by Jeff Shelby
NINETEEN
“So who did it, Sherlock?” Jake asked.
We were pulling out of Tiny Papa's and he was driving this time. After our meal and his beer, we'd ordered a plate of mini churros for dessert. The fried dough was crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside, and dusted with a more than generous helping of cinnamon and sugar. I resisted the urge to lick the plate clean. We both left the restaurant feeling full and satisfied, and I was just as confused as ever.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at me. “I can tell you're thinking it over. Who poisoned Ted?”
“If I knew that for sure, we'd be driving to the police station.”
“Okay, then, give me your best guess.”
I sighed. “Okay. There are three possibilities, as I see it. Elsa, Bjorn, and Arnold. All three of them were there that night, and all three of them have issues with Ted.”
“You could've stopped at issues and been right.”
“You know what I mean,” I said. “So all three had motive to do something like that. And it seems like all three were angry enough with him for one reason or another to have maybe done it.”
“I get angry with a lot of people,” Jake said. “But I've never tried to poison anyone. Ever.”
“Duh. I'm just saying, if it was done purposefully, those three people make the most sense.”
He slowed to a stop at a red light. “Okay. I agree.”
“But here's where I'm stuck,” I said. “The one who makes the most sense has the most to lose.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Bjorn is the most likely suspect,” I explained. “For a bunch of reasons. He had an issue with Ted, he made the food. Logically speaking, he makes the most sense as a potential suspect.”
“I agree,” Jake said, nodding.
“But he'd have to have known that by doing that in his own restaurant, he'd be hurting himself,” I said. “So why do it if the ramifications in the long run are worse for you than your intended victim?”
It was true. If Bjorn had poisoned Ted, he had to have known what that would do to his business. Not withstanding the fact that he’d be going to jail if he got caught—which would effectively close down his business—he would have had to know that when the word got out, it would kill his business. Ted had said that Bjorn was livid with him over the tickets, and perhaps he might have acted irrationally and impulsively, but I wasn’t sure he’d do something to get back at Ted that had the potential to destroy his business.
Jake thought about this for a minute. “Well, I do not possess the mind of a criminal, so I'm not sure.”
“But you get what I'm saying, right?” I asked. “Ultimately, he's done more damage to his own restaurant than to Ted.”
Jake switched lanes. “Agreed. Ted had a rough couple of nights, but ultimately he's going to be okay. If things go downhill for Bjorn, he loses the restaurant.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So it's hard for me to reconcile those two things.”
“So who would be your next choice?”
“Elsa,” I said firmly. “No question. She wasn't honest with me about her relationship with Ted and she's clearly upset with him.”
“Okay. But how does she get the poison in his food or his drink?”
“I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. It was the one thing I couldn’t reconcile about that theory. “Maybe he got up to use the restroom or something. Slight of hand. I don't know.”
“She seemed nuts enough to do it?”
“Not really,” I told him. She had actually seemed almost normal. Well, by Moose River standards, at least. “But based on what Ted told me, it sounds like she was pretty upset with him. If she was that angry, then maybe she was capable of doing something she normally wouldn't have done.”
“But would she want to poison the guy or kill him if she really wanted to rekindle their romance?”
I was quiet. I hadn’t really considered that angle. It was true: if what Ted had said was true—that Elsa had wanted to get back together—why would she have done something to him that could potentially keep that from happening? I thought about the old tropes, the whole ‘crime of passion’ thing, but then I thought of Ted. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to ignite passion. But I wasn’t Elsa; maybe he did for her.
“I don't know. Maybe she didn't feel there was any chance of that.”
He glanced at me. “Please don't ever poison me if we have a fight.”
“I can't promise anything,” I said. “Especially when you tell me you prefer someone else’s cooking.”
“I take it back,” he said, chuckling. “Every word of it.”
“Too late,” I told him.
He laughed again and reached out for my hand. I gave him a squeeze.
“So that leaves Arnold,” Jake said. “The guy who does not make the best burrito I’ve ever eaten.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“He certainly seems adamant about, uh, winning the local taco race,” Jake said. “If that's really a thing.”
“Yeah, a little aggressive. Motive is entirely different, though. Ted being poisoned was just bad luck on Ted's part. He was an innocent bystander. If it was Arnold, then he was just looking to cause trouble for Bjorn and Ted happened to get the wrong plate of food. Could've been anyone in the place.”
Jake stretched his arm against the steering wheel and hit the turn signal. “That would really change the whole scope of things. Because under the first two, you're working with the idea that Ted was the target. Under the third, it's the restaurant.” He glanced at me. “Two pretty different things.”
I nodded. “I know. That's why I'm not sure what to think. All three make sense, but I can just as easily rationalize why they don't.”
“Good thing it's not your job then to figure it out.”
“That feels like some sort of jab at me.”
“It might be.”
“It's like you don't even know me if you think I'm not trying to figure this out,” I said.
