by Jessica Beck
“I’ll call Martha, and if we can get your dad to come down, too, we’ll make it a family reunion. There’s no reason in the world that we shouldn’t have a little party of our own.”
“You’re truly not upset about the way I treated Roy Thompson?” I asked him.
“Not even the slightest little bit,” he said with a grin. “Worst case scenario, if we go down for it, we’ll all go down together.”
“Somehow I don’t find that all that comforting,” I said.
“Well, you should. Together, we’re all much more than what the diner is; you should know that.”
“Thanks,” I said. I loved my grandfather dearly. He had a habit of tweaking me in all the right places at times, but I also knew that, short of my husband and my parents, I had no bigger supporter in the world.
“You’re most welcome,” he said. “Now, let’s play something festive on the juke box. I feel like having a party.”
As Moose perused our latest titles, I felt my spirits start to buoy. Chances were that Roy would forget all about us by morning, but even if he did bring his lawyers down on us, we’d face them all, together.
Besides, what good was it to have an attorney as a best friend if I didn’t utilize her skills every now and then?
Chapter 2
“I can’t believe how many people are here, considering how chilly it is,” I told Greg the next day as we wandered around the town square together, bundled up and holding hands as we made our way through the crowds. It was a rare treat for us to be able to close the diner at noon for two hours, but it was a long-standing tradition to lock our doors every year during the height of the celebration on March 11th, from the first year my grandfather opened The Charming Moose, and I fully endorsed the arrangement. The residents of Jasper Fork held a massive birthday party for our city every year, and for the bicentennial, we were all really getting into the spirit of things. The road leading into the main square was closed off to cars with bright yellow sawhorses, and a police officer was stationed at each point as well, just in case. Vendors were set up everywhere, offering everything from baked goods to sunglasses to homemade candles, and the food! It was a delightful walk full of guilty pleasures everywhere in sight, offering funnel cakes, caramel apples, and massive turkey legs. Greg was wrestling with one of those as we walked, and I was honestly surprised that he didn’t need both hands to handle it.
“Want a bite?” he asked as he offered it to me.
“No, I’d better not.”
He grinned at my refusal. “Are you saving room for another ear of corn?” That was my favorite offering, roasted corn on the cob drizzled with melted butter. Where they got fresh corn this time of year, I had no idea, nor did I care. All I knew was that it was delicious.
“Actually, if you ever get finished with that giant leg of yours, I thought we might split a funnel cake.”
“Victoria, you never finish one of these, you just decide to abandon it.” He took one last bite, and then discarded the remains in a nearby trashcan. They were placed every ten feet throughout the square, and I still wondered if there would be enough. “Besides, I thought you were going to have some of the cake I made for dessert.”
“Absolutely,” I said, “but I can have that whenever I want. A funnel cake, on the other hand, is something I allow myself just once a year.”
“Hey, I’m honored that you’re willing to share it with me, then.”
“I never promised that it would be an even split, did I?” I asked with a grin.
“No, if I get two bites, I’ll be a happy man.”
“I believe I can sacrifice that much,” I said with a grin, though it instantly disappeared as Roy Thompson approached us displaying a plate of his own.
“Thanks for the cake,” Roy said as he waved a piece of Greg’s offering right under my nose. “It looks delicious.”
“You’re not allowed to eat that,” I said as I jerked the plate right out of his hands.
“You don’t have any right to keep me from it!” Roy said as he snatched the cake right back.
Sheriff Croft must have been standing nearby, though I hadn’t realized it until he stepped in between us. “What’s going on here, folks?”
“He can’t have that cake,” I said a little shrilly. I knew the moment I said it how petty it sounded, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d banned Roy for good reason, and I didn’t like seeing him circumventing my position so easily.
“That cake is there for the public,” Roy said, shielding the slice from me as he spoke. “Anybody can have a piece.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s right, Victoria,” the sheriff said.
“I know that,” I said in disgust. “I don’t have to like it, though, do I? Come on, Greg. Let’s go.”
The sheriff nodded, and he most likely assumed that the confrontation was over.
It would have been, too, if Roy had kept his mouth shut.
He didn’t, though. “My, this cake is delicious,” Roy said as he took a bite.
“Keep walking,” Greg said softly as he tugged at my hand. I hadn’t even realized that I had stopped until he did that. “It’s just not worth it.”
“I hate that he’s eating your cake,” I whispered.
“I know, but let’s not let it spoil our fun.”
I resolved to do as Greg suggested, and as we made our way around the booths, I tried my best to forget all about Roy Thompson.
Half an hour later, Mayor Simon Murphy got onto the stage and tapped the microphone. As he did at every public event, he asked the crowd, “Is this thing on?”
Everybody roared, “Yes,” and the mayor smiled. The mayor’s job was part-time, and paid just a small annual stipend. For his livelihood, the mayor made beautiful, museum-quality furniture that offered rich wood and simple lines. Greg and I had a mahogany nightstand that Simon had made, and it was by far the nicest piece we owned. We wouldn’t have been able to afford even that if Simon hadn’t drastically reduced its price based on a flaw in it he perceived that we still couldn’t find.
