Death at the Bar X Ranch

by Marlene Chabot

  “Mary.” Too late. “What was all that mumbo jumbo Rod spoke of?”

  Not wanting to share more than I had to with Mrs. Grimshaw, I simply replied, “Let’s see. I think he said, ‘Hi. I’m just passing through.’”

  My neighbor flapped her hands in front of me. “No, no. Before that.”

  “Before that? Hmm? Oh, he said he liked the outfit I had on.”

  Margaret fidgeted with her keys but didn’t go in. It was as if she was trying to filter the information I had just fed her. “It’s nice to see you and Rod getting along so well, especially since Matt and Rod never saw eye to eye.”

  “So, I’ve heard.” I turned the knob on my apartment door, strolled in and hastily dropped the optical application and the keys on the tiny entranceway table. It never occurred to me that a small task would unleash such serious consequences.

  Less than a half second later Gracie came bounding into the hallway and slammed me against the door. Darn. I forgot I had told her I’d take her out when I returned. “Cool your jets, mutt. I need to get situated first,” which for me meant finding Aunt Zoe. I thought she’d like to know what transpired at the optical store, but I also needed to warn her that company was coming. Since she usually hung out on the couch in the living room, my feet took me there first.

  Of course, just when you think you know a person’s habits, they surprise you. The words “I’m in here, Mary,” suddenly burst forth from the kitchen area, and I changed course midstream.

  What would I find when I got there, I wondered? My stomach knotted up. Ever since the burnt toast incident, I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving my roommate alone with any kitchen device, and I worried something terrible had happened while I was gone. I sniffed the air. Hmm? Nothing’s been burnt. “Surely that’s a good sign, right, Gracie?” The mutt was inclined to agree with me. She wagged her tail.

  “Fixing lun . . . ? Oh, my God!” The kitchen looked like something out of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. “Auntie, there’s chocolate everywhere.”

  “I know. I just hope I haven’t ruined your chef apron for you.”

  My chef apron? Oh, no! The once pure white apron I was given as a going away present by fellow teachers was heavily coated with huge splotches of chocolate. “Don’t blow a gasket, Mary,” I muttered under my breath. “It could’ve been covered in mud.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, I was just saying someone told me a good soaking in Tide can cure anything.”

  Aunt Zoe forgot her hands were covered in chocolate and accidently dragged one across her forehead. “Of course, it can. Why didn’t I think of that? Well, I feel much better knowing that’s resolved. I suppose you’re wondering why I made fudge today of all days. Usually I only make it at Christmas.” I kept quiet. “I guess the novel I’m reading spurred me on. The doctor had given the woman a box of chocolate, and before I knew it I was craving some myself,” she revealed. “Besides, why should I have to wait another six months before making some?”

  She made fudge. Concern about the mess was history. My eyes jumped from the table to the counters. “You made fudge? Let me at it.”

  “It’s in the freezer.”

  “What?” I pounced in disbelief. “Why is it already stashed away?”

  Aunt Zoe’s head bobbed this way and that. “Didn’t have any choice. It’s too runny yet, Mary.”

  All right, if you must know, I wasn’t the greatest cook in the Twin Cities or the surrounding suburbs, but even I knew fudge shouldn’t be runny. “Did you follow the directions exactly the way they were written?” I hastily inquired.

  My roommate suddenly looked like she had lost a few inches off her height. “Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t have the right amount of some ingredients the recipe called for, so I . . . substituted.”

  Substituted? How could she ruin such a good thing? I felt my eyes roll back in their sockets now as I stomped over to the freezer, opened the door and examined what was supposed to be fudge. Yup, there it sat. A nine-by-thirteen-inch aluminum cake pan filled with what looked like chocolate soup. Hmm? Chocolate soup. Now, why hasn’t someone tried marketing that?

  I closed the freezer door. It was a crime to let chocolate go to waste no matter what form it took. Perhaps our neighbor could work her culinary magic with my aunt’s creation. I knew I couldn’t. In the meantime, the kitchen needed some magic of its own and so did my aunt. I dampened a piece of paper toweling now and rubbed the mess off Aunt Zoe’s head.

