by Pat Ondarko
It didn't seem to work.
"Just help us out, girls," LeSeur said winningly. "This is Sal's first big case, so don't screw it up for him, okay?"
"We wouldn't dream of it," Deb said indignantly. "We're just here on your request, so if you don't want us ..." She got up, as if to leave.
"No, no, sit down. Don't get your knickers in a bunch." Sal took out his pen and poised it over his pad. "We're just laying down the ground rules, as it were. Now, let's just start at the point at which you rolled out the canvas and the hand fell out."
Pat gulped. "Could we have a refill on coffee?" she stalled. She suddenly wished she didn't have to relive that horrible scene.
"Statements first, then more coffee." Sal felt he knew how to get information out of these two women.
"Have you found out who the body is yet?" Pat persisted, not wanting the men to know that she knew his identity. "It might be easier to think of it as a person if we knew who it was."
"Just tell us what he was wearing," Deb begged.
Sal shook his head and looked at LeSeur.
LeSeur shrugged. "It won't hurt to tell them. It's probably already all over town. It's Mac."
"Mac? Really?" the two women echoed in a convincing tone.
"If we answer your questions, will you answer a few for us?" Pat bartered.
Sal's voice became firm again. "This is not a two-way street. I ask the questions, and you answer them."
"What? Is this sixth grade, and you boys get to keep the secrets from the girls?" Pat scoffed.
Deb shifted her foot as if to kick her again, but Pat was quicker this time at moving her leg away.
"No, it's a murder investigation, and you are not relatives."
"So it really is a murder, not an accident?" blurted out Deb.
Sal shook his head. "It's an open investigation." He slumped back in his chair. He looked less like a mean deputy sheriff and more like a teenager, up to bat in the ninth inning, with two outs and his team counting on him to hit a home run. "Like my old supervisor, here, said, this is my first real case. I've got the mayor and the board president of the Tent breathing down my neck. If we don't get this done, quick and right, a lot of people will be without the pay they earn from the Tent. That includes hotels, restaurants, musicians, and gift stores." He shook his head wearily.
Pat reached out a hand, as if to comfort him. "You know we're connected to the Big Top. Is there anything you can give us to pass on? Everyone who works at the Tent is also worried."
"Ladies, I appreciate the thought, I really do, but don't mother me. I know how to do my job." Sal's shoulders straightened. "At least, I think I do."
"Enough," said LeSeur, and he turned on the recorder. "This is May 22. Please state your name and the town you live in for the record."
"I'm Pastor Kerry, and I live ... well, mostly in Ashland." LeSeur raised his eyebrows, and she went on. "What I mean is, we have a house on Chapple Avenue in Ashland and an apartment in Bloomington, Minnesota. You see, my husband still works down there, and—"
"Fine, fine." LeSeur turned to Deb. "And you?"
Deb cleared her throat and then said, "I am Attorney Deb Linberg, and I live on Chapple Avenue in Ashland also."
"And can you tell me why you were at the Tent on May 20?"
"Well, to volunteer, of course," Pat answered eagerly. "We were helping put up the Tent. Actually, I was supposed to just bring food, and Deb even baked a lovely coffee cake, but with the weather, not many volunteers showed up, so—"
"Okay, okay. Just try to answer in short sentences," LeSeur said in frustration. This is going to take a while, he thought, and I'll need three aspirins for sure. Turning to Deb, he asked, "And just why were you in the out building when the body was found? Short sentences, please."
When Sal stood up an hour later, he looked as tired as Pat felt.
How many ways could he ask the same questions? she wondered.
"Look, I know you two, all right?" Sal said. "And there might be more going on than you think. I know . I know that you think maybe you should help out, but if you start sticking in your noses, they just might get cut off. This is a poor county that can't afford to assign someone to watch you." He sighed, and then added, "Please."
Pat turned to Deb and nodded slightly.
Deb took up the lead. "I've known Forrest since he was a little kid. Linda and I have been friends since Forrest and my daughter, Julia, went to pre-school together. You knew that, right?"
"Nope," Sal replied.
