boo-Boo was found dead.”

  “And?”

  “And, as I said, it bothers me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s lying.”

  “Because you don’t like ’im.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Again, I snatched up my spoon. “I just get the feeling he’s attempting to deflect blame from himself by casting aspersions on someone else. Someone too drunk to remember what truly happened.”

  “Well, John believes Burr might be able to offer some insight regardin’ the whole thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yah. That’s why he badgered ’im last night. He said he’d be willin’ to bet that the murder, the wind farm project, and the President are somehow linked, and that Burr knows somethin’ about it, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

  “Doesn’t realize it?”

  “Remember, Burr’s not real bright. I like the man, but he’s so dumb blondes tell jokes about him.” Yep, despite the seriousness of our conversation, Margie cracked wise. It was just her way.

  “Anyways, to make a long story short, John and Burr ended up yellin’ at each other.” Margie plucked at her shirt. “And, before the night was over, Burr swore he wouldn’t stand up for John if he were the last best man on the face of the earth.”

  “Oh, no, Margie. What are you going to do?”

  “Vern agreed to step in, so that’s not a problem.” She wrinkled her nose. “Vivian said we should of asked him in the first place.”

  She continued. “My bigger concern is Burr and John. They’ve been friends forever. Heck, they both grew up around here and went to school together. I’d hate for some stupid argument to ruin all that.”

  “Most likely, they’ll work it out. Men don’t usually hold grudges.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear.”

  I reached across the table and patted Margie’s hand. “Are you and John going to be okay?”

  “Ya mean, is the weddin’ still on?” She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, for sure. But I definitely need to talk some things over with ’im beforehand.” She glimpsed at her cell phone. It was lying next to her on the table. “He’s called a dozen times already. I suppose I should call ’im back pretty soon.” She rose from her stool, the metal legs screeching. “Fact is, I should go upstairs right now and do it. Then I might be able to get some sleep.”

  “Barbie’s picking me up any minute. We’re set to view the murder scene. But we can stay here if you—”

  “Nah, ya two go on ahead. I’ll be fine. Besides, this is between John and me.”

  “You don’t need us here for moral support?”

  “No. John and I just hafta get a few things ironed out before the weddin’, that’s all.” She took a moment before adding, “I don’t understand what got into him last night. Why’d he get so upset? That murder had nothin’ to do with ’im.”

  AS BARBIE AND I DROVE to Lake Bronson State Park, I filled her in on Margie’s problems, assuring her that Margie wanted to be left alone to sort things out with John. I also relayed some of what Randy and I had discussed the previous evening. Specifically, I pointed out that he and the other law enforcement officers didn’t put much stock in the theory that Boo-Boo was killed because of his womanizing. The evidence just wasn’t there. I also informed her that the President supposedly saw Tom arguing with Boo-Boo in the Maverick parking lot shortly before Boo-Boo’s death, and that the police weren’t convinced Tom was drunk at the time.

  “Well, they’re wrong,” she stated. “He wasn’t faking. He was drunk. I saw him when I got home after Margie’s party.” She unsnapped her quilted vest and fanned the front of her sweatshirt. Since the car wasn’t warm by any means, she must have been struggling through a hot flash. “As for their belief the crime had nothing to do with Owen Bair’s womanizing, it’s still early in the investigation. They may change their minds.”

  She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Did anyone other than the President witness the argument?”

  “Not that Randy mentioned, although the deputies were scheduled to meet with the sheriff this morning to brief one another, so he may know more later.”

  “Are you catching up with him again anytime soon?”

  “We’re supposed to eat lunch together at the bowling alley in Hallock.” I saw my opening and took it. “That’s why I doubt we’ll have time to drop by the Maverick.”

  She studied me as if suspecting I had arranged my entire day around thwarting her proposed visit to the bar.

  “I guess I can cancel, and we can go to the Maverick, instead. But, then, who knows when we’ll learn the latest about the investigation?”

  She frowned yet remained mum.

  WHEN WE REACHED THE PARK, we eased through the gate and twisted down the road leading to the observation tower and Visitors’ Center. “Shoot!” I lifted my foot off the gas pedal. “I totally forgot about checking in at the ranger station to see if anyone there saw anything.”

  “Don’t worry. I spoke to Ed about it yesterday, before I came to the café.”

  “And?”

  “No one saw a thing. Although he did say Owen Bair’s car was found parke
d outside the Visitor’s Center. Do you remember seeing it?”

  “Hmm. I noticed a car there, though I didn’t recognize it. But since Boo-Boo leased new cars on a regular basis, I guess that’s not all that odd.”

  “Well, according to Ed, nothing pertinent was found inside or anywhere around the vehicle.”

  “No important papers? Nothing like that?”

  “Nope. Not on his body, either. The only paper on him was that reminder to meet with you.”

  As I proceeded down the road, I blew out a lungful of air to relieve the tension building in my chest. “What about other vehicles? Were any spotted around here near the time of the murder?”

  “Nope. No one saw a thing beyond a snowmobiler or two, a hiker, and a patrol car from the sheriff’s office. They keep tabs on the park.”

  “Maybe the deputy—”

  “The sheriff was driving the patrol car, and he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  We passed the observation tower, a stone and wood structure built through the WPA during the first half of the twentieth century. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the entrance and marked a rectangular area off to one side, where, apparently, Boo-Boo’s body had been discovered. My stomach lurched at the sight, leading me to stare straight ahead as I steered the car farther down the road.

  At the Visitors’ Center, we inspected our surroundings without leaving my vehicle. While Boo-Boo’s car was nowhere to be seen, crime-scene tape cordoned off another rectangular area, ostensibly where it had been parked. I wasn’t positive, but I thought I recalled a Land Rover there.

  I shivered at the notion that only days before Boo-Boo had been lying dead nearby while I had been waiting for him in approximately the same place where I now sat. I swallowed the nervous flutter in my throat. “B-Barbie? There’s . . . really nothing to see here, is there?”

  She answered with a shake of her head.

  “Should we go then?”

  Another shake of her head, and I immediately turned the car around and exited the parking lot.

  Back at the observation tower, I pulled the car onto the shoulder and shoved the gear stick into park. “Well?”