Death at the Bar X Ranch

by Marlene Chabot

  “No problem.” Before I even considered picking up the hot pot, I dropped my left hand to my lap. No scalding water was going to burn me. No, way. It’s better to play it safe now rather than regretting it later. If I didn’t, I could end up with a whopper of a burn and a doctor bill to boot.

  A teacher friend of mine, Julie, was transferring hot water from a teapot into a larger container when the container slipped and she ended up with second-degree burns on her legs. Not realizing the seriousness of her condition at first, she tried to soothe her pain with a hunk of aloe vera the school secretary broke off a potted plant in the teachers’ lounge, but it didn’t do the job. She ended up in the emergency room. Ah, but you left out an important piece of the story, Mary. That hospital visit changed Julie’s life forever, remember? She ended up marrying the dreamy doctor who was on call. The couple lives in a mansion on Lake Minnetonka with their three adorable children, a nanny, and two wolfhounds. “Whatever.”

  “What did you say?” Margaret inquired.

  I lifted my eyes from the pot that had taken me down memory lane and found our hostess sitting across from me. “Sorry. Just got sidetracked momentarily; that’s all.”

  My aunt burst into our two-way conversation now. “Mary and I had been discussing your lovely table setting while you were busy in the kitchen, Margaret.”

  “Yes. I said your table presentation reminded me of visits to my Great Aunt Fiona’s years ago. She loved to lay out her fine things too.”

  “As for me,” Aunt Zoe added, “the bone china teacups and our visit with you brought to mind something quite different.”

  “Oh, and what was that?” Margaret politely asked.

  “Why, Tom Hegg’s book, A Cup of Christmas Tea.”

  “Ah, yes, a very timely story,” the old woman said as she began to pass her freshly baked plate of brownies to me. “Too many people forget about the elderly, and we have a wealth of information to share. For instance, in regards to table settings, one should make use of her fine china, silver and things as frequently as she can instead of stashing them away for the next generation, don’t you agree, ladies?”

  Aunt Zoe’s generously made-up face tightened considerably. “I most certainly do,” she snapped. “My stepsons ended up with my elegant table settings, and what do you think they are going to do with them? Why, sell them on Craig’s List or Stella’s.” She took the napkin resting next to her place setting and shook it with great force before dropping it on her lap.

  I didn’t like seeing Aunt Zoe overwrought. She was usually such a jovial soul. I quickly offered a suggestion. “I’ll check the lists on a daily basis for you, Auntie, if you’d like. If any items get listed, you can snap them up.” Then I snapped my fingers for emphasis.

  “There’s one major flaw in that plan, niece. Where exactly would I store my beloved possessions once you got them back for me? Every inch of space in our apartment has been gobbled up.”

  My eyes dropped to the tablecloth for a second. “Sorry, I didn’t think that far ahead. Oh, I’ve got it. Mom and Dad can make room in their basement.”

  Aunt Zoe placed her hand on my arm. “Mary, you’re so sweet. Your concern for my china and such has touched me deeply, but I think it best to let things lie. They were just things from my past, nothing more. Besides, I have a new life, different surroundings and God willing, plenty of years ahead to bring more modern things to the table.” With that said, the Aunt Zoe I knew sparked back to life. “Forget the old and bring in the new. Now pass that plate of brownies, would you, please? I want to enjoy what our wonderful hostess has prepared for us.”

  Thankful the topic on setting a fancy table had gracefully slid by the wayside, I gladly passed the brownies. If the discussion had continued indefinitely, I wouldn’t have had a nickel’s worth to share since I’ve never been married or had the money to acquire such lavish items for my home. My cupboards held garage sale specials. At least you don’t cry if you dropped one, and they made darn good ammo when you broke up with a boyfriend.

  After chatting about other things for a spell, our hostess requested I add more hot water to everyone’s cups. When I was finished, she immediately inquired about my job prospects. “Mary, since you are officially finished at Washington Elementary, have you found another position somewhere else?”

  The fresh cup of lemon tea and second brownie begging to touch my lips would have to wait. “Oh, I’m not quite finished there yet,” I hastily replied.

