“Harry, please, let the woman say her piece.” Larson used his hands to suppress the turbulent air until the interruption was quieted.
“The point I’m trying to make is, while I realize what’s done is done, I feel a strong obligation to present the facts. So, I’m asking for table space to lay out photos, an unopened bottle of decades-old Knut Eklind Gin, and a deed from a land purchase here in Hillsboro County dated in the eighteen hundreds.” Beverly paused. “I have also arranged for News Twelve to cover the event, although they insist a member of this committee meet with them prior to iron out details.”
A volcanic breath erupted from the direction of the previous outburst. “Give her what she wants so she’ll leave us alone. The truth will come out in the end.”
“You’ll have to pardon Harry,” Larson said. “He, like most of our citizens, wonders why a family with no current connections to Augustin, other than your patronage in our stores, which we fully appreciate, bothers to want a relative recognized for a deed he might or might not have done. To this day, the man has no lasting influence on our town in any way. Seems more self-serving to his present-day relatives than a tribute to the man. So, yes, fine. You will be provided with a display table. There’s a vacant table next to the Augustin Society for Roadway Beautification table. That’s a very prestigious location, Beverly. The local chapter of Safeguard the Groundhog was forced to forfeit the spot for lack of volunteers.”
“Thank you.” Beverly tipped her head slightly.
“Who can I entice to meet with representatives at News Twelve to arrange their schedule?” Larson peered around the room.
Sherry raised her hand as if Larson had asked for volunteers to try a scoop of her favorite butterscotch ice cream.
“Ms. Oliveri, you’re kind to volunteer. If you’re available later this afternoon, I’ll arrange for you to meet up with a crew from the station to go over details. Here’s a handout of all they need to know.” Larson walked a stapled set of papers over to Sherry, bypassing Beverly on the way. “Are there any other issues at hand, Beverly? Because you can excuse yourself if not.”
Beverly fingered her scarf. “That’s it. I hope everyone has a nice day.” She gathered her purse and left the room.
“You made that too easy for her, Larson. The Van Ardans have their foot in the door, and soon they and their corporate machine will suck this town dry. We might as well rename the place MediaPie-town.” Harry covered his face with his hands.
“Okay, folks, we’re moving on before we lose track of our mission.” Larson sighed and picked up his cell phone. He used his thumb to scroll down the screen. He pointed to a woman seated next to Sherry. “Cora, you’ll be our roving Comfort Ambassador throughout the day.”
The woman giggled. “That’s a polite way of saying the person who points out the porta potty locations.”
“A very important duty,” Larson added.
“Good pun, Larson,” Harry shouted.
Larson’s cheeks lifted, then lowered. “Wyatt, as publications director, the only task left for you is to pick up the maps, brochures, and table identification signs.” Larson nodded to the man seated across from Sherry. “Vivienne, you have done an outstanding job coordinating the youth of Augustin. Their parade will go off without a hitch, I’m sure. Sherry, I’ve taken you off the cleanup taskforce and reassigned you as food vendor chairwoman, for obvious reasons. We’re using all the same vendors as last year, so you merely need to give them a location on the town square to set up. I remind you, do not put Grassroots Grub next to Caveman Carnivore. Last year the wind was fierce and blew straight down the row of tables. All the vegans and vegetarians complained their food tasted like grilled steak sandwiches.”
Sherry smiled. “Understood.”
“With that business settled, I would like to read you my introduction to the Trivselbit ceremony.” Larson pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He adjusted the screen of his phone to eye level before clearing his throat. “The Town of Augustin was officially incorporated on June second, eighteen thirteen, with lands from three existing villages. Andre August Dahlback led seventy-three people living in the territory that is now known as Augustin to petition for Augustin’s incorporation. The driving force behind the petition was to assist their village’s economic viability that was being overshadowed by surrounding towns’ farms. For more than a decade, Augustin was a prosperous agricultural community and the leading onion-growing center in the U.S. Unfortunately, a blight then destroyed the entire crop, leading to a brief era of, shall we say, uncertainty, as to the future of the town, especially after the death of its inspirational leader, Mr. Dahlback. Records show the history of a successful town was already written, and this period of misfortune was a tiny blip on the radar. The foundation of a town with strength and character had been laid by Dahlback, and, thanks to him, we all live in peace and harmony today.”