  Gracie squeezed between us, dropped her paws on my feet and began whining. I guess my allotted time to get things situated was over as far as she was concerned.

  “Shh, girl. Just a minute.” There was no way I was taking anyone for a walk with such a messy kitchen staring me in the face. Then I got a brilliant idea. “Auntie, would you like to take Gracie outside while I clean up? It’s such a beautiful day, and you haven’t had a chance to enjoy it yet.”

  “Sure.”

  The mutt yipped and yipped and spun like crazy.

  “Hold on, girl. You need your leash first,” my roommate said.

  “I’ll get it,” I offered. I reached over, took the dog’s blue leash off the lone hook mounted on the wall by the fridge and handed it to her.

  “Thanks. Oh, Mary, I nearly forgot. You had two calls while you were gone.”

  “The phone calls can wait,” I said as I swiftly guided the two of them out the door before my mismatched dishes went flying every which way thanks to the mutt’s wild antics.

  Thirty minutes later Aunt Zoe and Gracie returned with Mrs. Grimshaw bringing up the rear. “Good timing, ladies,” I announced. “I was just fixing ice tea. Would anyone like some?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” the nonagenarian replied.

  Since my aunt was too absorbed with unhooking a very excited dog’s leash and never said whether she wanted tea or not, I now repeated myself. “Would you like a glass of ice tea, Auntie?”

  She released a hardy laugh. “Ice tea? You bet. That’s just the kind of cool beverage one needs on a hot day after a certain mutt’s pushed her walk to the limits.” She wound the dog’s leash tightly around her hand and started towards the kitchen. “Need help with the beverages, Mary?”

  “No. Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.” I took the leash from her hand and continued on my way.

  When I returned to the living room, I found the women situated on the couch sharing tales of their travels. Not wanting to disrupt the flow of conversation, I set the tray of filled glasses on the coffee table in front of them, stepped back and said, “There you go.”

  I realized too late I shouldn’t have spoken when setting the tea down. The thread the older women had weaved between them snapped immediately. “Thank you, Mary.”

  “You’re welcome. I’d offer fudge too,” I said, “but it’s not quite ready.” Then I gave Margaret a quick wink while my aunt was distracted with the glasses sitting on the tray.

  The elderly Italian woman picked up her cue like a real trooper. “I understand. Fudge can be fickle. Sometimes it takes a long, long time to harden.”

  “See, Mary.”

  I bent over and collected my glass of ice tea before moving to the La-Z-Boy. “Yup. Your fudge just needs to chill.”

  Mrs. Grimshaw took a sip of her tea now. “This is good, Mary. Just the way I like it.”

  “Thank you. It’s not hard to make. Just open a can of Lipton ice tea and then add water.”

  “Ah? So, have you scheduled the repair work for your Volkswagen?”

  Why did that major problem have to be dragged up again so soon? Developments after this morning’s phone call, namely the optical store application and the mess with the fudge had succeeded in helping me file it to the back of my brain temporarily. Not wanting to appear rude, I decided to offer a brief response.
“Yes.”

  “Oh, Mary,” Aunt Zoe said, “I still haven’t told you about your phone calls.”

  I brushed her comment aside. “We have company. The calls can wait, Auntie.”

  Mrs. Grimshaw interrupted. “I don’t mind, Mary, really.”

  “All right,” I said, holding my glass of ice tea midair, “Who called?”

  Aunt Zoe leaned more my way. “Mr. Griffin said something major happened last night and suggests we go to Plan B.”

  The nonagenarian clapped her hands together. “Ooo, sounds intriguing. What’s this Plan B, Mary, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell the elderly woman I was just as clueless as she was, so I hemmed and hawed. “Ah. Oh. Hmm. You know, it’s kind of hush, hush right now. How about I explain later?”

  “Of course,” she meekly replied.

  I felt my lips part to share an appreciative smile. It was nice to know some people in this world don’t continue to press you for information especially when you have none to give. And right now, well, I barely had a Plan A put together let alone a Plan B.