  Margaret looked at me in bewilderment. “You’re not? But you told me you got a pink slip.”

  “Yes, but the principal at Washington asked me to substitute teach during their summer school program. I told him I would.” I glanced down at my goodies now. I had more to say, but I didn’t know if I dared continue. I sided with sharing. “Oh, and, I’ve ah . . . got something cooking with Mr. Griffin.” Time to attack my brownie. People can’t force you to talk when your mouth is jammed. It’s not polite.

  Boy was I wrong. “Then you called him?” Margaret swiftly quizzed. Obviously this particular nonagenarian didn’t care whether I followed Emily Post’s advice about food and conversation. I acknowledged her inquiry by simply nodding politely.

  Aunt Zoe’s voice rose sharply. “Excuse me, Mary. I seem to be missing something here. No one told me there’s a new man in your life.”

  I tried to rein in a chuckle. Good thing I had swallowed my brownie before Aunt Zoe’s questions started, or I’d be choking instead. “There’s no new man in my life. Therefore, there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Then what’s cooking with Mr. Griffin? Why call him?”

  I plucked my cup of tea off its saucer now. “The guy left a message on Matt’s answering machine, so I called to let him know my brother wasn’t available. End of story.”

  Dad’s sister wasn’t giving up so easily. “Come on, Mary,” she said as she moved closer to me, “spill the beans. You never were very good at hiding things from me even as a little child. I always knew when you had more to say.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. It’s like you have this uncanny ability to read minds.” I turned to Margaret. “Don’t ever play poker with her. She always wins.”

  “I won’t if you fess up,” the nonagenarian said.

  Chapter 5

  Mary, what are you doing?” Aunt Zoe asked in a subdued tone. “It’s 2:00 a.m.”

  “I was tossing and turning, so I thought I’d get up and stuff my stomach,” I said as I kept my eyes peeled on the bread in front of me. “I’m making a peanut butter and celery sandwich. Want one? It’s nice and crunchy.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t think my stomach could handle it this time of night.”

  I glanced up and found my aunt standing in the kitchen doorway struggling to keep her narrow eyelids open. Her face was plastered with yucky brown stuff that looked like dog poop. It scared the crap out of me. Maybe that’s what brought on Uncle Edward’s death. Her clothing wasn’t much better. She was wearing a frilly, full-length neon-pink-and-black silk negligee that clashed sharply with her red-spiked do, as well as, with my two-piece yellow-and-purple striped cotton pajama set. When my eyes had thoroughly scanned my aunt from head to toe, I got up the courage to ask, “What’s that gook on your face?”

  Aunt Zoe touched her cheek. “Oh, it’s an old African recipe that wards off evil spirits and tightens the skin at the same time.” Between you and me, from what I’ve seen of her face during daylight hours, I’d say the recipe wasn’t living up to its promises.

  My stomach made small churning noises as if impatient for me to finish what I was doing. I patted it. I know, I know. Enough small talk. Get on with it.

  “Do you need a knife, Mary?” my aunt asked as I reached for the peanut butter.

  “No. I’ve got one.” I picked the utensil up and waved it in the air for a moment before I shoved it into the
container to collect a thick gob of peanut butter. Once the sticky stuff was secure, I jerked the knife out of the jar, smacked it on a piece of white bread, laid the broken bits of celery on top, and then topped it off with another slice of bread. Culinary creation completed. I set the used knife on the counter and said, “Well, Aunt Zoe, I guess there’s one good thing about a teaching hiatus.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “I can eat as much peanut butter as I darn well please.”

  My dad’s sister appeared confused. “You mean the school can dictate how much peanut butter you eat? Why, that’s ridiculous.” Her spiked hair stayed in place even though she shook her head vehemently. “No. I take that back. It’s obscene.”

  I grabbed a hunk of hair blocking my view and wound it behind my ear. “Not exactly. Let me explain. Nowadays, those of us caring for children have to be extremely careful when handling peanut products. Just the mere whiff of peanuts can make a child seriously ill. Why, last school year alone, we had three elementary students end up in the emergency room.”

