A Potluck of Murder and Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

  It was to me. Every time I attempted to demonstrate even the most fundamental fact-finding skills, I came up short. So why did I keep trying? Why did I continually set myself up for failure?

  “Tiny, what’s your theory?” Barbie asked, while I continued to sulk.

  He was watching the President, Booger, and Delmont. The three of them remained at the short end of the bar.

  “My theory?” he repeated without diverting his focus. “About the murder? Or the fraud?”

  “Either,” Barbie answered. “Or both.”

  Tiny blindly lifted his glass and gulped more of his drink. Plain Coke on ice, served in a mixed-drink glass. “I shouldn’t say.” He set the glass down and turned toward us. “But, it may not matter. From here on out, I’ll probably be assigned to desk duty. Permanently.”

  “What?” Barbie was dumbfounded. “Why would you—”

  “I screwed up, Barbie. Really screwed up.”

  “How so?”

  He stretched his neck from side to side, as if working to rid himself of a heavy load of stress. “Well . . .” He stopped, clearly vacillating about what, if anything, to reveal.

  Barbie leaned closer. “Come on, Tiny. What happened?”

  He squirmed. “Well, you see, we were on to Greg Rogers.”

  I leaned in, too. Between the music and the din of laughter and chatter, the bar was really noisy, making it difficult to hear.

  “After John Deere and a few other investors came forward about their experiences, we knew we were dealing with a Ponzi scheme. But we needed someone on the inside to help us out.” His gaze jumped between us. “It didn’t take long to decide that Owen Bair was our best bet, and I was assigned to bring him on board.”

  He continued. “I rented a room at the same motel as him in Karlstad and frequently ‘ran’ into him at the Maverick Bar. I struck up conversations and even bought him a few drinks, relying heavily on the line that I was from out of town, just like him, and didn’t know anyone else.” He scrubbed his upper lip with his knuckle. “I was gaining his trust. Yet, before I had a chance to come clean and ask for his assistance, he got skittish, so I backed off. Then, before I could get close again, he got killed.”

  Barbie caressed his thick forearm. “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “I didn’t read the situation very well, that’s for damn sure.”

  “What spooked’ him?” I asked.

  “We don’t rightly know. We can only assume he got threatened and wasn’t sure where to turn.”

  “And that’s why he asked to meet with me?”

  “Probably,” Tiny replied. “While you two weren’t together anymore, he must have figured he could count on you to help him.”

  A sharp pain pierced my heart. “But I arrived too late.” I pressed my hand against the ache. “If I’d gotten there on time, he might still be alive.”

  Tiny grunted. “Or you might be dead, too.”

  His words left me speechless. They also cast a pall over our table that lifted only after a waitress delivered us another round of drinks.

  With her refill in hand, Barbie asked if Tiny believed the murder and fraud were connected.

  Tiny stroked his jaw. “We really shouldn’t be discussing any of this.”

  “I’m not insisting you unveil any big secrets or strategies. I just want to know if you believe the two crimes are linked.”

  Regardless of what she said, Barbie was seeking full disclosure, and Tiny knew it. Twin lines creased the space between his furrowed brows, while his eyes held a challenge. For her part, Barbie refused to wither as she returned his stare.

  “Fine,” Tiny grumbled, giving in way sooner than I had expected. “I’ll tell you what I know. But what I say can’t go beyond this table. I’d like to save my job if there’s any chance and yapping about this case isn’t likely to help.”

  Barbie switched her attention from Tiny to me before pledging on behalf of both of us, “We won’t utter a word.”

  Tiny hunkered over his beer bottle and spoke very quietly for a big man. “We’re almost one-hundred-percent positive the cases are related.”

  Barbie protested. “What about the idea that the murder was due to the victim’s philandering?”

  “We don’t see it.”

  She glared, as if that might more effectively convey her message. One that suggested she didn’t agree with his assessment.

  “Barbie, you asked for my thoughts.”