  Plan B? I don’t even like the sound of it. Calm yourself, Mary. Maybe Plan B can save you from taking the part-time job at the optical store. Maybe, but at what cost? I set my glass down on an end table next to the La-Z-Boy now. “And, what about the other caller?”

  Aunt Zoe scratched the top of her head. “I think the man said his name was Judd.”

  “Judd from Carmichael’s?” I asked, tasting the fear that rose up from my stomach to my mouth.

  My roommate quickly snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

  I made a stab at the reason he called. “I suppose he wanted to let me know they got my car to the repair shop okay.”

  “Nope. I don’t remember him saying anything like that.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “Something about a tiny hiccup.”

  “What?” If I hadn’t set my tall drink down already, my lap would now be covered with two cups of ice tea.

  My aunt was walking a fine line with me, and I think she knew it. Her hands and head were shaking. “You might want to call them. I’m . . . not sure I can explain it right.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Grimshaw said as she began to stand. “Maybe this isn’t such a good time to visit.”

  “Yes, it is,” I hurriedly stated. “Stay put. I won’t be on the phone long.” I jumped out of the La-Z-Boy and ran to the bedroom to retrieve my cell phone from the nightstand. As soon as the phone was in my clutches, I rushed to close the bedroom door. I was afraid the news Judd was about to share wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t want my swearing to reach the other women’s ears. I had a certain image to uphold.

  I was right. Closing the door was a good decision. On a scale from one to twenty, twenty being the worst, Judd’s news sat right at twenty. Why did it have to happen to me, Lord? I felt like tossing an object against the wall, but I didn’t know what to grab other than my cell phone, and that cost too much to break. Besides, it was my only contact with the world outside the Foley’s four walls.

  After my conversation with Judd ended, I hid in the bedroom for another ten minutes before rejoining the others. I needed time to compose myself.

  Mrs. Grimshaw’s soft, calm, motherly tone broke through to me first. “What happened, Mary? You look like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck.”

  “That’s exactly what I feel like.” I grabbed a Kleenex from the tissue box resting on the edge of the coffee table now and blew my nose before continuing. “Judd said some idiot plowed into the back of my car when the tow truck was stopped at an intersection light on Highway 95.”

  “Oh, Mary,” Aunt Zoe said as she stood and threw her arms around me.

  “You know the irony of it all?”

  “What?” my neighbor inquired.

  I released a heavy sigh. “The tow truck was only four blocks from Paul’s Body Shop when the accident happened.”

  Chapter 15

  I stood in the kitchen doorway and stupidly stared at the taupe-colored western boots I had stashed by a chair the previous night and quizzed myself for the umpteenth time how on earth I had ever gotten myself into this surreal horse mess. Don’t worry. There’s no need to explain. I had only myself to blame. I wanted to be a little more like Matt. His line of work was always changing. It never grew stale. In the teaching profession, however, one repeated the same thing over and over year after year.

  Listening to Reed Griffin’s message on Matt’s machine made me think this was my chance to finally break loose, do something different and actually get paid for it. But as soon as I spoke with Reed in person, I began to backpedal. What was I doing? Had I flipped my lid? Did I actually think I could help someone solve a mystery?

  Lucky for me, the answer wasn’t long in coming. Heck, yes. Who fingered the bad guy in a show long before anyone else? Me. Who relished complicated puzzles the most in our family? This unemployed teacher. Who did fellow teachers dub Queen of Classroom Mysteries two years in a row because she’d found the greatest number of missing objects, including Billy’s gym shoes and Sally’s trip permission slip? Little ol’ me.

  Too bad I didn’t think through the sleuthing deal a little longer. Elementary kids’ problems were a walk in the park. Those in the adult world could be life threatening.

  “Come on, Mary. It’s getting late,” Aunt Zoe soberly announced, “You can’t afford to procrastinate any longer.”

  “You’re right,” I gingerly replied as I stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the chair where my footwear was resting, “but just for the record I want you to know I still hate these cowgirl boots.” I plopped myself down, reached for a boot and began to squeeze my non-Cinderella foot into it.