“You never go into details about that rough period and how the town emerged from near devastation. Is there any reason for that?” Sherry asked.
“Best to keep the day light and positive,” Larson said.
“After such a compelling story, how can the Van Ardans lay any claim to their ancestor’s being Augustin’s founder?” Harry asked. “They don’t have a pot to pee in. No offense, Cora.”
“None taken.” Cora giggled.
Larson lowered his phone. “I wish I could say that’s true, but fact is, when the town was in its darkest time, Knut Eklind purchased a large percentage of the town’s land with his gin fortune and kept the town from falling into the hands of those whose intentions weren’t the best. He wasn’t a very popular guy because of how he made his money. The movement toward temperance was in its infancy in early America, and the young town of Augustin was at the forefront of promoting healthier lifestyles. Along came Knut, a savior to a few and doing the devil’s work. Ironically, his money was welcomed, but he was not. The town that might have gone bankrupt was prosperous again in the short term until the farmers could get back on their feet. Turned out they never really did, but commerce in other forms took root, and Augustin prospered once again. No one would ever wish the town to be renamed Knutville, as the man himself had once petitioned for. Thank goodness for his personal unpopularity, if you ask me, or we’d all be known as Knuties.”
“Now, centuries later, the family is back to claim what they feel is theirs?” asked Cora.
“Looks that way. But we can keep this little nugget of historical information to ourselves, can’t we? No sense rocking the boat now,” said Harry. “As I heard Erno Oliveri once say, ‘history without the s-t-o-r-y is just a short hello.’”
“Agreed. Let’s finish up here, people. It’s going to be a great day, thanks to all your hard work,” Larson said.
After the meeting’s business was concluded, Sherry drove home to change her clothes and pick up Chutney to bring to the Ruggery. As she parked her car at the curb in front of her house, which she did when she knew she was only staying for a brief time, her phone rang.
“Sherry, this is Detective Ray Bease.”
Sherry smiled at the man’s formal tone. “You must have ESP. I was about to call you.”
There was a gurgle from his end of the call. “I’ll go first since I made the call. I’d like to follow up with your father about the e-mail threat he received. Our tech team has traced the message’s origin to a computer at News Twelve. Not too difficult a task; the station hasn’t upgraded their computer security in years.”
Sherry slipped out of her car. “Ray, someone over there is mad enough to kill, possibly twice, and my dad is on that person’s radar. Are you moving as fast as you can?”
A groan assaulted Sherry’s ear. “I appreciate your desire for speed. From your perspective, I’m sure the investigation is moving like molasses in February, but, keep in mind, not too long ago your father was a prime suspect, so be thankful fact gathering, sorting, and deciphering is our top priority.”
“So, if y
ou’re suggesting he’s no longer a suspect, what do you want to talk to him about?”
“See, that’s where your investigative skills are lacking. Your father may, without knowing, be holding onto information of value in this case. It’s a matter of my asking him the correct question.”
Sherry’s turn to groan.
Sherry thought back to her father’s comment about not considering himself completely innocent. What had he meant by that? “If you want my blessing to talk to him, I’ll give it on one condition.”
“Sherry.” The detective raised his voice, and Sherry recoiled. “No bargaining.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, can you run the questions by me first?” Sherry opened the door to her house and was greeted by Chutney.
“Your father told me there were four people at the station he knew prior to the day of your cook-off. Carmell Gordy, Brett Paladin, Truman Fletcher, and Steele Dumont.”
