2 A Deadly Beef

by Jessica Beck

  As my grandfather drove us out of the woods and back onto the highway, I noticed that he missed the turn to the diner altogether. "Where are we going? I thought we were going back to The Charming Moose."

  "We are, eventually, but we have to make a couple of stops along the way first," Moose said.

  "What did you have in mind? Are we going someplace interesting?"

  "Not really," Moose said as he shook his head. "The first thing you need to do is go home, take a shower, and change your clothes. While you’re doing that, I’m going to go home and do the same thing myself."

  "But I’m not even dirty," I told my grandfather in protest.

  "Smell your clothes, Victoria. For that matter, you could probably just smell your hair and know what I’m talking about."

  I did as my grandfather asked, and when I did, I was amazed by the smell of burning plastic and wood in my hair and on my clothes. "Are you telling me that we got that much just from where we were standing?"

  "I’ve been around house fires before," Moose said as he nodded. "You might have to wash those clothes three or four times before you’re able to get the smell out of them, and don’t be afraid to use more shampoo than you think you need."

  "Okay, I will," I said as Moose pulled up in front of my house. "Are you coming back here for me after you get yourself cleaned up?"

  "I am. I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Does that give you enough time to get yourself pretty?"

  "I don’t need that much time to do it," I said with a grin. "I’ll see you soon."

  "You can count on it. I’ll be here before you know it."

  I went inside the house, stripped out of my smelly clothes, and then I got into the shower. Moose had been right. I had to shampoo my hair twice to get the smell out. It was nice putting on fresh jeans and a clean shirt afterward, and I collected my dirty clothes in a hamper and put the whole thing out on the back porch in the cold weather. I’d deal with that particular mess later, but in the meantime, I didn’t want to smell up our house.

  Moose was as good as his word about his return time. I hadn’t been outside waiting for him for more than two minutes before he drove up, his windows all down despite the chill in the air.

  As I got in, I asked, "What happened? Is the heater broken?"

  "No, but it smelled something awful in here when I got back in." He glanced over at me and smiled. "You smell better now."

  "So do you," I said. "I’m glad I took the time to dry my hair."

  "Me, too," Moose said as he rubbed his hand over his short haircut. "Are you ready to head back to the diner now?"

  "I am, but I can’t help wondering if they caught Abel, can you?"

  "The more I think about it, I don’t think they have a prayer," Moose said. "I just hope they don’t waste too much time looking for him. After all, who’s left to guard the fair citizens of Jasper Fork while they’re all out stumbling around in the woods?"

  "We’ll just have to hope there’s not a crime wave while they’re off on their manhunt. Is it just me, Moose, or is this case getting more confusing by the second? I feel like every step we take forward, we take two backwards, do you?"

  "And things are rolling downhill faster than we can stop them. Two of our main suspects are leaving town soon, and there’s not a blessed thing we can do to stop either one of them."

  "Could their departures be related?" I asked.

  "I don’t see how," Moose said as he scowled a bit. "Jan’s got a good enough reason to cut out, and it sounds as though Penny’s just had her fill of Jasper Fork. Honest to goodness, I never thought so many folks would have a reason to leave. I’ve lived here all my life, and I love this town."

  "I’m with you," I said, "but they must have their reasons."

  "Or they could just both be nuts," Moose said.

  "True enough." I grabbed my grandfather’s arm suddenly and ordered, "Moose, pull over."

  "What’s going on?" he asked as he did as I ordered.

  We’d been driving past the loading dock of Trudy’s Grocery, and I’d spotted someone in back who appeared to be drinking from a brown paper bag.

  As my grandfather pulled in, I asked, "That’s Dave Evans, isn’t it?"

  "He’s hitting the sauce pretty hard, isn’t he?" Moose asked as we got out of the truck.

  "Maybe that’s a good thing for us. If he’s all liquored up, maybe he’ll be a little freer with his words," I said.

  "I suppose it’s possible, but don’t forget, he could be a mean drunk, too. Watch your step around him, Victoria."