  “I know but—”

  “Well, then, this is the way we see it.” He shifted slightly. “To start, Greg Rogers heard there were investment opportunities up here. He also assumed the people around here weren’t very sophisticated and could easily be duped.”

  I raised my finger. “His first mistake.”

  “True. Yet, that’s what he believed when he started peddling the whole wind-farm idea around Kittson County a couple years ago.” He stopped, ostensibly to put his thoughts in order. “There never was to be an actual wind farm, you know. At least not much of one. The guy was simply in search of money to spend on himself and his wife. And once the money dried up, he planned to announce that the operation had encountered ‘unforeseen’ problems and needed to be scrubbed. In the meantime, to keep investors from becoming suspicious, he used some of the funds obtained from folks in this area, as well as some of the money from investors in his other wind farms, to pay out dividends.”

  “The other wind farms were scams, too?”

  “Yep. At each site, he only developed as much as necessary to entice people to part with their cash. The first one, down in southwestern Minnesota, was actually near ‘completion’ when it began ‘encountering problems.’ By then, though, he had what he wanted, namely, a few dozen windmills dotting the landscape for potential investors to get excited about. Consequently, he didn’t have to do much at the second site. Talk alone generated enough buzz to prompt folks to hand over their hard-earned dollars.” He rested for a beat. “And, as you know, the third site—the one here in Kittson County—wasn’t even scheduled for ground breaking until this coming spring.”

  With her brows cranked into a “V,” Barbie appeared to struggle with what he’d said. “The investors up here were able to receive dividends even though this wind farm wasn’t operational?”

  “Yep. Rogers marketed each wind farm as part of a major campaign comprised of several wind farms. When people invested in one, they supposedly invested in the whole works and were to receive returns from the get-go.”

  “But since no farm was truly making money, those dividends were paid from investment funds, which meant new investors were continually needed.” Barbie appeared pleased with herself.

  And Tiny grinned. “Thus, a pyramid scheme was born.”

  He took a sip of his drink and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Anyhow, Rogers and his trophy wife spent way faster than the investment money came in. That’s why the so-called dividend payments started getting delayed. That’s also why Owen Bair was hired. Rogers reasoned that someone with his sports background and easy-going personality could persuade folks around here to invest their money. But Owen soon discovered doing so was much harder than Rogers anticipated.”

  He canted his head in Barbie’s direction. “As you are no doubt aware, even though a fair number of farmers in the Red River Valley have significant assets and cash, they’re careful with both. They don’t easily give them up, which Owen Bair tried to explain to Rogers. But Rogers wouldn’t listen. He assumed Owen was simply a poor salesman. So, after he got the President to invest in the operation, he encouraged him to make some sales, too, offering him a generous cut of any money he obtained.”

  “How did Rogers coax the President on board in the first place?” Barbie asked.

  “He stroked his ego,” Tiny answered. “Before long, the President was telling everyone within earshot that he was ‘partners’ and ‘friends’ with billionaire businessman Gr
eg Rogers.”

  I did a mental eye roll, while Barbie made another point. “That’s when the President began going after folks, insisting they weren’t ‘civic minded’ unless they financially supported the wind farm project.”

  “Yep,” Tiny supplied. “After Rogers’s arrest, he was more than willing to explain the President’s role in the scam.”

  “Then, why don’t you arrest him?” I looked in the direction of the man in question. I tried to take him all in, but without a wide-angle lens, it was tough. Remember, he was a big guy.

  “Rogers isn’t a reliable source. He’s got his own agenda. He’ll say whatever he has to in order to lessen the prison time he’s facing. So we need other evidence. And that’s what our guys are after, both here and in the Twin Cities. We’d also like to help local law enforcement connect the President or his buddies to the murder, if at all possible. And that’s easier done if they’re out and about, where they’re likely to get cocky and make mistakes.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, at least, we now know a few things for sure.” I wiggled two fingers. “Why the President pushed Burr off the city council as well as why Burr was reluctant to talk about it with anyone, including the police.”