  “Really? Peanut allergies? Hmm. I must’ve been out of the country when that hit the news. I’ll have to add it to my list. Hopefully I haven’t missed anything else. You know, it sure makes me wonder how in blazes I ever managed to make it to adulthood with all these so-called new allergies popping up all over the place.”

  “Me, too.” I hefted my plate off the counter and carried the snack I created to the table, thinking my aunt would join me there, but she didn’t. She strolled over to the counter where the open jar of peanut butter was waiting for its lid. Once that was taken care of, she picked up the dirty knife and set it in the sink. “Auntie,” I said, “I’m really sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t be.” With nothing more to do, my roommate marched over to the table and stood next to me. “Do you suffer from insomnia a lot, Mary, or is this something new for you?”

  I lifted my sandwich off the plate. “No, I don’t generally get up. I’ve just got tons of stuff swimming around in my noggin tonight.” Now, I permitted myself to chomp on a corner of my sticky crunchy sandwich.

  My roommate finally tired of standing and pulled out a chair to sit. “I’ve got the perfect remedy for sleepless nights. Write down what’s on your mind and then pop back into bed.”

  The peanut butter was sticking to the roof of my mouth, making it difficult to reply. “Ah huh. I’ve heard that.”

  “Well, why not give it a whirl?”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “No problem. How about if you skip the list this time and tell me what’s on your mind instead?”

  I ran the tips of my fingers across my forehead. “Too many things. Is Matt safe in Europe with all that’s going on in the world today? Am I going to be able to manage my bills without a decent job? Will I ever find another teaching job? Should I have told Mr.Griffin I could help him even though I don’t know the first thing about solving a crime?”

  My aunt gently laid her hand on my shoulder. “Wow. Your mind is bogged down, isn’t it? Unfortunately, I’m no wizard, Mary, so I can’t answer your first three questions, but I can the last. Have you ever read the book, No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency?”

  “Nope,” I hurriedly replied thinking only of my unfinished sandwich. “What’s it about?”

  “A recently divorced African woman is left with a tidy sum of money when her father dies, and she’s determined to make good use of her inheritance. So, she moves to a new town and establishes a detective agency, even though she doesn’t know the first thing about—”

  I cut my aunt off mid-stream. “Wait a second! I haven’t inherited any money, and how the heck does the woman help people if she doesn’t know the first thing about what she’s doing?”

  Aunt Zoe’s medium-sized mouth opened wide like an alligator’s to permit a long overdue yawn to escape. “Why, she orders a book on how to be a detective.”

  I dropped what little was left of my sandwich on the table now and lifted my arms in the air. “That’s it!”

  “What? You’re going to purchase a detective how-to book?”

  I let my arms return to the table now. “Heck, no.”

  “Then why did you get so wound up?” she asked as her chin drew ever closer to the table.

  “Matt’s office on Lowry Avenue. Why, I bet that’s where all the cases he’s handled over the years are stored. He never gets rid of anything.” Now that I knew how I was going to resolve one of the many things on my mind, I stood and gave my aunt a peanut-buttery peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the late-night chat, Auntie. It’s just what I needed.”

  My aunt’s head immediately righted itself. “You’re welcome. Does that mean we can go to back to bed now?”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter 6

  Two Days Later

  Mr. Griffin made it quite clear he expected me at his riding stable no later than eight that morning, and I didn’t plan to disappoint the man. Of course, bringing along extra baggage, namely Aunt Zoe, might put a damper on things, but it wasn’t up for discussion. I had no other option. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I could’ve asked Mrs. Grimshaw, another sidekick. Her wisdom helped Matt countless times over the years, but relatives are relatives, and there was no stopping mine, especially after hearing the nitty-gritty details over brownies and tea. All right, all right. I know what you’re going to say. There was one more card I had a chance to play. Just put my foot down and say “no,” but I wouldn’t take that route either. No way. This gal was twirling in the wind and desperately needed someone to provide moral support.