Sherry’s voice raised an octave. “That’s right. Brett was a customer at the Ruggery many years ago, and Steele Dumont has ties with our family, so that’s how my father knew them. Truman Fletcher made a purchase at the store a few weeks before the cook-off. Brett Paladin’s stepmother is a close friend of Dad’s, which came as a surprise to me, but their acquaintance doesn’t raise any red flags, for me, at least.” Sherry visualized Damien Castle’s voting ballot.
Detective Bease hummed a single baritone note. “Okay. What I would like to ask your father is could he recall any detail about any of those four individuals that may be of use. My feeling is, before we have to formally question him, I may be able to coax a recollection or piece of overlooked information out of him in a more relaxed atmosphere. Some recollection he doesn’t recognize as relevant or possibly isn’t sure he wants to share.”
Sherry’s cheek muscle twitched. “I’ve tried.” She pressed her hand to her face. “Would you consider Brett Paladin a suspect?”
“You know I can’t go into investigation specifics, Sherry. I’ll say he’s not at the top.”
“I’m heading over to News Twelve later this afternoon for some Founder’s Day business.” Sherry waited, but there was only silence and possibly a pen tap. “Is there more? I need to keep moving and get over to the store.”
“That’s all.” The detective paused. He lowered his voice. “If you do see or hear something pertinent to the case when you’re at the station, please call me. But, under no circumstances are you to put yourself at risk. Do you understand me?”
Sherry began an eye roll, reconsidered, and slammed her eyelids shut instead. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 16
Sherry bundled up the eight by ten-foot rug as tight as a jelly roll and bound the colorful canvas with twine. “In all the years Patti Mellitt has lived in Hillsboro County, this is the first time she has made a purchase at the store.”
“She picked a sensational rug. I know she’s a foodie, so this apple, purple cabbage, and winter squash motif will keep her inspired for a long time to come.”
Sherry waved a fresh index card in front of Amber.
“Would you mind filling the card out with her information? Last name, first name, purchase description, and price will suffice. We’ll let Dad do the preferences section, if he wants, to get him back in the swing of things.” Sherry walked the rug over to the sales counter.
She turned her gaze back to Amber. “While you’re in the files, would you mind pulling Brett Paladin’s card?”
Amber squinted. “Sherry? What exactly do you have in mind?” She began spinning the carousel of cards. “Here you go.” Amber handed the card to Sherry.
Sherry lifted the card high to catch the light. “Dad’s handwriting is fading on this Paladin card. I can barely make it out. ‘Preferences: do not contact him by phone, avoid talk of family and business.’”
“Your father’s notes are an enigma all their own.” Amber put out her hand to receive the card. At the same time, the front door swung open.
Sherry’s gaze darted toward the incoming customer.
Patti Mellitt, dressed in a beige linen pantsuit, brown flats, and a pink baseball hat, shut the door behind her. She lifted her sunglasses and set them on the rim of her cap. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m so excited to pick up my rug. I feel like a true Augustinian now that I’m about to lay a famous Ruggery objet d’art in my front hall. I’m not sure why it took me so long to join the party.”
“Right here. All ready for you.” Sherry patted the rug as if it were a perfectly risen mound of pizza dough waiting to be rolled out. “Anything else you need?”
“No. Ring me up, and I’m on my way. I’m reviewing a bakery down the street, and my stomach’s been barking at me to hurry up and get there since an hour after breakfast.” Patti slipped her wallet out of her purse. “Any breaks in the murder investigation over at News Twelve? I believe, the last time I saw you, a second murder had occurred, although they had the unfortunate victim’s identity wrong.” She handed Sherry her credit card. Patti pointed to the punch tool next to the register. “A tool like that was used to take Carmell Gordy’s life, if what I read was correct.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Sherry’s smile melted to a frown.