  “Yep,” Tiny agreed. “You did good work there, Emme.”

  “Thanks.”

  Barbie spoke up. “We also have an explanation for why the President moved to Kennedy in the first place.”

  At that, Tiny and I leveled her with matching looks of puzzlement, prompting her to explain. “See, the President grew up in Hallock. And Hallock and Kennedy are fierce rivals. Have been for decades. So it struck me as odd that the man would move here. It’s just not done. Of course, Margie insisted he simply wanted to be closer to Vivian. But he could have chased her from wherever he lived. Plus, Vivian had given him the brush-off. And, from what we’ve learned, he had taken up with someone new.” She gulped air. “But he had to be a resident of Kennedy to get a spot on its city council. And he had to hold a seat on the council to get access to large sums of money with very little oversight.”

  “He couldn’t do that in Hallock?” Tiny wondered aloud.

  “No. Even with fewer than a thousand residents, Hallock’s too big. The minutes of city council meetings are printed in the newspaper, and lots of people read them. I know because I’m the one who usually attends the meetings and does the reporting. But, in tiny towns like Kennedy, council meetings aren’t covered by reporters, and the minutes aren’t published, which affords crooked council members lots of opportunities.”

  “Well,” Tiny said, adjusting his do-rag, “I better call all this in.” He glanced between Barbie and me. “Yep, you two did real good.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  UPON TINY’S RETURN TO THE TABLE, I reminded him that while he had shared his thoughts regarding the fraud case, he hadn’t revealed his theory about the murder. “I don’t want you to get in trouble by divulging too much but—”

  “Oh, I think it’s a little late to worry about that.” He lifted his glass, tipped it to his mouth, and finished off his Coke.

  “My best guess,” he went on to say while chomping ice, “is that Owen Bair got killed because he uncovered the fraud scheme but refused to go along with it.”

  While I wasn’t looking for an argument, I felt compelled to respond. “Tiny, I knew Boo-Boo pretty well. And, believe me, he wasn’t one to lug around a bunch of scruples. So I doubt he’d avoid a scam if he thought it might make him rich.”

  Tiny closed one eye and carefully considered me with the other. “What if he was scared the scam might come crashing down courtesy of law enforcement?”

  I ran that possibility through my mind. “Well, under those circumstances, he’d be torn. See, he had an unnatural fear of the police and jail.” I pulled a shrug. “I don’t know why. Perhaps he was afraid of what an arrest would do to his reputation or his legacy. Whatever the case, he was terrified by the prospect of getting tangled up with the law.”

  “Maybe he had reason to be,” Barbie observed. “Maybe he was up to no good all along, and you just didn’t know it, Emme.”

  Tiny answered for me. “I don’t think so. His record was clean. Not even a speeding ticket.” He glanced my way. “Nevertheless, a fear of law enforcement may have contributed to his nervousness in the days leading up to his death. Think about it. He uncovered a scam and confronted some of the participants. They threatened him into keeping quiet, which, naturally, frightened him.” He angled his head thoughtfully. “Or, he may have heard we were already investigating the project and was afraid he’d get tangled up in the dragnet.”

  Barbie waved her hand as if she could hardly wait for her turn to speak. “Perhaps, after he learned of the fraud scheme, he blackmailed the wrong people, and they killed him.”

  “Not everyone blackmails people,” I muttered, referring to Barbie’s earlier comments about doing just that to Dumb and Dumber.

  She flipped me the bird.

  And Tiny? Well, he ignored our exchange and simply said, “Owen Bair didn’t blackmail anyone. He wanted nothing to do with the scam. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked Emme for help.”

  “Hmm,” I uttered. “That makes sense. It’s also nice to think he had a few morals.” I then stopped to consider the consequences of his actions. “However, that means someone involved in the scam got worried because he wasn’t willing to play along and decided to . . .” I couldn’t finish. I’d been dealing with Boo-Boo’s death for days, yet, at that moment, I was overcome by the thought of it.

