by Hillary Avis
He grinned, his face relieved. “Can I get someone to carry your bags to the car?”
“I walked, too,” Allison said, gathering her bags.
On her way home, she passed the Dream-A-Lot and caught a glimpse of Hedy pushing her way inside with her bags of groceries. A sheaf of coupons spilled out of the top one bag and Hedy leaned over to pick them up, apparently intent on saving them for another try, whether at the Dynomart or a grocery store in another town.
“I guess if you’re going to gamble, you might as well be frugal in other areas,” Allison murmured to herself. She frowned, musing over her own words. If Hedy was so concerned with saving twelve cents on a dish sponge, it seemed unlikely that she had just claimed a large lottery prize. Hadn’t Hedy said herself that the sweepstakes thief would be noticeable because of the way their spending changed?
That is, if the thief had stolen a real sweepstakes entry to begin with. Maybe Gertrude’s “golden ticket” was the same lame version that landed in everyone’s mailbox that day. Too bad there was no way to know who won the prize—or if anyone won it at all.
Or was there?
Allison stopped in the middle of the bridge and pulled out her phone. She leaned against the railing while she looked up the Oregon Sweepstakes Office and dialed the information number. She navigated a few automated menus before she got a real person on the line.
“O.S.O., how can I help you?”
“Hi. Can you tell me whether anyone won the May prize?”
“Yes, ma’am, that sweepstakes has been claimed.”
Allison felt a thrill run up her back. “Can you tell me who won it?” She held her breath, waiting for the response.
“I’m sorry, the name of the winner is confidential. All I can tell you is that it was won by a person living in Remembrance and was claimed at the Salem office. All large prizes have to be claimed in person.” The woman sounded like she was reading from a script. She probably got this question seventy times a day. “Anything else I can help you with?”
Allison’s heart hammered. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the winner lived here in town, could it? That had to be Gertrude’s golden ticket. But who had redeemed it? “I was wondering—can anyone claim the sweepstakes, or does it have to be the person whose name is on the envelope?”
“Anyone holding the ticket can claim the prize. We suggest all winners sign the back of their ticket as soon as they receive it for that reason. Does that answer your question, ma’am?”
“Yes, thanks for your help.” Allison ended the call and stood there a minute, tapping the phone against her lips. Anyone could have claimed the prize if they got their hands on the envelope before Gertrude signed the ticket. That meant that it didn’t have to be someone impersonating Gertrude—it could be someone of any gender or age.
It seemed less and less likely that Hedy was involved. Even though she had a motive to steal the money, she was still pinching pennies and living at the Dream-A-Lot. Even if her gambling debt was in the tens of thousands, she’d have plenty of money left over after the sweepstakes payout. Unless Hedy had gambled it away within a week, she hadn’t claimed the prize money.
Anyway, Hedy didn’t have a car, so it would have been difficult for her to get to Salem to claim the prize without someone else knowing about it. And if one person in Remembrance knew something juicy, then everyone did.
The money was still a secret, which meant it had been claimed by someone who could make it to Salem on their own. Someone with, say, a pickup truck and a pressing need for cash. Someone like Harman Winter. As if on cue, Harman’s truck roared past, flipping Allison’s hair and sending a blast of air into her face. In the back of the truck, the big white dog stood up on the wheel well, her tongue lolling out as she barked into the wind.
In the distance, Harman’s truck veered into the tavern parking lot, sending the dog sliding. Allison winced, imagining the dog’s discomfort as it hit the side of the truck bed. Poor thing—she never thought she’d say it, but maybe it was better off being tied to a tree rather than sliding around in the back of a truck.
Allison adjusted her grip on the grocery bags and quickened her pace as she neared the end of the bridge. Instead of turning on Riverview and taking the more scenic route home, she continued along the dusty highway, past the turn onto Rosemary Street, toward the Why Not Tavern.
“Just the place to throw a little money around,” Allison murmured.
