by Jessica Beck
The three of us finished loading the last of the crates, and Sally said, "I’m sorry I didn’t get over to the hospital quicker, but there’s no reason to go now, especially if he won’t even know if I’m there or not."
"It still might be nice for him to hear your voice," I suggested. "I’ve read that some people in comas respond to familiar voices."
"Frankly, I don’t have the time to spare, and to be honest with you, my voice isn’t all that familiar to him," Sally said. "When he worked for Wally, we didn’t have much contact with each other, and he hasn’t been here long at all. I’m afraid we’re pretty much strangers who happened to work together for a little while."
"Where did he sleep?" Moose asked. "Did he stay on the farm?"
Sally pointed to one corner of the barn. "I had a tack room there that I built for my horses, but since they’re all gone, I made it into a bedroom when Ron came to work for me."
"Mind if I have a look around?" I asked.
Sally looked surprised by my request. "I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. That’s kind of an invasion of the man’s privacy when he’s lying in a hospital bed in a coma, isn’t it? Besides, what happened to him was an accident. What good would it do you to snoop around in his stuff?"
"What if it wasn’t an accident, though?" Moose asked.
Sally whirled around and stared at him. "It was a rotten floorboard in the loft. At least that’s what the deputy told me, and I’ve seen Wally’s barn. There’s no reason to believe otherwise."
"Sure, that’s what it looks like," Moose acknowledged, "but what if the scene was rigged to look like that after someone attacked Ron from behind?"
Sally jumped off the bed of her truck and slammed the tailgate closed. She leaned against the gate as she said, "I never even thought about that as a possibility. No offense, but why would anyone want to hurt Ron? He’s an okay farmhand, but the man didn’t exactly do anything to make any enemies, at least not as far as I could tell. Besides, I’ve seen Wally’s toolbox. That thing was too heavy to swing at someone’s head."
Sally made several good points, but I wasn’t about to let it go. "What if he saw something that he shouldn’t have while he was working at Wally’s farm?" I asked. "Could he have been attacked because of that?"
"Wally might not have been a very good farmer, but he wasn’t a criminal. What could Ron have possibly seen that could lead someone to try to kill him?"
"That’s what we’ve been trying to find out," I said. "We were kind of hoping that you might be able to help us."
"I wish I could, and that’s the truth," Sally said. "But I’m at a loss, and I don’t have time to stand around here and speculate. I’ve got to deliver this load, and then I’ve got more to do on my list today than I’ll ever manage to get done if I work until midnight. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve got to lock up and then make this delivery. Sorry I couldn’t help more."
"You were more help than you realize," I said.
She looked at me a little oddly, but all I could do was smile, since I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d just meant, either. Moose and I walked out of the barn, and after Sally pulled her pickup truck out, she stopped and locked the door behind her.
"Most folks around these parts don’t lock their barns up," Moose said.
"Ordinarily I wouldn’t, either, but I’m afraid that’s a luxury I can’t afford these days. It’s just me working the place right now with Ron hurt, and I don’t want to give anybody the wrong idea that what I’ve got here is free for the taking while I’m away."
"I can understand that," I said, but I was disappointed that Moose and I couldn’t sneak back and check Ron’s room in the barn after Sally was gone. If there was something tied in with the case there, we weren’t going to be the ones who found it.
Sally got back into her truck and drove away, but I noticed that she hung back a little to be certain that we were following her.
"Where to now?" I asked Moose.
"I suppose we could trail Sally as she delivers her produce, but I doubt it would do us much good. Let’s go back to the diner."
"That sounds good to me," I said.
As we drove back into town, Sally’s truck was never far ahead of us, and it didn’t turn off until we were nearly at The Charming Moose.
Back at the diner, Jenny Hollister was still twenty minutes away from coming in to start her shift at four. Moose and I had found a way to squander most of the day with our investigation, without much noticeable result. Ordinarily I would have been at the diner for the past few hours to run the register and wait on tables, but Martha had ably stepped up to take my place again. She was wiping down a table when we walked through the door, and she smiled brightly at us both.