  “Decided to kill him!” Barbie had no trouble finishing for me, her volume several decibels louder than normal.

  “Geez, quiet down,” Tiny scolded.

  She lowered her voice. “The murderer could be anyone connected to the fraud, you know.” She scrunched up her nose. “Or, Greg Rogers may have hired someone from outside to do the job. Maybe an actual hit man.”

  Tiny snorted. “A professional didn’t commit the murder. It was way too messy.”

  “Messy?” Recalling what he had said about me getting killed right along with Boo-Boo, I felt the blood drain from my head. “What do you mean, ‘messy’?”

  “Not in a gruesome way,” he hurried to assure me, my ghost-like appearance apparently freaking him out. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that a professional would have been more inconspicuous. He would have dragged the guy into the woods, for instance, and buried him where his body wouldn’t be discovered for years.”

  Barbie wrung her hands. “Well, my husband certainly wasn’t part of a murder plot or a major fraud scheme. Yet, since no one’s any closer to finding the real killer, he could very well end up being the scapegoat.”

  Tiny reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry.”

  She yanked her hand away. “I have to. One way or another, the sheriff will ‘solve’ this case. And he’s going to do it soon. He has to with the election coming up.”

  Exhaustion settled on Tiny’s large frame. It was plain to see the investigation—and Barbie—were tiring him out. “We’re doing the best we can, Bar—”

  “And what exactly does your ‘best’ entail, Tiny?” Her words had an angry bite to them. It happened whenever she got scared.

  “I’m assisting the local cops. And right now I’m watching those halfwits at the bar. If they’re in any way responsible for Owen Bair’s death, they’ll slip up.”

  “What if the killer’s someone else?” She had jumped from grouchy to whiny, something else she routinely did when scared. “Someone who’s already back down in Minneapolis. Then what?”

  “From what I’m told, people are covering the most likely suspects down there, too.”

  “Are there a lot of them?” I asked. “Other suspects, I mean.”

  “No,” he answered. “You’re looking at the prime targets.”

  I peeked at the men from behind my raised beer bottle. “But, according to Randy, the President can’t be the killer.�
�

  “He’s right.”

  “Well, if that’s true, why are you concentrating on—”

  “Because those two idiots alongside him will do damn near anything he asks.”

  “Even kill someone?”

  He shrugged.

  “Has anyone interviewed them?”

  “Ed has. Twice.”

  “And?”

  “They claim they were together, working on some piece of farm machinery at the time of Bair’s death.”

  Barbie asked, “Can anyone corroborate that?”

  “They stopped by the local John Deere dealership late in the day, requesting a part.”

  “Convenient,” Barbie uttered.

  “What about bruises?” I asked. “Do either of them happen to have unexplained bruises?”

  “Both do.”

  Barbie and I jerked our heads around in tandem and spoke in unison. “Really?”

  “Yep, although they aren’t ‘unexplained.’ They supposedly got in a fight the night before John’s bachelor party. Allegedly, they were drunk and ended up going at each other over a girl.”

  “And?”

  Tiny inhaled deeply. “Well, they were here in the ‘V.’ Both were drunk. And, there was a fight.”

  “Still, pretty flimsy alibis,” I muttered.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Nevertheless, they have ’em.”

  “Tiny, do you think Tom’s alibi will hold up?” Barbie sounded terribly worried.

  Tiny reached over and, once again, covered her hand with his, the man’s tough appearance at odds with the tenderness he obviously felt for my friend. “Honestly? I don’t know. Janice and Burr confirmed my statement that Tom entered the bar ahead of the President. But neither is sure of the time. I believe it was around 3:30, though no one—”

  “What about the bartender?” she interrupted to ask. “Can’t he—”

  Tom snorted. “That man couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms over his broad chest. “Barbie, we can’t have Tom’s freedom dependent upon me alone. Some folks might argue I’d say whatever was necessary to help your husband because . . . Well, you know.”