The Why Not was the only place to drink on this side of the bridge—the casino being the only place on the other side—so even on a weekday afternoon, the lot was full of cars and trucks. A layer of dust from the gravel parking lot dulled the long, low building’s blue paint to more of a gray color. People liked to say the tavern was popular because they had good burgers and brats, but Allison knew it was mostly because they had dollar beers before four p.m. The decent food was just a bonus.
She spotted Harman’s truck right away, parked next to the sheriff’s car just a couple of spaces away from the door. It was easy to find because it was the only one with a polar bear of a dog in the back. The truck’s cab was empty; Harman was already inside, somewhere behind the dark glass windows with their neon-beer-sign eyes.
Chapter 26
“Hey, sweetheart,” Allison said to the dog as she neared. The pretty girl thumped her tail and cowered in the bed of the truck. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Is he feeding you?”
She switched her grocery bags to one hand and reached into the truck bed to scratch between the dog’s ears. The dog whined at her and stood, leaning over the tailgate to sniff at the contents in Allison’s bags. Drool began coursing from the sides of the dog’s cheeks.
“Oh, you’re hungry, aren’t you?” Allison mentally cursed Harman and balanced her bags on the bumper of the truck. She rummaged through them and found the small jar of peanut butter. She cracked open the plastic lid, broke the seal with her thumbnail, and tossed the open jar into the back of the truck. “Here you go. That’ll keep you busy until I get back.”
With surprising agility, the dog bounded across the truck bed, trapping the jar under her paw before lying down to lap the peanut butter out with her long tongue. With a quick look over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, Allison hefted her grocery bags into the back of Harman’s truck alongside the dog. She couldn’t very well take three bags of groceries into a bar and expect to go unnoticed.
“Be good and don’t eat my stuff,” she admonished. At the rate the dog was working through the peanut butter, she estimated she had about five minutes, max, before the rest of her food was pillaged, so she hustled up the ramp to the tavern door with its posted warning: No Admittance to Persons Under Age 21.
She pushed open the shiny wood door, and once her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, couldn’t help cracking a smile. None of the persons in the small tavern had been under age twenty-one since the Eighties. The bar looked like an AARP convention, and the tables weren’t much better. Given the gray streaking her own hair, she probably fit right in.
In the greenish glow from the pool table’s overhead light, Allison spied Harman’s white Stetson near the jukebox at the other end of the bar. She watched as he playfully elbowed the man next to him, who was the spitting image of Sam Elliot—tall and lanky even seated, with a large and luxuriant gray mustache. She couldn’t make out what he said, but their laughter carried to her end of the bar.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender as she walked over, wiping her hands on a towel. She was a heavyset woman with blonde hair that didn’t match her eyebrows and blurry tattoos lining her muscled forearms. Judging from the size of her biceps when she leaned on the counter, Allison would bet money that she’d worked in the sawmill before it closed. “Draft beers are a buck, bottled beers are two.”
Allison eyed the spotty glassware stacked near the beer faucets. “I’ll take a bottle.”
The bartender shrugged, grabbed a beer from the cooler behind her, and popped t
he cap under the counter before setting it in front of Allison on a napkin. “Want a burger with your beer?”
Allison’s stomach growled in response, but she didn’t have time to eat—not unless she wanted to make a second trip to the grocery store. She checked the window to see whether the dog had finished off the peanut butter, but her view was blocked by the largest beer sign. “Not today, sorry.”
“Fine by me.” The woman shrugged and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Why’d you come in?”
Allison lifted her beer and took a sip, hoping that answered the question.
“Come on now. We’re all friends here. I’m Tanya. I’ve seen you around town, but you’ve never been in before. What’s the real deal? Looking for love?”
“Well, Tanya, I’m here for a beer, for real.” Allison took another sip to add credibility to her lie and stole a glance down the bar at Harman.
Tanya stood up, blinking. “You don’t have to be snotty. I was just trying to help.”
Her expression was so crestfallen that Allison felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she could help. “Do you know that guy. The one in the hat?” She nodded toward the jukebox.