  "You do the same," I said.

  We were a few feet away from Dave before he actually saw us. When he did, Dave looked startled as he dropped the bag in his hand. It fell six feet to the pavement, shattering inside the bag when it hit. Liquid poured out around it, and I could smell the strong scent of whiskey all around us. Well, at least it was better than what we’d smelled at the house fire earlier.

  "Now look what you made me do," Dave said with a bit of a slur in his voice as he stared down at the ruined bottle and its contents.

  "Sorry about that," Moose said without a hint of apology in his voice. "Maybe that was a sign that you need to slow down, or maybe even stop altogether."

  Dave looked at him quizzically before he asked, "Ma, is that you?"

  "Of course it’s not, you fool," Moose snapped. "Dave, exactly how much have you had to drink?"

  "That is none of your business. Don’t worry about it. I’m not that drunk; I know you aren’t my mother. What I’m trying to tell you is that she was the only one who ever had the right to tell me when I had too much to drink."

  "Fine," Moose said. "You’re right. It’s your business, not ours. We were just kind of wondering if you had a reason to be drinking as much as you are. You don’t have a guilty conscience, do you, Dave?"

  "What would I have to feel guilty about?" he asked, his voice slurring more and more by the minute. "I’ve got nothing in the world to feel bad about." He pointed an unsteady finger at Moose as he asked, "Can you say the same thing?"

  My grandfather just shrugged. "Am I proud of everything I’ve ever done in life? Hardly, but I don’t need to hide in the bottom of a bottle to get away from it, either."

  "Well, doesn’t that make you special," Dave said with a snap in his voice.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked the grocery store owner gently, trying to calm him down a little.

  Dave shook his head, and then he put his face in his hands and started to sob softly. "You wouldn’t understand."

  "Try me," I said.

  "It’s no use. It’s too late to fix any of it now," Dave said with a heavy sigh as he stopped his tears.

  "If we can’t fix it completely, maybe we can still find a way to make things right," I suggested.

  "Like I said, it’s too late," Dave said, and then he repeated, "Too late." After a few moments, he added out of the blue, "Poor old Wally deserved better than he got, you know what I mean?"

  "We do," Moose said.

  I started to ask Dave what he meant, but Moose looked at me and held his finger to his lips, asking for my silence. Evidently I was supposed to give Dave a little more rope.

  Maybe, if we were lucky, he’d manage to hang himself with it.

  Finally, Moose asked him, "Who would do such a thing to good old Wally? Do you have any idea at all, Dave?"

  "I’ve got a clue," he said, and then giggled a little to himself. "A clue. Ha ha ha. That’s something old Wally never had."

  "What kind of clue?" Moose asked softly. "Do you know who might have killed him?"

  "What a shame," Dave said, ignoring Moose’s question as he shook his head sadly and kept repeating, "What a shame." Finally, the store owner leaned his back against the door behind him, and I watched in disbelief as his eyes closed and he began to snore.

  "Should we wake him up?" I asked Moose softly.

  "Do you honestly think it would do us any good, even if we did manage to stir him from his stup
or?"

  I thought about it, and then I shook my head. "You’re right, there’s not a chance. The man is drunk out of his mind."

  "We have to wonder what pushed him to this," Moose said as he stared down at the man. "Could it be a guilty conscience about Wally?"

  "It could be," I said, "or it may just mean that Dave’s completely miserable with his life, and this is how he copes with it. Everything he just said might have just been some of the ramblings of a drunk."

  "Maybe, but why would he bring Wally Bain up in the first place?"

  "If you’re asking me to explain the thought process of a man too drunk to stay awake, you’re wasting your time." I looked around, but no one else was within sight. "As much as I’d like to, we can’t just leave him like this."

  "I don’t know why not," Moose said. "He got himself in this position. It’s not like we poured the whiskey down his throat against his will."

  "You’re right, but he still needs our help," I said. "I just don’t know how we might go about it."

