by Annie Knox
Ah. It seemed a little personal, but everyone in Merryville knew about my spectacular breakup with my former fiancé, Casey Alter, and many felt it their right—heck, their duty—to pry right on into my business. It was like the story had become public property, an insult to the town as much as to me.
“No, Casey and I thought about starting a family a few years back, but decided to wait until he was done with his residency.” Turned out that was a great decision, allowing us to break ties completely after he cheated on and then dumped me.
“Changes everything,” she said. “It’s definitely put a crimp in my career plans. I used to aspire to getting a job at a bigger paper, maybe in Brainerd or even the Twin Cities. I went to workshops and conferences, trying to network and hone my craft. Now, though, I stay home with Jordan. Almost no more work travel. I haven’t given up on that dream of writing for a bigger paper, where it would be a full-time job, but the likelihood seems to shrink with every day. Still I wouldn’t give motherhood up for anything, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said, unsure what else to add to that. After all, I didn’t have kids so I clearly did not know. “So you’re sure you don’t know what Daniel might have been doing here?”
Her lips thinned. “Like I said, I’d bet it was just some local color piece, promoting tourism or something.”
“Seems like a puff piece wouldn’t take so long. He was here for a month. Must have been something more serious than that.”
She shrugged.
“You must have some idea.”
She brushed at her face, as though an insect were bothering her. “I don’t know what you want from me, Izzy. You’re right. He was a reporter, and he wouldn’t have been messing around in this town unless there was something going on. But I’ll be darned if I know what it is.”
If Ama knew something about the story Daniel planned to break, she was clearly going to keep it to herself. I guess I didn’t blame her. Whatever brought Daniel all the way to Merryville, it must have been a juicy story, something the Madison Standard would be interested in. If Ama could pick up where Daniel let off . . . well, if she could scoop a story that landed in the big-city papers, she might actually secure full-time work at the Gazette, possibly even move to the front of the line to replace editor Ted Lang, who was about ready to hit the snowbird circuit, or even break into a bigger media market. She could have Jordan and the high-powered career she was looking for.
“Listen, Ama, if you know anything, you have to tell me. My aunt is in real trouble here, and if you know something that might help her get off the hook . . . you’d still get all the credit for the story.”
Ama turned to face me, her brow knit in genuine confusion. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, a big hand descended on her shoulder and she about jumped out of her skin. I looked up to see Ama’s husband, Steve Olmstead, smiling down at us.
“What are you two ladies up to?”
“Steve! What are you doing here?”
He leaned down to kiss his wife’s cheek. She reached up to take his hand, and he winced.
“You okay?” I asked.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a splinter. Got it cutting lumber for the wood paneling in Ken’s new restaurant. Hazard of the job, you know. You should see my medical file.”
His glacial eyes squinted as he turned his attention to his son and grinned. “Just got out of a meeting with Ken and Hal Olson. I was on my way back home to change for the site when I saw you here. Lucky me.”
“The site?” I asked.
“Squeezing in a small roofing job while Hal and Ken get the finances for the restaurant straightened out. It seems like maybe Hal overextended himself a little when he decided to back Ken’s restaurant and develop the old Soaring Eagles Campground at the same time.”
I was familiar with the camp. Everyone in Merryville had either attended or worked at the camp back in its heyday. Now it was a crumbling mess, but Hal Olson had bought it for back taxes just a few months before.
“Have you seen what he’s developing out there?”
Steve’s fingers and smile tightened. “Just the plans. He’s opting for semidetached condos instead of houses. They’re going to look tacky as heck. But I haven’t seen what’s going on since they started building. I didn’t get a piece of that project.”
“Did you bid on it?” I asked, knowing full well I was being a nosey parker.
Steve’s smile faded. “Yep, but this firm from Brainerd underbid me. No way can they build the condos at the cost they quoted Hal. No way.”
“Well,” I muttered. “It’s Hal’s loss.”
Steve shook off his funk and planted a deliberate smile on his face.
“What have you two been chatting about? Planning something devious?”