"It’s good to have you two back," she said.
"I’m so sorry we didn’t get here sooner," I said as I took the cloth from her and finished the table.
"This was fun," she said. "I like getting out every now and then."
"Martha, if you’d like to take a shift in the rotation, we can always arrange it," I said as I hugged her.
"No thank you. I’ll keep our current understanding in place, if that’s okay with you." She looked at Moose and asked, "Have you eaten anything, or have the two of you been too busy to stop for a bite?"
"I’m not that hungry," Moose said.
She shook her head. "Nonsense. Both of you sit at one of the tables and I’ll bring you something to eat."
I started to protest, but it fell on deaf ears. Martha said sternly, "Victoria, I won’t hear of it. Don’t make me raise my voice, young lady."
Moose grinned at me. "You should know better than to try to dissuade her once she’s come to a decision. The woman’s as stubborn as a block of granite when she makes up her mind about something."
"And you’re saying that you’re not?" Martha asked.
"That’s not exactly how I’d describe it," Moose said.
"Then you would be wrong. I’ll be right back. You two stay put."
After Martha was gone, I said, "I don’t guess we have much say in the matter, do we?"
"Not if either one of us knows what’s good for us," Moose said. "I wonder what she’s going to bring us? We didn’t even get a chance to order."
"You’re not worried that it won’t be good, are you?" I asked.
"Greg’s in the kitchen," he said with a smile. "Whatever we get is going to be fine."
"Just fine?" I asked. My husband hated that word, and I’d learned over the years to avoid using it, though I still slipped up every now and then. Greg felt that it was a tepid response that wasn’t worthy of being used, especially when it came to describing his food.
"Better than fine," Moose corrected quickly. "Exquisite. Superb. Exemplary."
"Okay, enough," I said with a smile. "I get it."
Martha came out a few minutes later with two plates that were heavily laden with food. As she slid one of them in front of me, I took it all in as the work of art it was. Chicken fried steak covered in sawmill pepper gravy filled half the plate, with mashed potatoes and green beans fighting for space with the biscuit over the rest of the area.
"This is too much," I said, wondering how I was ever going to eat everything on my plate. "I’ll never be able to finish it all."
"You’ll have to take that up with your husband," Martha said. "I’m not in charge of portion control. I’m just the delivery person."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Victoria," Moose said with a broad grin. "I’m not going to have any trouble polishing this off."
Martha scolded him lightly. "Moose, just because it’s on your plate doesn’t mean that you have to eat every last bite of it."
"What, and take a chance of insulting the chef? No thank you. I wouldn’t have the heart to do that to Greg."
She laughed at his response. "Goodness knows you’ll use any excuse you can find to overeat, won’t you?"
"Hey, I’m just following the fry cook’s code. We don’t comp
lain about each other’s cooking, and we don’t leave anything on our plates."
"Is that really a code, or just your appetite speaking?" Martha asked.
"What can I say? I took a solemn oath," Moose said, and placed four fingers over his heart.
I smiled as I cut my first piece of the steak. The outer layer of breading was golden and crispy, worthy of any fried chicken ever served, but in this case, it enveloped a flat steak. The gravy was the perfect complement, offering a pleasant counter to the breaded meat. I added a small dollop of mashed potatoes to the bite on my fork, and then I tried to spear a single green bean, which took a little effort, but I finally managed it. Tasting it all at once, the explosion of flavors in my mouth let me know that I was indeed married to an artist. His medium wasn’t paint or stone, but his offering was just as creative as any portrait or sculpture ever made.
Before I knew it, to my amazement, my plate was empty.
When I looked up, I saw that Moose was smiling at me.
"What’s so funny?" I asked him as I took a sip of tea.
"I just appreciate watching a woman enjoy a meal like that, that’s all. You never were a delicate flower, were you, Victoria?"