Tanya chuckled. “Oh yeah, he comes in every day. If you think he’s cute, I’m sure he’s interested. You’re a little young for him, though. What are you, thirty-nine?”
Allison choked a little on her beer. “Hardly. I’m forty-eight.”
Tanya nodded. “Still way too young. He might look like Robert Redford, but I’d advise you to steer clear.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a cheapskate!” Tanya threw back her head and laughed so loudly that people started looking toward them.
Allison turned her head, hoping that Harman didn’t catch sight of her. Why she cared if he saw her was a mystery, except that she felt like she was skulking around like a creepy stalker. “What do you mean?”
“Watch him.” Tanya leaned on the bar and down it toward Harman. “See what he’s doing?”
Harman had two glasses of beer about a hand’s width apart and was folding up a piece of paper. Allison watched as he balanced the paper between the rims of the two glasses and handed his mustached friend a saltshaker. The guy laughed as he stared at the salt and shook his head.
“He bet a fiver that Mark can’t put the saltshaker on the paper bridge and he can,” Tanya explained. “Mark knows he’s going to lose, but he can’t bring himself to let the money go yet.”
At the end of the bar, Mustache Mark hesitantly settled the salt onto the narrow strip. He let go and the shaker crashed through the paper to the bar top, sending a spray of salt flaying across it. Tanya sighed and, rolling her eyes, took her towel to wipe up the spill.
“Salt’s not free, ya know!” Her voice echoed down the bar as she cleaned it up. Harman tipped his hat at her and winked, murmuring something that Allison couldn’t make out. To her surprise, Tanya blushed. Harman Winter sure had some game if such a worldly bartender was susceptible to his flirtation, Allison thought. Tanya returned a comment, and Harman’s friend Mark roared with laughter.
“Order up!” a voice filtered out of the kitchen, and Tanya scurried through a door behind the bar to pick up the food.
While Tanya delivered burgers to one of the tables behind her, Allison watched Harman take the now half-empty shaker and hold it above the paper bridge. Mark yelped and grabbed it from him, swapping it for a full shaker from a nearby table. Harman’s shoulders shook with laughter. He held the full shaker above the bridge, and just as Allison thought he was going to release his grip, he used his other hand to flip the bridge over, placing the salt shaker on the accordion-pleated edges rather than the flat side.
To Allison’s astonishment, the paper bridge held. Mark yelled and punched Harman on the arm, and Harman gleefully took the money that was on the bar between them.
Tanya returned to her post near where Allison sat, following her gaze down the bar. “See what I mean? That old dude hustles for every buck. He’s got a new con every week. Can you imagine what it’d be like to date him?” Allison could see some private enjoyment going on behind Tanya’s amused expression. She had definitely considered dating Harman at some point, that was clear.
“Just curious,” Allison said. “What did he say to you when you were wiping the salt off the bar?”
Tanya blushed again. “He asked if five bucks was enough to ride my ride.”
Allison grinned. “What’d you say?”
“I told him my ride is too wild—antiques like him might get broken.” She smirked at her own joke. The bells on the door jangled and Tanya looked up at the customer entering behind Allison.
“So Harman hasn’t been acting different lately?” Allison asked, keeping her voice casual as the newcomer slid onto the barstool next to her. “He hasn’t been making bigger bets or anything?”
“Nah. Same old, same old.” Tanya turned her attention to the new patron. Allison glanced at the person next to her for the first time. To her surprise, it was Kara Lee, in full uniform. “Can I get you something to drink, ma’am?”
“Naw, she don’t have time for that,” a voice came from behind them. Allison turned and saw Leroy standing there, his thumbs looped in his belt. “She’s on duty. Isn’t that right, Officer Lee?”
Kara didn’t look back at him. She just gave a terse nod to Tanya, who flipped her towel over her shoulder and turned her back on them.
The sheriff chuckled. “That’s more like it. You can move yourself along. Let the folks drink their beer in peace.”