  "I have an idea," Moose said. He walked over to an empty bucket by the garden hose, cleaned it out, and then filled it almost entirely with water.

  "What are you going to do with that?" I asked, but I was too late.

  Moose dumped the entire contents of the bucket over Dave’s head.

  It was a great deal more effective than a slap in the face would have been, and it managed to sober him quicker than a pot of coffee ever would have.

  Dave started sputtering as he wiped the water from his eyes with both hands, struggling to come to grips with what had just happened to him.

  Finally, he unsteadily stood up and stared at Moose, who was still holding the bucket in his hands. "Why did you do that?"

  "I wanted to kick you in the seat of the pants, but I didn’t think my granddaughter would approve of that kind of behavior. Now listen carefully, because I’m going to ask you this once, and I want the truth. Dave, did you have anything to do with Wally’s murder?"

  "What? Of course not. That’s ridiculous," Dave said.

  "Obviously I don’t think so, or I wouldn’t have asked," Moose said. "Do you have any idea who might have stabbed him in the chest with a pitchfork?"

  "I have lots of thoughts, but I’m not about to share them with you. I’m soaked and it’s freezing out here," he said as he tried to shake some of the water off himself.

  "You have no one to blame but yourself," Moose said. "From now on, if you’re going to insist on getting drunk, at least wait until you get home so you can do it in private."

  "No, I don’t think I will," Dave said softly.

  "You’re not going to drink at home?" Moose asked.

  "No, I’ve decided not to get drunk anymore at all. You’re right, Moose. I’m not solving anything by acting this way. It’s time for a big change in my life."

  "You’re not leaving town too, are you?" I asked.

  He looked genuinely surprised by my question. "Of course not. I love this place, flaws and all. Why would I ever want to leave it?"

  "Everyone else seems to want to go," I said.

  "Like who?"

  "Jan Bain and Penny Rusk, for starters," I said.

  "I can figure out why Jan would want to leave, but why Penny?"

  "You’ll have to ask her yourself," Moose said, "but I’d advise you to get cleaned up first before you go talk to her."

  "I can do that," Dave said as he took out a damp handkerchief and tried to wipe his face. "I’m still not sure whether I owe you or not for that bucket of cold water over my head."

  "When you figure it out, you know where I’ll be," Moose said. "You said you had a clue about who killed Wally when you were rambling. Do you care to share it with us?"

  "Take my advice. Never take the word of a drunk," Dave said.

  "So, you’re not going to answer me?" Moose asked.

  "No, as a matter of fact, I’m not." He looked around the loading dock, and then added, "I need a towel."

  "Sorry, I don’t have one on me." My grandfather turned to me and asked, "Victoria, are you ready to go?"

  "Why not?" I asked as I followed him back to the truck. "It appears that our work is done here."

  "At least for now," Moose said.

  Once we were back in the truck and headed toward the diner, my grandfather added, "We need to ramp things up in our investigation. Two of our best suspects could be gone as early as tomorrow, and then where will we be? If Wally’s murder remains unsolved after they leave and one of them did it, there are folks around town who will be pointing at us and whispering behind our backs until the end of time."

  "I have an idea. It might sound crazy, but at this point, what choice do we have?" I asked Moose. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

  "Go ahead, you’ve got my attention. I’m listening," my grandfather said.

  I decided that he was right.

  At this point, we really didn’t have anything to lose.

  Chapter 13

  "Moose, do you happen to know how good the hospital is at keeping the status of their patients quiet, if it’s important?" I asked.

  "I guess it all depends on the patient, and the circumstances. Why do you ask?" my grandfather replied.

  "What if we tell every person we suspect in the murder that Ron is awake now, and that he’s starting to talk? Wouldn’t that force someone to make a bold move to try to stop him?"

  Moose looked at me intently for a moment. "Victoria, it might work, but I’m afraid that there are too many factors we can’t control."

  "Like what?"

