Bearly Departed

by Meg Macy

  The thought boggled my mind.

  Chapter 19

  “Sasha! You look a world away.” I glanced up, startled. Mary Kate stood at the coffee shop’s back door, cheeks flushed, blue eyes sparkling. “I finished packaging the teddy bear cookies ahead of schedule. What time do you want them tomorrow?”

  “No later than eleven.”

  “Here, take this. Let’s hope Maddie approves this time.”

  She handed me a clear plastic package. The darling tan bear, outlined with white icing, had Kelly green sunglasses perched on the nose. I’d already opened it, slid the bear out, and taken a bite of one leg before I stopped. Mortified. My sister needed to see this.

  “I love it! It’s adorable.”

  Mary Kate walked over and sat beside me on the bench. “Okay, what’s wrong? Besides everything else that’s piled on top of your shoulders, that is.” She squeezed my arm. “Come on, spill. That’s what best friends are for.”

  “Gosh, what isn’t wrong?” I hated sounding so down and devoured the rest of the cookie. Maddie would have to see them on Monday. “Two days lost in production, and a huge order that we haven’t even started for the Teddy Roosevelt bear. My uncle’s a murder suspect. Pete Fox is in jail for drug possession. Alan Grant is missing. And my dad’s in the hospital for pneumonia. Thank God Mads will be home soon, because I can’t take much more.”

  “Things will turn around soon.” She cocked her head. “Wait a minute. Alan Grant is missing?”

  “Yeah. And now Devonna Walsh told me Maddie might want to open her own boutique.” I smacked a fist on the bench. Ow! The sharp pain in my hand lingered, too. “But I shouldn’t complain, because why would she want to be stuck in an office, doing grunt work, when she’s so creative? It’s not fair to make her stay.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” I stared at Mary Kate, who just smiled. “Meaning I’m not creative?”

  “You are, Sasha. Look at all these special events you’ve managed. And you’re a better sales rep than Will Taylor. I’ve seen you in action, how you make it all so fun.”

  “But I’m so disorganized. I need Mads to keep things in order.”

  “Yes, but she’s detail oriented. You’re the big-picture expert.”

  I thought about that and smiled. Mary Kate was right—I did feel better about my part in managing the shop. I’d come up with selling accessories and clothes; I’d talked my dad into giving tours to school groups and seniors. And I’d been the one to insist on producing the rainbow colors for our smallest bears, which we sold like hotcakes.

  “Managing a business is never easy,” Mary Kate said. “Things aren’t always rosy behind the counter. Sorry, Rosie, not you! You’re always rosy.”

  I watched Mary Kate smooch my dog’s muzzle. We both laughed when Rosie licked her face and neck in return. “I bet it’s tough running this coffee shop,” I said. “And Garrett’s uncle keeps an eagle eye on things, too. But you’ve made it work.”

  “Family comes first. That includes their opinions.”

  “True enough. I thought Mads and I were a team,” I said haltingly. “Mom and Dad have pretty much left things up to us. Uncle Ross keeps to the factory, thank goodness. He’s never butted into how we run the shop since Dad retired.”

  Mary Kate nodded. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know if it’s the career Maddie wants.”

  “Ask her. She’ll tell you if she’s restless and wants a change. Maddie wasn’t afraid to ask for a better cookie design, was she? I have to admit, this one is way better than the first one. But find out where she stands about the business. Never assume.”

  “Yeah. She’s coming home tonight,” I said, and stood. “Thanks. See you tomorrow at the picnic. Things might be crazy, but you know how much I appreciate all you’ve done. Oh—” It took me a minute to dig in my pocket. Mason’s card fell out. I had to snatch it away from Rosie, who left a few teeth marks on it. “Here’s the check. For Thursday’s muffin and scone order.”

  Mary Kate hugged me, always impulsive. “Rest up tonight.”

  I headed for home. Rosie trotted, tail wagging, ready for supper and her favorite window seat. What a simple life, a happy attitude.

  If only I’d been born a dog.

  An electric blue Chevy Cruze slowed to a stop by the curb. Jenny Woodley rolled her window down and smiled. “Hi, Sasha. Anything new about the investigation?”