Kara stiffened, but she didn’t budge. The sheriff thankfully didn’t press the issue, just headed back to his table where his buddies were seated.
“What was that about?” Allison asked.
“Nothing,” Kara muttered.
“Looked like something. Looked like you and the sheriff aren’t getting along.”
“You know what looks like something?” Kara whirled around, frowning at her. “You going around asking around about Harman Winter. I heard you when I came in. What are you up to?”
With a quick glance at Tanya, who pretended to be busy cleaning the grubby glassware, Allison tried to deflect the question. “What’s the sheriff have against you?”
“I have you and Myra to thank for sabotaging my interrogation. I didn’t follow his orders and question Lilian Hale, and now he has it out for me.”
Allison’s jaw dropped open in surprise. “Even though Lilian isn’t a suspect anymore?”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s not going to let it go.” Kara’s stern expression crumpled. She leaned toward Allison and lowered her voice. “Now do you see what I mean about this place being unfriendly? Everyone is like that to me, not just the sheriff. I don’t know if it’s because they’re racist or because I’m a cop or because I’m not somebody’s cousin or what—but it’s torture! They’re all talking about me, but nobody talks to me.”
Allison nodded. She knew exactly what Kara meant. After Paul lost his memory, it seemed like everyone whispered behind her back and avoided her. It’s like they thought it might be contagious, or like they thought she had somehow caused it. Any friends she’d had seemed to evaporate along with her bakery customers. “That’s why I started fostering dogs, to be honest. They’re good company and they don’t gossip.”
One corner of Kara’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “Where is that little dog, anyway? What’s his name? Bungee?”
Allison grinned. “Close. It’s Pogo. He’s at home. I wore him out with a long walk this morning, so I didn’t take him to the grocery store. I just stopped here on the way back.” With a jolt, she remembered that she’d left her groceries in Harman’s truck outside, with a dog who had likely finished off that jar of peanut butter and started in on the rest of her provisions. “You know, I should probably get going.”
“Wait.” Kara grabbed her upper arm. “You were asking about Harman. Does this have anything to do with Gertrude Winter’s death?”
A guilty look mu
st have flashed across Allison’s face, because Kara’s expression grew more intent. “It does! Why are you meddling still? Her death was ruled an accident!”
“I’m not meddling,” Allison said stubbornly, wresting her arm away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...” She moved to leave, but Kara stepped in front of her.
“What do you know? What are you hiding from me?”
Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach. “Nothing! I’m just—” Allison broke off, looking around frantically for inspiration. Her eyes lit on a smudge of peanut butter on the sleeve of her blouse, and she relaxed. “I’m just worried about his dog. He hasn’t been feeding her enough. I hoped maybe he inherited some money from Gertrude so he could afford some more dog food, but it sounds like he didn’t.”
Kara’s grip relaxed and her shoulders slumped. “See? Why didn’t you just say that to begin with? Now I just feel stupid.”
Well, because I hadn’t thought of it yet, Allison thought, feeling slightly guilty for lying to a police officer...and someone she was supposed to be playing nice with. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Are we still on for brunch on Sunday?”
Kara perked up. “Oh, right. Feast and Flower at ten?”
Allison nodded. “I’ll tell Myra. Hey, Tanya,” she called. She pulled out a five and put it on the counter and patted it. Tanya turned. “Can you get Kara a beer?”
Tanya’s gaze slid behind them to the sheriff’s table, and then she nodded tersely. She set a second bottle near Allison’s mostly empty one and scooped up the money.
“I think she stole your change,” Kara remarked when Tanya didn’t return. She rolled her bottle of beer between her palms. “Want me to take her down to the station?”
Allison’s eyes widened until she saw Kara’s mischievous grin. She shook her head. “Nah, we’ll call that her tip. I’m sorry to say, I really do have to go now.”
“Thanks for the drink, friend.” Kara held up the bottle toward Allison, and then smiled self-consciously as she took her first sip. “It’s just what I needed. The friendship, not the beer.”