"Well, we have been, and I am sure that this just tears Forrest apart. And don't even get me started on the money lost if the Tent has to start canceling shows. We get that you're in charge. It's just hard for us not to want to help."
Sal put his hands on his hips, his face hardening. "So you two are going to tell Linda you will solve this thing when you aren't busy running a church and a law practice? What next? Save the cheerleader; save the world?"
Uh-oh, Pat thought, looking to LeSeur for help. He shouldn't be getting Deb's back up.
"Listen, buster," Deb said, quietly seething. "After a day spent with divorcing couples, parents fighting over children's rights, and calls from grandmothers who read me the riot act about seeing those same kids, solving a little death by unknown blunt object is like a tea party. And besides, Linda is my friend."
Pat and LeSeur moved in between the two.
"Hold on here," LeSeur said, putting his hand on Sal's shoulder. "No need to get riled."
Pat tried to move Deb toward the door. "We're not trying to get in your way, Sal," Pat broke in. "To answer your inkling, Ruth Epstein, the coroner asked me to help the family. They'd asked her to contact me. This has hit them pretty hard. We're not trying to get in your way. Right, Deb?"
"You knew all along?" Sal asked. "And you've been stringing us on all this time?
Deb blushed and nodded.
Dear Lord, Pat prayed silently, just let us get out of here without a ticket for obstructing justice, if there is such a thing. Marc is never going to understand two tickets in one day!
"I do think that's enough for the day," LeSeur said. He called out to the secretary, "Suzie, can you show these two ladies out?"
Later, as the women drove home to Ashland, Pat said with obvious fatigue, "I just can't believe how many times we went over that scene. It's really laser-burned into my memory banks now." She stretched out her legs, wiggling her toes. "At least they didn't separate us to ask us questions, like in the cop shows. I wonder why not?" She raised her arms above her head as far as the car roof would allow. Her shoulders and neck felt like steel. Might have to go and get a massage from Holly. Having a masseuse in the church building might seem unconventional, but it sure is convenient. "Hey, do you want to go into Bayfield to Gruenkes and have fish livers?" Pat asked, teasing her friend. Deb had never acquired a taste for any kind of livers, fish or otherwise.
"Probably because LeSeur was on the scene, too," Deb answered dryly, ignoring her friend's plea for eating out. "And all the other folks had stomped around the scene. How many clues can you get from mud?"
"You were pretty tricky, asking about the clothing," Pat said admiringly. "Was that to help date the season?"
"Oh, you know," Deb said, carefully glancing at her speedometer. No use giving that cop another chance at me today. "I think it was the shirt. It's pretty distinctive to the Monty and the Canadian Fiddlers band.
"But why Mac? After all, there are four other band members."
"Because he's the one connected here. It would make sense. It was a long time ago, but ever since Forrest was born, Mac's come around when he can to see his son. He fit it in, at least a few times a year, with his travels with the band. By the way, Forrest is a cute kid, isn't he? And so nice too." She shrugged her shoulders, getting back on track. "Truth is, it was just a good guess."
"I guess it was just hard to imagine that someone could be missing for months and not be missed. Odd how that it could happen," Pat mused.
"Th
e band probably thought he was off with a lady for the winter or in detox. Linda and Forrest were used to his wandering ways, too. And I suppose they could have wondered if he was hiding out from Revenue Canada."
"Anyway," Pat said after a moment, "it's rather sad that a person could be gone months and not be missed."
"Never happen to us," Deb said reaching over and patting her friend's knee. "You and I can't even be gone an hour before someone starts looking for us!"
As if on cue, the phone started to sing. They both laughed, and as Deb answered it, Pat noticed a familiar police car hidden alongside the road in the trees. She rolled down her window and waved at the policeman, who scowled at her—and then turned a deep shade of pink.
Later that afternoon, back at church, Pat spread her sermon notes out on the desk in front of her and moaned, "Dear God, what am I supposed to do with this passage? And I'm not being rhetorical here. If you want me, a divorced person, to preach on a passage like this, you better send me something right now." Pacing to let off energy, she read the passage aloud:
A man who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery against his wife. In the same way, a woman who divorces her husband and marries another man commits adultery.