“Thanks for coming to the Jasper Fork Bicentennial Celebration,” he said, and the crowd applauded and hooted their response. “Everyone, I’ve got quite a surprise that I’m honored to finally be able to share with you all. We’ve made it a point to keep this quiet, but it’s finally time to announce it. As a special treat, I’d now like to ask the VFW to fire the Civil War cannon in tribute to our fair city, so cover your ears and duck, everybody. I’ve been told that it’s going to be quite a big bang.”
I turned to look around, and as I scanned the crowds, I noticed that sitting at a long table directly in the line of fire was Roy Thompson. He was grinning at me as he happily savored every bite of the cake that he didn’t deserve to be eating. I decided not to give him the satisfaction of reacting, so I turned to the cannon as several older men in Civil War uniforms prepared to fire it. I was amazed that they were able to get the thing to work, especially since they couldn’t have test fired it without giving the surprise away.
I saw Rooster Hicks lower the lit taper to the fuse, and I covered my ears. It seemed to take forever for the light to reach the powder, and I nearly lowered my hands a time or two. When the cannon finally exploded into life, the ground shook, and a great plume of white smoke raced from the barrel.
In the deafening silence that followed, I was just lowering my hands from my ears when I heard someone scream, “Roy Thompson’s been shot!”
I looked over at Roy, and sure enough, his body was slumped down in front of him, his face buried squarely in the center of what was left of our cake.
The paramedics on hand nearby rushed to Roy’s body even as the sheriff and his deputies leapt into action. A few folks who’d been nearby were trying to get away from the action, but Sheriff Croft was too quick to let anyone escape.
“Did that cannon really just kill him?” I asked Greg.
“I can’t imagine they would have been crazy enough to load the thing,” my husband said.
We all milled around waiting for some kind of official announcement. No one was in the mood for a party anymore; that was for sure.
Four minutes later, Sheriff Croft mounted the steps and took the microphone. “Folks, I’m sorry to announce that the celebration is now officially over. If any of you saw or spoke to Roy Thompson within the last few hours, I’d appreciate it if you’d come forward so I could have a chat with you.” As he said it, the sheriff looked directly at me. Did he think I’d killed the man just for taking a piece of cake? I knew it didn’t look good that I’d argued with Roy so recently, but no one could believe that I’d take it in my mind to load that cannon with something that would hit Roy.
“Did the cannon kill him?” a voice from the crowd yelled out.
“I’m not here to answer your questions; I’m here to ask them.”
That didn’t go over well with the crowd, and the sheriff knew it. He held up his hands as more folks clamored for information, until finally, Sheriff Croft said, “Settle down, folks. I can tell you that nothing was fired directly from the cannon. Roy was not hit with any flying projectiles, as far as we can tell.”
“Did the sound of the explosion kill him, then? I understand he had a bad heart,” someone else called out.
“As I said, that hasn’t been determined at this time.”
“Well, did the man die of natural causes, or did someone murder him?” another voice from nearby asked.
“We’re not sure yet, but until we know for sure one way or the other, we’re treating this as a crime scene of homicide. Now, that’s the last question I’m going to ask. We’ve already got the area cordoned off, so if everyone will go to the barrier at Main Street, we’ll take your names and contact information, and then you’re free to go.”
“We don’t want to leave,” someone shouted from the back. “We came all the way here to have a party.”
The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s had time to sink in yet, but a man died here, people. Show a little respect.”
As he was leaving the stage, there were a few whispers, but no one else had the nerve to speak up. Why would anyone want to continue the party after what had just happened so publicly to Roy? I was the last person there who could be called a fan of the man, but I had no desire to go on with the festivities. I turned to Greg and said, “Well, it appears that the festival is over. Should we go back and open the diner early?”
“We can’t,” my husband said as he began to lead me toward the stage. “The sheriff wants to talk to us both, remember?”
“I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to rehash what happened,” I said. “It makes me sound so petty.”
“Regardless, we don’t have any choice. We don’t want Sheriff Croft coming to the diner looking for us later, do we?”
I visualized the sheriff driving up in his cruiser with the lights flashing and the siren wailing, but even though I knew that he most likely wouldn’t do anything quite that dramatic, it did leave an indelible image in my mind. “No, you’re right. Let’s go. We might as well get this over with.”
It wasn’t that painless, though. There were quite a few people in front of us waiting to speak with the sheriff, and I wondered just how many people Roy Thompson had angered in Jasper Fork recently.
When it was finally our turn, the sheriff frowned at me as Greg and I approached. “I wondered if you two were going to come forward.”
“I know that it’s unfortunate that Roy and I had words earlier, but I was nowhere near him when he died. In fact, I was all the way across the square when the cannon went off. Did that firing have anything to do with him dying? Those poor old vets will never be able to forgive themselves if they ended up giving Roy a heart attack.”
“I’ll know more later,” the sheriff said, “but you heard me before. I’m going on the assumption that whatever happened to Roy was done intentionally. Victoria, I heard that you threw the man out of the diner last night, and then you have an argument with him right in front of me not an hour before he died. What kind of vendetta did you have against him?”