  "Well, right off the top of my head, we’ll need Sheriff Croft’s cooperation, since we can’t guard Ron’s room by ourselves, and the hospital will have to be in on it, too. What makes you think they’d have any interest in inviting a killer onto their grounds, with all of their vulnerable patients there? I’m sorry, but there are just too many things that could go wrong."

  "I know that you’re making some good points, but what if this is our last chance to smoke out the killer?" I grabbed my cell phone, but before I dialed a number I knew by heart, I asked Moose, "Unless you strenuously object, I’m going to call Sheriff Croft. If he hates the idea, we’ll come up with something else, but we at least owe it to ourselves to try."

  "Go on, be my guest. It’s worth a shot."

  "But you still don’t think it will work, do you?" I asked him.

  "Hang on. I’ve got a better idea. Don’t call him," Moose said.

  It was out of character for my grandfather to just give up like that, and I was more than a little disappointed in him. "Why shouldn’t I?" I asked, trying to keep the hurt feelings out of my voice.

  "A phone call’s no good. Victoria, we need to pitch this to him face-to-face," he said as he headed for the police station. "I don’t have a clue whether it will work or not, but you’re right. We need to give it a shot if the sheriff is willing to help us make it happen."

  I felt much better about my grandfather at that point, and I regretted losing faith in him, if only for a few seconds.

  When we got to the police station, Heather Jones was working the front desk. Heather and I had gone to school together, and I’d briefly dated her big brother, Lucky, once upon a time. Heather had been pleasingly plump as a girl, but she’d lost most of the extra weight in the years since, and it was hard to tell now that she was even the same person.

  "Hey, Heather," I said. "Is Sheriff Croft around?"

  "As a matter of fact, he just got back in," she said, and then she lowered her voice as she explained, "but if whatever you have to say can wait, I’d let it. He’s in one of his moods."

  "Thanks for the heads up," I said in turn, "but I can’t put this off."

  Heather smiled a little ruefully. "It’s all on your shoulders, then." She picked up her phone, and after announcing us, she said, "Hold on. I’ll check."

  Heather covered the receiver as turned to me. "He wants to know what this is about."

  "Tell
him it concerns Wally Bain, and his murderer," I said. That should do the trick, if nothing else would.

  She looked surprised, but she did as I asked and conveyed the information to her boss. After hanging up, Heather whistled softly, and then she said, "You can go on back." As we passed her desk, Heather said softly, "Good luck. You’re going to need it."

  I was afraid that she was right, but if Moose and I let the opportunity pass to catch a killer just because we were worried that we might get yelled at, I just knew that we’d never be able to forgive ourselves.

  "What do you two want?" the sheriff asked as we walked into his cluttered office. "Did you turn something up in Wally Bain’s murder case?"

  "We don’t have any actual facts, Sheriff, but we do have a pretty good idea about how to flush the killer out," Moose said.

  "That’s too bad. I was hoping for something that was a little more solid than that. Unless you have something I can take to the district attorney, you two are just wasting my time, and I don’t have all that much to spare right now."

  "Sheriff, unless you’ve got a better idea waiting in the wings, you might want to at least listen to what we have to say before you lash out at us. We’re just trying to help." I wasn’t sure how he would react to my chiding, but honestly, I had a hunch we were about to be thrown out anyway, so what did it matter?

  Sheriff Croft took a deep breath, and I saw some of his frustration slip away. "Go on. You’ve got one minute to pitch your idea."

  "First things first. We have our own individual suspicions about the suspects on our list, but there’s nothing we can prove against any of them. Are you doing any better?"

  "I’ll reserve commenting until I hear what you’ve got to say first," he said.

  I started ticking off the names of our suspects on my fingers. "The first name on our list from the start has always been Ron Watkins, but unless that tool box falling really was an accident, we’re taking his name off."

  "If it helps, at this point we don’t believe that the incident was intentional," the sheriff said.

  "That’s all well and good, but even if he’s still viable in your mind, this won’t work for him."