“As I recall, I told Detective Bease two details stood out to me that morning,” Patti said. “One was how Carmell Gordy refused to try even the smallest bite of the contestants’ food. She sipped her green drink, which I suppose is how she maintained her svelte figure, but I thought a good move would have been to try a bite. Makes the cooks feel appreciated. Carmell hovered over me while I judged the appetizers in the room off the studio, but declined every morsel I offered her. The second detail was when I saw Brett Paladin fall hard as he rounded a corner a few minutes after you were awarded first prize. His face turned fire red, and he let out a yowl that sent shivers up my spine. He was as adamant about refusing help as Carmell was about refusing solid food. It’s amazing how stubborn people can be. His pocket contents scattered because I think he ripped his pants. He swam across the floor, very undignified, spread-eagle, in a panic to grab all the items up, including a smashed cookie.” Patti accepted her credit card back from Sherry.
“Strangely, that’s a relief to me that you saw him fall because I thought I caused him to rip his pants when he skidded on my spilled chickpeas.”
“I think it was round beads on the floor that tripped him up. Ball bearings best describe them.” Patti rubbed her index finger and thumb together. “Small, but they did the trick.”
“Okay, now I feel guilty. Those were escapees from my appetizer platter.”
“Couldn’t have been. I would never have awarded you first prize if they had been so overcooked,” Patti sang out.
“They really were my chickpeas. You tasted them fresh out of the oven, but, an hour later, they were as hard as cherry pits. I’ll offer again to pay for any mending Brett might have had done, when I see him later. I’m heading over there in a few hours for a meeting.”
“Thanks for the rug, and please give your father my best regards.”
“I will. I’m just about to call him.”
Patti gathered up her purchase and left the store.
Chapter 17
“I don’t think the meeting at News Twelve will be very long, so I’ll bring Chutney with me and leave him in the car. Weather’s cool, so the car will be a perfect temperature for him. Are you okay closing up?” Sherry lifted Chutney and tucked him under one arm.
He went limp, as he always did when he was in his owner’s secure embrace.
“Of course,” Amber replied.
The door swung open.
As Sherry rotated to greet the customer, she jerked her neck back and blinked hard. “Dad? What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too. It’s my store, you know. You shouldn’t be that astonished when I show up.” Erno unzipped his windbreaker. He rubbed Chutney’s head and was rewarded with a vigorous tail wag.
“Hi, Erno. So nice to see you.” Amber
made a quick scan around the store. “I hope everything is in order, the way I was taught you like it. I’ve kept that in mind every minute I’ve worked here.”
“That’s why I made a special trip over. I’m thinking tomorrow morning is my day of return.”
Sherry shifted her gaze from her father to Amber. Her friend’s shoulders slumped forward.
“Are you sure, Dad? Do you think you’re feeling strong enough?”
“I’ll come in for one hour, tops. I’ve got to get my toe dipped in the pool.”
Amber’s smile capsized. “Of course. I should figure out my next move anyway. It’s been so much fun, Erno. I can’t express my appreciation for the time you’ve given me here. I couldn’t have foreseen how much I was going to enjoy it.”
“Whoa, Amber. I hope you don’t think you’re done working here. You can’t get off that easily,” Erno said. “I was only considering returning part-time, but that’s solely based on your availability to stick around. I know you have your column to write, in addition to working here, and, unlike my daughter, you probably would like to enjoy a full social life too. So, I want to make sure you’re able to accomplish all those goals.”
Sherry opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a choked whimper.
“Say the word, and I’ll stay on.” Amber’s smile returned. “My townhouse rental is month by month, so that’s no problem. As soon as the landlady heard I was working for you, she sweetened the deal in every way possible.”
“Consider your job secure.” Erno held out his hand. It was met with Amber’s grip. “As I like to say, when a bluebird comes a callin’, don’t hide the birdseed.”
“I agree, and now I’ve got to get to my meeting. See you two tomorrow.” Sherry reached her free hand out to find the doorknob while keeping her eyes on her father.
“I don’t suppose we’ll be needing you tomorrow, sweetie. I mean, unless Amber needs you to come in after I leave.”
Final Roasting Place Page 19