"Please," she said once more, "I promise to be good. Send me a sign—lightning, anything!"
"Hi," said Esther, the church nurse, peeking in the door. "Do you need something, or are you just ranting indiscriminately? You don't have the poor janitor in here, giving him what for, do you?"
"Oh, hi, Es. No, the janitor is safe for now. What I need is a new text for Sunday. Any chance we can just rewrite it? Think anyone would notice?"
Esther laughed. "Change the Bible? Oh, they would notice, all right. Come on; take a break. Wendy and I are taking one. I brought some homemade cookies."
"Get thee behind me, Satan," Pat groaned. Then reconsidering, she threw her pad and pencil on her desk. "Sounds good. Maybe a break will help."
In the break room, Wendy dipped her cookie into her coffee, and said, "Have you looked at the second lesson yet? It seems that one is about loving and caring. Couldn't you go with that one?"
Pat smiled and gave her a hug. "You bet I could. Thanks."
As the tension settled, Wendy continued. "I heard you were there when they found the body at the Tent. Is that true?"
"Yup. It was weird. One minute, Deb and I were pulling out canvases from a pile, and the next, there was a hand sticking out from a roll. To tell you the truth, for a moment I thought Mitch and Marc were playing a trick on us. You know how they are."
"Gross. What did you do?"
"Not much. LeSeur was there, helping for the day, and so he took charge."
"Isn't that Sal's territory?"
"Sure, but he wasn't there, and LeSeur was. Frankly, I think he was glad of it. Sal's still pretty new to the job."
Esther took a sip and looked up. "Was it really Mac? I always loved his fiddle playing. And so did my Jim." She looked dreamily out the window.
"It was."
"And it's true that the body ... that he was there all winter?" Wendy asked.
"Really too soon to tell. But it seems likely. After all, he was inside one of the canvasses."
"But how could that be? Didn't anyone miss him? No one called the police to report him missing?"
"I guess not. Sad, isn't it, that no one missed him after such a long time?"
"Well, it's just a shame," Esther agreed. "How does a person end up like that? I'm going to put him into the prayers on Sunday. He should be remembered. You know, I met him a couple of times. He was a charmer, that one. A great musician, but of course, not such a great father. You know about that, don't you?"
Both women nodded.
"But Forrest loved his dad, and Mac seemed to love Forrest back. How can a person be so disconnected that no one knows he died for five months?" she asked again.
To that, the other women had no answer.
As Pat walked home alone after work, her mind was filled with the latest Janet Evanovich novel being fed through her ear buds. She was jostled from her story as she felt someone bump into her.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, will ya?"
"Oh, sorry," Pat said automatically, puffing a little and pulling out her ear buds. She looked into the familiar face of Sam West, the photographer from the Big Top.
"Just kidding," Sam said. "You looked so serious, I just had to bump into you. How is the case going?"
"Why does everyone think I'm working on the death at the Tent?"
He laughed. "If you aren't, then how do you know which case I'm talking about? Get too famous, and I'll have to be your paparazzi." He lifted up his camera and pretended to click.
Pat laughed, too, and they walked companionably for a minute.
"No, really," Sam persisted. "Have you heard anything? After I got dressed out by the police for taking a few photos, I'm afraid to show any interest at all. Did they figure out what killed him?"
"I'm really not supposed to talk about it. Not that I know much, just that it was a blunt instrument. Why? Do you have any ideas?"
"No, but I've known Linda since ... well, since the beginning. And I worry about her and Forrest. Frankly, I never liked the way he treated her."
Pat stopped and looked at him. "That's right! You've been around since the Tent started. I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out what the blunt instrument is."
Sam looked at her, shrugged, and started walking again. "Could have been anything. There are lots of tools in that barn. A hammer . crowbar, maybe? Heck, anything with heft would do." He held up his hand. "Even this might work."
Pat looked at the camera tripod in Sam's hand and a shiver went down her spine as she realized they were on the path with no one in sight. No one to call to if .