"No, but it’s still nice of you to point it out," I said as I pushed my plate away. "That was amazing, and as soon as I can stand up, I’m going to go give the cook a big kiss."
"You won’t have to," Moose said. "Here he comes."
Greg came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron as he did. "How was it?"
"Magnificent," I said with a happy sigh.
Moose added his own compliments, and Greg smiled contentedly. It was the closest he ever got to a standing ovation, but if he minded, he never said so.
"I’m glad you two got some food in you. Moose, how about doing me a favor?"
"Greg, after that meal, I’ll do anything you ask."
"Man the grill for me for ten minutes. I’d like to grab a bite to eat, and if we can manage it, I’d like the company of my wife while I dine."
"But Martha’s already worked one of my shifts," I protested. "I can’t ask her to keep working when I’m here."
"You’re not asking me anything," Martha said with a grin. "I’m volunteering." She turned to Moose and asked, "What do you say? Are you up for it? It will be fun working together here again, just like old times."
"I’d be delighted," he said, and he got up, clearing our plates as he did.
"What would you like to eat?" Moose asked my husband.
"Surprise me," Greg said with a smile. "I trust you."
"That’s a dangerous thing to say, but I’ll honor it," Moose said.
After they were gone, Greg took a sip of the fresh sweet tea that Martha had delivered, and then he pointed to my grandparents. "Is that going to be the two of us in thirty or forty years?"
"I certainly hope so," I said. "I can’t imagine a better life than working side by side with you, can you?"
"Oh, I don’t know," he said with a smile. "If we happen to win the lottery, I think I could walk away from this place without looking back once."
I shook my head and laughed. "Greg, you’d go crazy within the week if you didn’t have anything to do, and you know it. I’m sorry, but you’ve got my addiction, too. We were both born to work."
"That’s not a bad thing, is it?" he asked.
"No, as far as I’m concerned, it’s the only way to live."
Greg leaned over and looked back toward the kitchen. "I wonder what Moose is going to make me?"
"I don’t know, but I’m certain that it will be good. He just loves to impress you with his cooking."
Greg shook his head. "The man’s forgotten more skills than I’ve ever acquired at that grill. Just about everything he makes is better than mine."
"I love you both, but husband dearest, you’ve lost your mind. You’re the best cook this place has ever seen, and Mom and Moose both know it."
"Let’s just say that we all have our strengths and leave it at that," he said, but I noticed the grin on his face as he said it. "How’s the investigation going? It’s a real shame about Ron."
"You should have seen him lying there helpless in the hospital," I said as I frowned. "It was tough to take, and I couldn’t help feeling bad for the man."
"Farming is a dangerous profession," Greg said. "It’s not all that big a surprise that he was hurt at work, is it?"
"If it really was an accident," I said softly, not realizing that my husband had even heard me.
"What do you mean by that?" Greg asked just as softly. "Is there any doubt in your mind that it wasn’t just an unfortunate set of circumstances?"
"Well, there’s apparently no doubt in the sheriff’s mind, but I’m not so sure, myself."
"Victoria, you’ve got to have something concrete you’re going on that makes you think that," Greg said.
"Not really. I admit that it could have been intentional or an accident, but it doesn’t do us any good to think that it was just happenstance that Ron was standing directly beneath that toolbox when it fell. The thing is, though, that I don’t know why someone would intentionally try to hurt him."
Greg frowned. "You’re not saying that you don’t have any suspicions at all, are you? That’s not like you, Victoria."
"Truthfully, the only thing I can come up with is that Ron must have seen something that wasn’t meant for his eyes, but I have no idea what it might have been."
"Don’t worry. Give it a little time, and I’m sure that you’ll figure it out," Greg said, and then I saw his eyes light up. Moose came out of the kitchen with the plate himself, not even letting Martha deliver it.
"What have we got here?" Greg asked as he rubbed his hands together and looked at the approaching plate.