  “You’ll change your mind eventually.”

  I doubted it. One boot on and one to go rang through my head. “I still can’t believe this is the only pair of boots Sal’s had in my size.” I was referring to Sal’s Cowgirl Couture on East Lake Street in Minneapolis.

  Aunt Zoe bent over to take a closer look. “Oh, they’re just darling. I wouldn’t mind having a pair myself.”

  “Hmmph. Well, I don’t care for them. I specifically asked Sal’s sales clerk to let me try on four different types: Old West, Navajo Americana, Roper, and Justin. Do you see any of those brands gracing my feet?”

  My roommate vehemently shook her head.

  “Of course not,” I pounced pointedly. I ended up with a Durango pair that cost $130 instead. I bet you anything the owner of Sal’s ordered that young college gal to push last year’s style out the door, no matter what the customer wanted. I mean, who in their right mind wears boots decorated with a heart design made from felt that’s running up and down the whole upper portion of their boots?”

  My aunt’s lips split open, but I didn’t give her the pleasure of feeding me a response.

  “I’ll tell you who,” I ranted on, “A cowgirl who’s on the prowl.”

  “On the prowl for what?” my roommate innocently inquired.

  Both boots were on now. I stomped my feet on the linoleum and then stood. “Just think about it.”

  Aunt Zoe’s face flushed. “Oh?”

  Ready to face the horse world head on now, or so I thought, I grabbed the keys and shooed my roommate out the door. Of course, before I had the chance to lock up, the phone stopped me cold. “Probably Reed,” I spit out, “hope he’s not calling to cancel our plans.” Internally I was hoping the opposite. I ran back into the apartment and picked up one of the land lines.

  “Buongiorno, Mary. I was hoping I’d catch you before you left for the Bar X.” It was our elderly neighbor Mrs. Grimshaw.

  “What’s up? Do you need us to run an errand for you?”

  “No, nothing like that. Do you remember the Belgia
n horse I told you about the day we checked out Matt’s apartment?”

  “Kinda. Wasn’t her name Ginger?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Something came back to me this morning that might help your case.”

  “Oh?” Intrigued, I patiently waited for more info.

  “According to my parents’ friends, Ginger was extremely smart. After she watched how the gates opened and closed several times, she started to let the other horses out.”

  “Whoa! You’re thinking Reed Griffin might have a horse clever enough to do the same?

  “Right.”

  “Which means no human’s involved.” Hmm? Easy case, Mary, if that’s the scenario. My day suddenly felt a lot brighter. All I have to do is uncover which horse is unlocking the gates and is capable of jumping that high a fence. “Grazie, Margaret.”

  “You’re welcome. Arrivederci.”

  *****

  Reed’s lips brimmed over as he caught sight of us gals clamoring up the hill leading to the horse barn. “Good morning, ladies,” he shouted. “My, gosh you two look so charming I hate to see you get dirty.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Aunt Zoe gushed nervously. She quickly nudged my elbow and said for my ears only, “You’d better agree with me, Mary, if you don’t want Reed to think otherwise.”

  “It’s easy for you to convince him we’ll be fine,” I said just above a whisper. “You’re interested in the man. I’m not.”

  The minute we reached the top of the hill, my stomach lurched forward. It was probably looking for a way out like the rest of my body, but it was too late. There was no escaping now. I had committed myself to this case, and I was going to see it through even if horses scared me to death. I cautiously threw out the line my aunt wanted me so desperately to give my client. “Nothing to worry about, Reed. We gals know what we’re doing.” Father O’Day is going to be pretty happy hearing my confession when this case is over with. Hopefully, he won’t give me too stiff a penance.

  The man standing in front of us was clothed in similar duds seen on our previous visit: Twins baseball cap, Rustler jeans, long-sleeved checkered shirt and black boots coated in dry mud. He probably throws down his Fleet Farm card once a year to obtain all his necessities. “So, Miss Malone, have you given any thought to how you’re going to proceed?”