“It wasn’t anything that dire,” I explained. “He came in last night, his usual cranky self, complaining about Jenny Hollister and the food she was serving him. I had finally had enough, so I threw him out. It’s my right, after all.”
The sheriff nodded as he jotted down the gist of our conversation in his ever present little notebook. “Greg, did you witness any of this?”
My husband nodded. “I wasn’t about to miss it, to be honest with you. Sheriff, it was a long time coming, and everybody knows it.”
“Who else was in the diner when it happened?” he asked.
I gave him a list of names, and he diligently wrote them all down.
“Now, about today,” the sheriff said, quickly shifting gears.
“It was really just a continuation of our argument last night,” I said. “I didn’t want him to have that cake, and when I saw that plate in his hands, I just snapped.” The moment I said it, I realized that my choice of words could have been better.
“What Victoria meant to say was that she just wanted to enforce her ban,” Greg added, trying to do some damage control. “Honestly, she didn’t snap at all. As a matter of fact, when we walked away from Roy in front of you, we didn’t see him again until he died.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” I said.
I didn’t know which man looked more surprised by my statement, my husband or the sheriff. Greg spoke first. “You were with me the entire time, and we never got near him again.”
“I didn’t talk to him, but we did make eye contact across the square just before he died. He took a bite, and then he had the nerve to smile at me.”
“What did you do?” the sheriff asked.
“Believe it or not, I just turned away.”
“But you didn’t say anything to him, is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” I said, echoing the sheriff’s word choice.
“May we go now?” Greg asked.
“What’s the rush?” the sheriff asked.
“Well, since the celebration is over now, we thought we might go ahead and open the diner back up. There’s no reason in the world that we shouldn’t, is there?”
“None that I can think of,” the sheriff said. As we were walking away, he added, “You aren’t planning on any trips out of town anytime soon, are you?”
“Why, are we suspects?” I asked as I turned back toward him.
“I’m just gathering information right now,” he said.
“Then feel free to write this down,” I said, a little louder than I needed to. “We didn’t touch Roy Thompson, and we certainly didn’t kill him.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” the sheriff said, nonplussed by my declarative statement.
“We’ll be at The Charming Moose, just like we are every day, for the foreseeable future,” I said a little softer.
“Victoria, there’s no way you’re going to keep your nose out of this, is there?” the sheriff asked.
“What do you think?” I turned to reply, and then my husband and I left.
As Greg and I walked back to the diner, I asked my husband, “Is it possible that he really thinks we had something to do with Roy’s death?”
“It’s too soon to say,” Greg said. “Can we blame him if he does? We did have a pretty public argument with the man.”
“Don’t try to sugarcoat it, Greg. I had the argument, and no one else.”
“It could just as easily have been me,” my sweet husband said. “Remember? If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d be the one on the hot seat right now.”
“But it wasn’t you, was it?” I asked. “I’m just hoping that Roy dropped dead from a heart attack, and not something more ominous.”
“I’m sure we all do, but why do you feel that way in particular?”
I shrugged as I explained, “If he died from foul play, I’m bound to be the first suspect on the sheriff’s
list, and if that’s the case, Moose and I are going to have to solve another murder if we’re going to keep me out of jail.”
“Well, I have no desire to see you only once a week during visiting hours, so I suggest you and your grandfather go ahead and come up with a game plan, just in case. He’ll help, won’t he?”
“Are you kidding? He’ll be chomping at the bit. You know how much he loves a good murder investigation.”
“Even when his granddaughter is the main suspect in the case?”
“I’d have to believe that it only gives him more incentive,” I said.
“Well, you can ask him yourself right now, because here he comes,” Greg said. “I’m going to go ahead and get things ready to reopen. I’m sure the two of you have quite a few things you need to talk about. I love you,” he said as he added a quick peck.
“I love you right back,” I said, and then I turned to Moose. It meant the world to me to have Greg’s support, but right now, I needed my grandfather’s active assistance if I was going to prove that I didn’t kill Roy Thompson, no matter how attractive that very act may have seemed in my daydreams the day before.
“Well, that’s bad luck,” Moose said as he met me. “Talk about bad timing.”
“I know,” I said. “Hey, if we’re lucky, he died from natural causes and I don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I hate to be the one to convey bad news, but there’s not a chance. Do you know Linda Taggart?”
“Not right off the top of my head. Why? Who is she?”
“She’s a big shot forensic toxicologist teaching at UNC Asheville,” he said. “Linda’s a big fan of local celebrations, and we met a few years ago at Fire in the Mountains.”
“The blacksmith festival in Spruce Pine?” I asked. “How did you happen to meet there?”
“We were watching a master blacksmith demonstrate how to make leaves out of iron, and we struck up a conversation. You know me. I seem to accumulate friends like some folks collect stamps or coins. Anyway, I was talking to her when Roy collapsed, and she offered the sheriff her services. He was game, so I managed to tag along when she examined Roy. It’s not official yet, they’ll have to run a battery of tests, but it’s her opinion that someone poisoned Roy.”