Moose presented it as though it were on fine china instead of one of our ordinary old plates that we’d had forever. I glanced at it and all I saw was a cheeseburger and some fries. It was pretty common fare, and I was about to chide my grandfather about it when my husband said with delight, "The Great Mooseburger. Excellent."
"That’s not made with real moose, is it?" an attractive young woman asked from her seat nearby, clearly appalled by the idea. She’d slipped in while I’d been talking to Greg, and I hadn’t even noticed her.
"Never," Moose said as he turned to her. Lowering his own voice, he said, "Do me a favor, though, and please keep your voice down. We don’t want him to hear anything like that. It would upset him something awful."
Moose pointed over her shoulder to my hand-carved moose sitting happily on a shelf near the register. My grandfather had crafted him especially for me when I’d been younger, and since I’d taken over the diner, he’d become our unofficial mascot, and we all loved interacting with him. Folks were either charmed by his presence, or they thought we were all completely mad, but it didn’t matter to us either way.
She grinned. "I understand completely. I have a pair of stuffed cows who think they’re real, and a moose of my own, as a matter of fact, though he’s not carved. He’s actually stuffed as well."
"Our moose gets stuffed, too, when he eats too much," Moose said with a grin. "As a matter of fact, that’s my namesake up there. I’m Moose," he added as he struck out his hand.
"I’m glad to meet you, Moose. My name is Emily, and anyone with a name like Moose is automatically a friend of mine."
"What do you call your bovine friends?" Moose asked.
"Well, it might seem obvious to most of the world, but one is named Cow, and the other is called Spots. The three of them have been with me since I was a little girl, and they occupy a place of honor in my shop as well. The reason I stopped in was that I couldn’t resist your name. My moose can be rather charming himself, though he’s usually a bit on the quiet side. To be honest with you, he usually has trouble getting a word in edgewise with Cow and Spots as his best friends."
Clearly Emily was our kind of people. I turned around and introduced myself, and Martha brought her order to her i
n a bag.
Emily said, "I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I have to get back to April Springs. You know what? You should come visit us sometime. We have the greatest donut shop in the world, and I’m not the only one who thinks so."
"I may just have to do that. Come back soon," Moose said, and she promised to do just that after she paid and left.
Moose looked after her and said, "I like that young woman."
"Why wouldn’t you?" Martha asked with a smile. "She’s clearly as crazy as you are, and that’s not something I ever say lightly."
Greg was noticeably quiet during the extended conversation, and when I glanced back in his direction, I noticed that his burger was practically gone. "Moose, I love the cheese sandwiched between the patties, but what spices do you use in that? I can pick out a few, but there are at least two that still manage to elude me."
"Tell you what I’ll do, Greg. I’ll leave the secret to you in my will," my grandfather said with a grin.
"I’ll hold you to that, but do me a favor, would you?"
"What’s that?"
"Make sure I don’t get to see it anytime soon," Greg said with a smile of his own.
"I’ll do my best," Moose said.
Martha said with a grin as she swatted her husband with a dish cloth, "That’s enough chatting for now, there’s work to be done. Get back in the kitchen, Moose, and stop flirting with all of the young women that come in here."
"I’m never going to promise to do that. Why else would I have ever agreed to take over the grill?" he asked as he hugged her.
"You are incorrigible," she said, shaking her head, but I could see the twinkle in her eyes as she said it.
"I’d dispute it, but why bother? We all know that it’s true."
After Greg’s plate was clear and I cleaned the table, we relieved my grandparents and took over our proper stations.
As Greg took over the grill from Moose, my grandfather turned to me and asked, "What’s next on our list, or should I say who?"
"I’m at a loss," I admitted. "I was hoping that you’d have an idea or two."
"I have a few feelers out, but I haven’t heard from any of them yet," Moose admitted. "I suppose I could go on home with Martha, and you could stay here and work the dinner shift alongside your husband and Jenny."