He guided the minivan into our driveway. “Oh, I'm well aware of the fact that you'll try to figure it out. But that doesn't mean you have to.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said. “But what if I want to? Ted is my friend. I’d like to know who poisoned him. And why.”
He turned the engine off. “It's not your job.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m volunteering. Like always.”
“I think 4-H is looking for more leaders. And Boy Scouts. And Girl Scouts. And the Lions Club.”
I waved a hand at him. “Whatever. You're welcome for dinner, by the way.”
“Uh, I paid.”
I pushed open the door. “Yeah, but I drove. That's way more important.”
“In what world?”
I smiled at him. “Mine.”
TWENTY
“She's seriously losing her mind,” Will said the second we were through the door.
He was sitting at the dining room table, a bag of pretzels and a can of Mountain Dew in front of him. Sophie and Grace were huddled together on the sofa, a shared iPad on one leg of each girl.
“There was so much yelling,” Sophie said without looking up from the screen.
“And crying,” Grace added. She glanced up at me, her eyes huge. “She was totally bawling.”
“About what?” I asked, setting my purse down on the table. Will shifted his soda out of the way. “And I assume we're talking about your sister here?”
“Yeah,” Will said. He reached into the bag of pretzels and retrieved a handful. “She came home all crazy because she says Big Mama's is going to close.”
As if on cue, the door to her room swung open, and she emerged with red, swollen eyes, and the urgency of an old woman who'd just lost her cat.
“See?” Will said. “She's been crying for like an hour.”
“Shut up, Will!” she screamed. “Just stop! Mom, tell him to stop!”
“Will, uh, maybe you cou
ld just stop...talking for a minute.”
He rolled his eyes and smirked.
Emily stared at me. “I think I'm going to be out of a job.”
“What do you mean by you 'think'?” I asked.
She took a deep breath. “Andy and I stopped by the restaurant when he was bringing me home. I wanted to check the schedule to see if Bjorn had posted for the next two weeks. When I didn't see it, I went to talk to him. And he said he hasn't made it yet because he isn't sure what's going to happen with the restaurant.” A fresh sob erupted from her.
“Were there people in there tonight when you stopped?” Jake asked, dropping the keys on the counter.
“A few, but not as many as normal,” Emily answered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “So it's probably going to close and then what am I going to do?”
“And what's Bjorn going to do?” Will muttered.
I thumped him in the shoulder. “Well, we'll just have to wait and see what happens then. There's nothing you can do about it until you know. The only thing you could really do is start looking for another job now.”
“Where am I gonna do that?” she cried.
“Maybe...all of the other restaurants in town?” Jake suggested. I elbowed him before he could suggest Tiny Papa’s. I knew his angle—he’d love the chance at a family discount—but the last thing she needed at the moment was to know we’d just returned from the very restaurant she would hold responsible for putting her out of a job.
“Wherever you'd like,” I told her. “Can be restaurants or coffee shops or wherever.”
“But then I'm going to have spend time filling out applications and then talk to people on the phone and I don't have time for all that!”
“You sleep until noon,” Grace said, frowning at her sister. “It's summer. Maybe get up earlier. I get up at eight.”
“You are a weirdo,” Sophie said. “I hate getting up early.”
Emily squeezed her eyes shut. “You know I hate change, Mom!”
It was true. Of all the kids, she was the one who liked routine and knowing what to expect. It was one of the main reasons she’d made the decision to try out public school. She craved the schedule, the orderliness, the predictability. I was none of those things.
“But we can't always control that, now can we?” I told her. “And this is one of those things that isn't in your control. You can either wait it out and see what happens, or you can look for a new job. Those are the only two options.”
“But I don't like those!”
“I know you don't, but I can't change that,” I said. “Those are the options.”
“Moose River Coffee is hiring,” Sophie offered helpfully. “We saw the sign in the window when we biked to the gas station yesterday.”
Grace nodded in agreement.
“I know,” Emily snapped. “I go there all the time, remember? I saw their sign. But a weird kid from my school works there.”
“So?” Sophie asked.
“And so it would just be…weird, working with a weird kid from my school.”
“There are tons of places in town hiring,” Will said. He’d drained his soda and it clanked on the table, an empty, hollow, sound when he set it back down. “They’re all over the message boards. I was actually thinking I should get a job. I want money to build my new computer.”
“We were hiring for a new dishwasher,” Emily said. “But I don't want you working in the same place as me anyway.”
Will laughed. “Well, it's not like you can stop me from applying there if I want to.”
“Yes, I can,” she said. “Mom, right?”
“Uh, well, no. If he wants to apply, he can.” I didn’t want to mention that his age might be a prohibiting factor. But he’d just turned fifteen so maybe there were some places that would be willing to hire him.
“You are all being so unfair!” she cried and stormed back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
“I'm really gonna need to reinforce that doorframe,” Jake said, taking a look at the trim above her door.
I looked at Will. “Are you really thinking about getting a job?”