  “I don’t know much.” I didn’t want to be rude, but I wished I’d walked faster.

  “I saw Jack Cullen last week,” she said, and shut the engine off. “He was snooping around the factory around dusk. A few days in a row, in fact. I sent Glen over to chase him down and ask him what he was doing over there.”

  “What did he find out?” I asked. Rosie strained against the leash.

  “Cullen wouldn’t talk. Told Glen to mind his own business.” Jenny gathered her hair off her neck in an effort to cool off. “I saw the old man late Thursday afternoon, too, with a big wrench. I wonder what he was up to?”

  “You’re not the first person who saw him.”

  “Oh?”

  “Carolyn Taylor did, too.”

  “Did you know Jack Cullen steals things?” Jenny nodded. “Yep. Sugar packets and jelly from the diner, toilet paper from the public restrooms, and he even pocketed an ornament from Carolyn’s store. She saw him do it. He denied it, of course, and claimed he dropped it on the floor. And then Jack gave her a hard time about the blinking lights on the shop. Says it drives him nuts. I doubt if he can see them from his apartment.”

  Rosie jumped up against Jenny’s car, trying to sniff her hand. She reached over to scratch behind my dog’s ears and was rewarded by a wagging tail. I pulled Rosie away, though, to avoid claw marks on the car’s paint.

  “He’s probably complained about the village bells, too.”

  “Gosh, yes. Glen goes to the council meetings, and Cullen always sits right by the front so he can go first when they open the floor for discussion. He’s complained about us, too, that our guests trample the reeds along the shoreline and disturb the birds.”

  “My uncle told me about that meeting.”

  “Did he?” Jenny laughed. “Cullen complained about the Sunshine Café, too, that the police chief’s wife won’t top up his coffee more than twice. He’ll sit there all day long for free refills.”

  I didn’t mention how Uncle Ross had an agreement with Tom Russell about helping to pay for any veteran who couldn’t afford a cheap meal or coffee. Jack Cullen had served in Vietnam; he might also be one of Silver Hollow’s poorer residents. I wondered if he suffered from postwar trauma and gave up on living a normal life, let his house deteriorate, and blamed the government for his problems. My uncle Ross had chosen differently, despite going through similar experiences.

  “—always got a beef about something,” Jenny rambled on. “Either there’s litter on the streets or in the park. Or kids are knocking into him while riding their skateboards. He always complains about dog poop on the village green, too.”

  “I carry a bag or two when we go for walks, but I know some people don’t. They must not be aware of the village ordinance.”

  She blinked. “I never meant your sweet dog.”

  “Well, thanks for the information.”

  Rosie pulled me toward home. I wondered if I should have asked Jenny about having an affair with Will Taylor. I bet she would have denied it. Maybe the rumor that she’d had dinner with him had been just that—rumor. Or perfectly innocent. But I also knew Glen Woodley had a violent temper.

  I was curious if he’d suspected any funny business between Will and Jenny. Had Glen gone to the factory Thursday night after seeing the Camry in the parking lot? He’d mentioned asking Will for business advice last month. Mason must have questioned the two of them and established their alibis. Maybe that was Glen last night in his car, running an errand for Jenny. She often sent him at the last minute for milk, eggs
, or fruit to serve the following morning. My stomach growled at the thought of food. Somehow I’d forgotten to eat lunch.

  By the time Rosie and I made it home at half past four, I was starving. My skin felt like a wet dishrag from the steamy heat. I couldn’t wait for my favorite season, autumn. Feeling the chilly crispness of the air, smelling the fragrant scents of wood smoke, hearing the crunch of dead leaves underfoot, and seeing the pumpkins, gourds, bales of hay, and Indian corn on stoops, doors, and porches. Heavenly.

  The house felt stuffy, so I cranked up the air-conditioning. After filling Rosie’s dish with kibble, I ate the leftover pizza from last night. Then I dumped a packet of meat and gravy into the cat’s bowl on the window seat.

  “Nyx! Here, kitty, kitty!”

  Nothing. I searched downstairs in vain. Then I headed upstairs to check every closet. Had she gotten out? Onyx enjoyed a little time in the garden on a harness and leash, which allowed her to explore on her own terms. Not on hot summer days like today, though. And she didn’t have front claws to defend herself.