Ama laughed, but it sounded forced. “No. We were talking about the dog wedding this Saturday. I decided I should cover it for the Gazette. It’s the type of cutesy story that gets picked up on the wire, and it will make Hetty and Louise feel so special.”
We had absolutely not been talking about the dog wedding, but it was still music to my ears that Ama wanted to do a front-page story about our event. I could post a copy of the column and the professional photos Ama took on the Web site Xander Stephens was helping me build. Xander and my sister Lucy had been dancing around, going out together for months, and I shamelessly took advantage of Xander’s desire to ingratiate with my family. He’d helped me set up one of those little square dealies that allowed me to accept credit cards, he’d created an inventory spreadsheet that even I could operate, and now he was helping with the Web site. Part of me hoped Xander and Lucy would stay in this romantic limbo for a couple of years so I could milk Xander’s body of tech and business knowledge for all it was worth.
“Hiya!” I turned away from Steve and Ama to find Rena was making her way across the park, the now-mopey Daisy in tow. “Hey kids,” she shouted. “Izzy, we have to hit the bricks.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and glanced at the display. Sure enough, we’d just barely have time to make it back to Trendy Tails in time to tidy up and open the doors. With the spring tourist season just getting under way, every day was an important day for the store.
As Rena got a little closer, Daisy—who had barely made a sound since she and Daniel had moved in four weeks earlier—started to bark. Not an aggressive bark but somehow insistent. Like when a dog needs out of the house or when he thinks it’s dinnertime. I don’t know whether it was the kids, the other dogs, or her desire to go home, but she kicked up quite a little fuss.
“Whoa,” Rena said, pulling on Daisy’s leash to make sure she didn’t charge.
Packer came dancing over, making twisty jumps in the air and barking just to be a part of the fun. Jordan followed him, running right into his daddy’s arms. Daisy’s attention immediately turned toward the toddler. She gave Jordan’s pudgy ankles big sloppy kisses while the boy flopped over in a dangerous backbend in an effort to pet the doggy.
“Whoa, buddy,” Steve said, righting his son in his arms. “Jordan seems to love dogs. We’ve been thinking about getting one, but, you know, there never seem to be enough hours in the day.”
I tucked that little morsel of information away. If no one came to claim Daisy, she would soon need a forever home, and the Olmsteads might make the perfect family for Daniel’s sweet girl.
I laughed. “Well, this suddenly turned into a party, but we really do have to scoot. Steve, Ama, it was good to see you both.” I turned my attention on Ama and tried to capture her gaze with mine. “Think about what we were talking about, Ama. If you have any ideas, let me know.”
Ama glanced up at her husband and then quickly away. “Sure,” she said.
But something told me that Ama Olmstead wasn’t about to tell me anything about anything. I was on my own.
* * *
&n
bsp; “I’m telling you—she knows something.” I carefully threaded a black bow tie onto a tiny collar. I’d made over two dozen of the little bows over the last couple of weeks. They were favors for Pearl Collins and Romeo Tucker’s doggy wedding. Once they were secured to the matching black collars—all sized to the various canine guests—we’d pack them in boxes, wrap and tag them, and set them in an artful stack next to the canine cake Rena was baking.
Rena picked up a bow and began fussing with it. “These are cute.” She gave the loops a gentle tug. “And sturdy.”
I snatched the bow tie from her hand. “They’re not that sturdy. Stop fussing.” I tossed the bow back in the box with the others, and shooed Rena toward the barkery.
She slouched away, looking over her shoulder once to blow me a raspberry.
“Maybe Ama knows something, and maybe she doesn’t want to say anything because she’s hoping for a big story,” Rena suggested.
“That’s what I thought, but when Steve joined us, Ama lied about what we’d been talking about.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I have no idea. It makes no sense. That said, I did get a little something out of talking to Steve Olmstead. Did you know that he put in a bid to help Hal Olson build condos at the old Soaring Eagles Camp on Badger Lake?”
Rena stopped in the middle of arranging a tray of fish-shaped kitty crackers and stared at me like I had two heads. “How on earth would I know that? I don’t exactly travel in those circles. I didn’t even know Hal had opted to build condos there.”