He smiled. “Not really. I just wanted to see her freak out some more.”
TWENTY ONE
The next morning, Jake was off to his office early. I dropped the two younger girls off for a morning playdate with the Witt girls and took Will to a free football camp that I'd signed him up for. He wasn't terribly excited about getting up early, and he was even less excited about going to a camp that involved exercise, but I was determined that he would not be spending the entire summer indoors.
After dropping him off, I went to the station and was greeted by a pile of papers a foot high on my desk. I sighed, got a cup of coffee, and dove into the pile.
Forty-five minutes later, I'd laid waste to the pile, save for one report that needed to go to the county and that needed Priscilla's signature on it. I couldn't find her anywhere and then saw on her office calendar that she'd scheduled a hair appointment at Wilma’s. This came as a surprise, and I wondered if this was something she did regularly or if she was a new client there. I didn't really want to interrupt her appointment, but the report to the county was already late and I figured she'd roast me more over that than for interrupting her. So I grabbed the paperwork and walked down the street toward the salon. It was a nice day and the county offices were open until 4:30 so it wasn’t like I needed to hurry.
She scowled at me from the salon chair when I walked in. “Aren't you supposed to be working?”
“I am working,” I said, putting on my best fake smile.
“Well, it doesn't look like it,” she said, straightening the purple cape that covered her in the chair. “You look like you're here to bother me.”
Wilma came out of the back room and held up a hand. Her beehive was perfectly coiled and sprayed, and the flamingo pink lipstick was on her lips again. She was holding a pair of clippers, which I figured was what a stylist would need to trim Priscilla’s short hair. “Hello, Daisy.”
“Hi, Wilma,” I said, then shifting my attention back to Priscilla. “I'm not here to bother you. But I do need your signature on this report for the county. I can't send it in until you've signed off on it and we need to get it out.”
She made a face. “The county, the schmounty. They take forever to get us their paperwork so they can wait on us.”
“Alright,” I said through clenched teeth. “Then I take it you don't want to sign it right now?”
She stood up, her cape billowing around her rotund body. “I'm going to get my hair washed. Wait here and I'll sign it when I come back.”
I felt like ripping the cape off and choking her with it, but instead, I stood there and watched her waddle off toward the wash sinks where a younger woman was standing, sprayer in hand.
“Priscilla can be a little...brusque,” Wilma said when she was out of earshot. She set the clippers down on the counter at one of the cutting stations.
“That's one word for it.”
“If it helps, I've seen her treat people far worse.”
“I'm not sure that's a good thing, but thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
She smiled sympathetically. “You're welcome. She shouldn't be too long.” She leaned closer. “There isn't a whole lot of hair there to wash.”
I laughed. “You have me there.”
She nodded, appreciating that I found her joke amusing. “Laughter is the best medicine. And speaking of medicine, I hear Officer Ted is doing better?”
I nodded. “He is. He's already back at work.”
“Oh, that's excellent news. Have you any idea what happened to him yet?”
I shook my head. “I really don't.”
It was technically the truth. I might've had multiple theories about what had gone on, but that didn't mean any of them were the right theory.
“I heard the restaurant is really struggling,” she said, frowning. “And I heard that argument when you and your daug
hter left the other day.” She clucked her tongue. “Just not good.”
It didn’t surprise me that she’d heard Bjorn and Arnold arguing. I was pretty sure that most of Moose River could have heard them.
“Yeah, was a little unfortunate to stumble on that,” I told her.
“Not the first time that's happened, either,” she said.
“Between him and Arnold?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
She nodded. “Yes. I'm not sure if you know this or not, but Arnold used to work for Bjorn.”
“Yes, I did know that.”
“And when he went to leave Bjorn's restaurant, things got...a little tense.”
“What do you mean?”
She grabbed the small broom in between the cutting stations and swept up some loose hair on the floor. “They were yelling at each other on a daily basis.” She nodded toward the far wall. “Was hard not to hear when they were going at it.”
“What were they fighting about?”
“I don't really know,” she said, bending down with the small dustpan and sweeping the hair into it. She emptied it into the trashcan next to the station and replaced the broom. “I know that I was told that he did not finish out his two weeks after giving notice, though. Because they couldn't get along to save their lives.” She shrugged. “So I guess Arnold just moved on and went and opened his new place. I hadn't heard either of them or anyone else yelling over there until the other day.” She shook her head. “I know Arnold has tried to make peace with him, but Bjorn wasn't having it. He feels like Arnold sort of betrayed him. Not sure what the real story is, but they used to be friends and they are decidedly not any longer.”
That seemed to be a massive understatement, considering what I’d witnessed and what I’d heard.
“Do you know how long Arnold worked at Big Mama's?” I asked.
Wilma thought for a moment, then shook her head, her earrings swinging from her lobes. “Can't say for certain, but I'd bet around ten years. It was a while. Arnold ran the place when Bjorn was out of town a couple times. He was the right hand man.”