  I caught a streak of black fur escaping from under Maddie’s bed and out the door, which saved me from having to crawl on hands and knees. “Okay, already! You could have meowed or something.”

  When I returned to the kitchen, I found the cat’s dish sparkling clean. Rosie slunk under the table in the window nook, clearly guilty. I had to laugh. This time, I put Onyx’s refilled dish up on the cat tower where I knew the dog couldn’t reach.

  Next I decided to get organized for the teddy bear picnic. I collected the list of attendees, a package of black markers and name tags, plus two cans of spray paint. I’d learned the hard way to separate the kids, after a near catastrophe the second year when an older group knocked down the younger ones during games. Luckily, Maddie had printed the booklets that welcomed our guests each year, which included a brief history of our teddy bear shop and a sweet cartoon of bears. She drew a new one every summer, in color, which helped bring locals to see her newest creation. This year’s offering had a conga line of teddy bears dancing with tropical fruit on their fuzzy heads.

  Red and white gingham napkins, check. Maddie had wanted blue ones, but I stood firm. Red was a summer color. Water, check. I’d bought enough small bottles, six per family; if or when we ran out of lemonade or juice, they could have something besides the odd-tasting water from the park’s drinking fountains. As a kid, I’d hated to drink that. Lemonade cups, check. I’d opted for five-ounce paper ones instead of the eight-ounce plastic, which would have depleted our beverages at a faster pace.

  Ten clean and empty jugs for the lemonade, check. Ten cans of frozen lemonade, plus three bags of lemons, check. Three bags of sugar, check. Tonight I’d mix the concentrate with water and sugar; then I’d add the lemon slices at the park. I texted Uncle Ross to remind him to bring five bags of ice to the park. He texted back. Yup.

  “Orange and apple juice boxes, check.”

  Mary Kate had suggested having both on hand in case pickier kids didn’t like the lemonade. Garbage bags to recycle the cups and boxes, check. The village was eco-friendly, and I didn’t want to get in hot water over litter in Silver Park. That meant the two trustworthy teens I’d hired for the afternoon, who had the energy to help chase errant kids or keep them happy with the games, also had to collect trash afterward.

  “What am I missing?” I grumbled. “I know there’s something. Oh, tablecloths.”

  I rooted in the kitchen pantry and found the white plastic roll. Whew. I wasn’t in the mood for a late run to the store. In a drawer, I found leftover stickers with honeybees. Maddie had bought them on sale several years ago to spruce up the tables. She was always on the prowl for cheap items, discounted below cost.

  I collected the new fliers I’d made explaining the Oktobear Tea Party and stashed them with the stickers, napkins, and tablecloth packages in the wicker picnic hamper. That, along with the juice, water, and jugs of lemonade—I’d need a wagon to get it all to the park. In the past I’d relied on Uncle Ross, Pete, or Deon, but they often didn’t show until the last minute. Despite text reminders. I’d have to deal with it.

  “Oh yeah. Teddy bears and their disguises. Plus the song. Where’s that crate?”

  In an upstairs storage room, I hunted for the large wooden box we used exclusively for the teddy bear picnic. Pushing aside bolts of plastic-wrapped fur stored on their ends in the corner, I stubbed a toe on the hidden crate and let out a howl. And a curse. Pain pulsed through my foot.

  A figure on the street outside the window caught my attention. Jack Cullen—I could tell by that shuffling gait. He ducked beneath the arbor’s trailing foliage, but I knew he was making his way toward the factory. Despite my throbbing toe, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen. Rosie stretched out on the window seat, enjoying the sunshine, snoring. I had taken her out for a long walk, and in the heat. She deserved the nap.

  By the time I raced through the garden to the factory, I didn’t see or hear anything. The sun beat down on my bare head. I dodged around the building to the back and then turned the corner to check the far side. Nothing. No one, and no prints in the dirt. Where had Cullen gone?

  Had I imagined it? I didn’t think so. Discouraged, I walked to the hedge and followed it. There was a gap, half-hidden, that led to the woods behind. Clever, the way the branches had been trimmed to allow for someone to turn sideways and fit through; beyond, I glimpsed a shimmer of Silver Lake’s surface. I sighed and returned to the house. Seemed foolish to hang about and wait for Jack Cullen to materialize again.