"Hey, don't let your imagination run wild," Sam said, seeing her look of fear. "Sure, I had a thing for Linda. But that was a long time ago. I didn't hate the guy. I just thought he never grew up. Me, I wouldn't ever risk ruining my equipment on someone's head." With that, he jogged ahead, leaving her behind.
That's the trouble with murder in a small town, Pat thought. Even when you finally find out who did it, you still have to live with the way you looked at others and thought, "Was it him?"
The next day, Pat got into her Volvo, turned the key—and immediately felt guilty for driving. It isn't because I'm falling into my old habits, she told herself. I'm late and can't walk to meet Deb. She glanced down at the cookies on the passenger seat as she buckled her seat belt. And a cookie is definitely okay once in a while, she thought defiantly.
Just as she backed out of the garage, her phone rang. She quickly stepped on the brake and scrambled for her purse to catch the call before it went to voice mail. Maybe it's Deb, she thought. "Hello," she said distractedly, trying to stuff all the items back into her purse that had fallen on the floor.
"Hi, is this the pastor with a bent for murder?" inquired a deep male voice.
Her face flushed. Ever since they had solved their first murder, people had razzed her unmercifully. "Listen, smart aleck," she blurted out. Then she paused. She knew that voice. Peter Thomas! "And is this the army's June calendar star? How did you get that badge to stick on?" The hearty laugh on the other end of the line made her smile as she checked that the car was in park. I don't need to roll into the street and hit a car when I'm on the phone with army intelligence! "But I suppose if you had such a calendar, you'd all have to wear masks so no one could identify you."
Peter laughed again. "Don't even go there," he warned amiably. "I'm getting to the age that the photo would have to be taken in the dark or in a blizzard. Mine would have to be called 'undercover agent.'"
Pat laughed with him. They both were of a certain age, but Peter was amazingly fit. "So what's up?" Pat asked. "Do you need help with another case? Deb and I are available."
"Yeah, like that would happen. Actually, I'm giving you a call because I know about the Big To
p case."
"Peter, I'm amazed!" Pat said. "How did you hear about that?"
"Well, LeSeur and I have stayed friends since solving the case in Ashland together last year. Even managed to go fishing a few times in the big lake when I've been in the state."
"And you didn't call for coffee?" she teased.
"Next time, for sure, Pat. I don't want to make that handsome husband of yours jealous, you know. But here's the thing: I know that you and Deb are looking into Mac's death. Don't deny it; save your breath," he said as she started to sputter. "Just thought you might like to know that the CIA and army intelligence ..." He paused. "Remember the young kid I brought up there? Andy Ross? Well, he's turning out all right. He and I were working together and looking into Mac's taxes and the possibility of his smuggling over the border. Not enough was found to prosecute, you understand but still ... I'm calling to warn you because if drug running was involved, it could get dangerous."
"Oh, I don't think ..." Pat started but then stopped. The b and did go in and out of the country. I hate to think it, but what did I really know about Mac, except that he was charming and played a great fiddle?
Just then, Pat's new iPhone beeped; it was Deb. "Thanks for the heads-up, Peter, but I've gotta go. I have another call, and I'm late to meet Deb already."
"Just let me know if you get in trouble," he said. "And say hi to Deb for me."
Pat walked up to the front window of the Black Cat and peered inside. She didn't see Deb, so she crossed the street to the bakery to get sourdough for supper and maybe a muffin.
"Sneaking into the bakery for a treat, Pat? Does your weight-watching friend know?"
Pat looked behind her to see who had spoken. "Oh, hi, Linda," she said, giving her a hug. "Don't tell, okay?"
"There seem to be more than enough secrets being kept in these parts today," Linda said, "so what's one more?"
"I'm so sorry for your loss and Forrest's. If there's anything I can do ."
"It's going all right, I guess," Linda said with a sigh. "Sal's going to try to let us continue the shows, so that's good. Forrest is a little crazy. Who wouldn't be? He had a fight with one of his friends the other night. I just hope they figure this all out soon. It's hard, you know?"