  I glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand. It was six-twenty-five. In less than two hours, I’d be breaking a long-standing pact with myself, never ever get within even a fraction of an inch of a horse’s den. My body shivered, and it wasn’t from lack of blankets. Well, at least Aunt Zoe would never find out about my horse phobia. I promised myself to keep that little secret hidden deep within.

  When the alarm went off at six-thirty, I jumped out of bed and headed straight to the shower. Aunt Zoe said she’d get in after me. Something about needing two cups of coffee before her body kicked into normal gear. Lucky me. Coffee wasn’t in my vocabulary, only orange juice and tea.

  When I stepped out of the shower, I slapped on a minimum amount of makeup and the same for body lotion. No horse was going to sniff beauty products on this gal’s face or any other parts of her body.

  With my morning pampering routine out of the way, I slipped back into the bedroom, wearing just bra and panties, and donned the only pair of clean Lee jeans I could find. Unfortunately, these jeans were much snugger than the others I owned. When I bought them, I told myself I’d shed a few pounds in no time, but like every other diet I’ve been on, so far, no fat had dropped off yet to give me the suave model figure men so crave.

  Since the button above the zipper was determined to have its own way, I left it undone. No one would notice. My upper torso was going to be covered with a size 16 long-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with the words Go Cowboys I had purchased at Goodwill for a buck last year. I know, crazy shirt signage, right? Here I am with a terrible fear of horses, and I purchase a shirt representing a football team in Texas, a state where 980,000 plus horses roam. Maybe my extra sensory perception factored into it at the time. Who knew. Right then, I was just thankful I didn’t own a cowgirl hat or boots otherwise my aunt would never let me leave the apartment without them.

  The shower was blasting away when I left the bedroom to get a bite to eat. Aunt Zoe must’ve jumped in there while I was dressing. I glanced at my watch. We had exactly fifteen minutes before we had to take off. Hopefully, my roommate will be ready to go.

  When I reached the kitchen, I had to open and close several cupboards before I found a box of outdated bran cereal my aunt had brought with her. The box was half full. The
toothpick thick cereal reminded me of the mice poison my parents’ basement was littered with, except the cereal was brown not blue. I bent my head and took a whiff. It smelled okay. Besides, I couldn’t afford to be fussy, because I was out of cereal three days ago. Since I was out of juice too, I ran tap water until it was extremely cold, and then I grabbed one of my many mismatched glasses and filled it to the brim.

  By the time I piled my breakfast dishes in the sink, Aunt Zoe was standing under the kitchen archway ready to roll, and yes, she was wearing bright-red cowgirl boots. They must’ve been stashed in one of her many suitcases. “Mary, where are your boots?” she shrieked.

  “I don’t own any,” I said as I sauntered over to where she was.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the right response. My roommate continued to stare at my feet like I had an incurable disease. “Humph. Well, you can’t show up at a riding stable with those flimsy sandals. No way. What if Mr. Griffin wants us to ride around his spread, Mary? One look at your feet, and he’ll know you don’t know the first thing about horses.”

  His spread? Ride? Where did she come up with such a hairbrained idea? The woman actually thought Reed Griffin’s horses were roaming all over tarnation like cattle do in Nebraska, Texas, or Wyoming. Although by the time we got to Cottage Grove, I’d probably wish they were. Do I dare straighten her out? Nah. Let her find out on her own. I flung my arms in midair. “Fine. I’ll go put on my scruffy tennis shoes.”

  “You’ll thank me later, missy,” Aunt Zoe said as I ran to the bedroom, “especially if there are piles of you know what everywhere.”

  “Yuk.” Halfway down the hallway, my body jerked to a halt. It had become as rigid as road kill. I was already feeling fenced in, and this was only day nine of our, what I had hoped would be, compatible living arrangements. This is no time to dwell on shoe issues or anything else, Mary. You’re on a tight schedule. Would Miss Marple let little things bug her? “No.” Okay then, get moving. You don’t want to screw up on your very first case. The tension buildup in my head slid off me like baby oil as I continued to the end of the hallway and into my bedroom to collect my tennis shoes.