  I had better things to do than worry about his snooping.

  Back upstairs, I drew out the crate of stuffed bears my sister and I had rescued from resale shops or friends. Paddington Bear, Pooh, Corduroy, Baloo, Yogi Bear, you name it. We’d sent them all through at least three dryer cycles to kill off any bugs or germs and stored them in a waterproof bag. We only used them for the parade, since some kids didn’t have a teddy bear of their own. They loved seeing their photo, bear in arms, posted on our shop’s Facebook timeline.

  I lugged the large bag and set it near the rest of the supplies. No way could Maddie and I get all this to the park without help. I dialed my cell.

  “Hey, Ben. Got a minute?”

  “Sure, Sasha, what’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you were working tomorrow.”

  “Nope, the drugstore’s closed. I plan on sleeping in until the blaring fire truck and police sirens wake me up during the last part of the parade,” he said with a laugh.

  “If you’re willing, would you mind helping me take stuff to the park?” I asked.

  “Sure. I like kids, even if they do get rambunctious. Whatever you need me to do. I’d volunteer Wendy, but Vivian wouldn’t let her have the day off.”

  “I’m surprised the bakery’s open on the holiday.”

  “Hoping to entice people coming for the parade. So what time?”

  “Right around noon,” I said, and then groaned. “I forgot we needed a new boom box. We play Bing Crosby’s ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’ song while marching around.”

  “I’ll bring mine. The speakers are great,” he added.

  “Thanks so much. I’ll let you lead the parade with Dad’s special hat and whistle. So come at noon or half past. Then we can pack my SUV.”

  I was so grateful. Not every guy wanted to be a part of a kids’ event, and few dads came to the picnic. My cousin Matt was an exception.

  I toasted a bagel and spread a thick layer of cream cheese on for supper and then sat down to watch some mindless television. Not that I paid attention. My brain whirled. The past few days had been so stressful. I was exhausted and must have dozed off, because a loud bang startled me up from the sofa. I raced to the kitchen. Maddie had dragged her wheeled overnight bag inside and swatted a few mosquitos near her head. She looked frazzled, her linen floral sundress limp from the lingering humidity.

  “Glad you made it home,” I said. “Was it a good flight?”


  “The plane sat for almost two hours on the tarmac in Newark. Gaah.”

  “I know you’re exhausted, but can you fill me in on Dad?”

  “They’ll release him tomorrow. Mom wanted me to stay and help, and she’s mad because I refused.” Maddie kicked off her sandals. “They’ll be fine without me. Plus all their bickering got old, fast.”

  “Bickering about what?”

  “The business. Apparently Mom wants Dad to sell everything. Says it’s too much for us to handle. She thinks Will’s murder means there’s bad juju, and that Uncle Ross should retire, and we ought to get other jobs, yadda yadda. Drove me crazy. I bet Dad thought moving away from here would make her quit bugging him. Guess not.”

  “I still don’t understand all that,” I said. “I thought they both wanted to start the teddy bear factory.”

  “You wanna know what I think?” She leaned against the wall. “Mom’s jealous of all the time Dad ‘wastes’ when he’s supposed to be retired. His mind is constantly on sales numbers, and what new products we might offer. He told me over and over that we need to participate in Toys for Tots at Christmas as charity involvement. At least five times. I was ready to scream.”

  “We do that already. So he is worried about sales being down?”

  My sister groaned. “Sash, please. I’m toast, and I can’t think straight. We’ll talk everything over in the morning. Okay?”

  “Let me ask you this first,” I said, refusing to cave. “Devonna Walsh mentioned how you two might want to open a boutique. Maybe in Plymouth. Or over in Holland or South Haven.”

  “Long time ago,” Maddie said, although I noticed her eyebrows had risen in surprise. “We talked about it, yeah. That’s all.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I’m done for, Sash. I’m so tired and crabby. Good night.”

  She dragged her bag up the stairs behind her, bump, bumpety, bump. Mom would have had a fit seeing the scratches on the wooden risers, but I didn’t say a word. Instead I wondered if Mads deliberately wanted to avoid discussing her future plans.