It was true. Rena was my dearest friend in the whole world, but she definitely lived on the fringe of Merryville society. With her bubblegum spiky hair, her unconventional wardrobe, and her hostile, drunken father, Rena had never fit in well. When we were in high school, I’d even heard some girls whispering that she was a witch. Rena tended to stick with my family and Merryville’s down-and-out crowd. She certainly wasn’t privy to business dealings and development projects. She only knew that Hal owned the old camp because it came up during our troubles a few months earlier.
“Fair enough. Well, he is. He’s going to call it The Woods at Badger Lake. Very hoity-toity. Anyway, Steve said that the firm in Brainerd that got the job put in a ridiculously low bid. You know Hal’s always looking for an angle. I can’t believe Steve would even want to work with Hal.”
Hal Olson owned Olson’s Odyssey RV, one of the largest RV lots in the Upper Midwest. He was also my rival Prissy Olson’s husband. I’d gotten to know Hal a bit better—and actually accused him of murder—last fall. I knew he had one of the fattest bank accounts in the county, and he was in the process of running for mayor of Merryville. But I also knew that his good ol’ boy, “dang glad to meet ya” persona masked a man of questionable ethics and a very flexible sense of right and wrong.
“Well,” Rena said, “it’s too bad Steve didn’t get at least part of the construction deal. Xander”—who owned the Spin Doctor record store just across the alley from me—“said that Steve’s having a tough time with money. I guess Steve stopped by to ask Xander if he needed a tear-off and offered him a fire sale kind of deal. Anyway, maybe Steve figures he’s got to lay down with dogs if he wants to keep his wife and son from starving.”
“First of all, comparing Hal Olson to a dog is an insult to dogs. But I see what you mean. Steve also mentioned that the construction at the old Grateful Grape has slowed to a crawl while Ken and Hal work out some of the kinks in Hal’s financing of the restaurant. With work being so scarce, I guess Steve’s got to do what he’s got to do. Even if he has to do it with Hal Olson.
“Anyway, the whole conversation got me wondering if Daniel was up here to investigate shenanigans at Hal’s development. It’s certainly the biggest thing going on in town.”
“Hmmm. Maybe. But what could Hal be doing that’s worth an investigation from a big-city newspaper? A four-week investigation at that.”
Before I could answer, the bell on the front door tinkled, signaling a guest. I turned on my brightest smile, anticipating a customer, but it melted when I saw Richard Greene wiping his feet on my welcome mat.
“Hi, Richard. What can I do for you?”
Richard glanced from me to Rena—who prompted the man to heave a big sigh—and back again. “Ladies. I’ve got some business to discuss.”
It was my turn to sigh. Dour Richard had it in for Trendy Tails, and I doubted he came by to suggest cross-promotion of our stores.
He pulled a sheaf of printer paper from inside his jacket, unfolded the bunch, and handed them to me.
“Commercial Feed Program, blah blah, Minnesota Statutes 25.31–25.43,” I read aloud. The entire sheet was covered with a single paragraph of text. I flipped through the other two sheets of paper and saw more of the same.
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, Richard? What’s this all about?”
“Miss McHale, I’m going to have your business shut down.”
CHAPTER
Five
“Shut down?” Rena laughed. “And how are you going to do that? We’ve already gone one round with you at city hall, and we won that one.”
“Yes, well, this time I’m going to the state. Turns out there are rules in Minnesota about selling animal feed. Including pet food. You have to have your products licensed and pay fees for each one. They have to be labeled, too.”
“We have labels,” Rena said, tilting her chin in defiance.
“Labels with ingredients, not just smiley faces and loopy letters.”
I let the papers fall onto the glass display case at my side and rubbed my face with both hands. I didn’t need this. Not now. The murder in my showroom wasn’t enough? I had to deal with Richard Greene breathing down my neck about state regulations?
“Richard,” I said, foreclosing any more back-and-forth between the cantankerous old man and my cantankerous young friend. “We didn’t know. I promise we’ll get this straightened out with the state. Just give us a week. Right now, I’m busy dealing with Aunt Dolly’s murder charge.”
Apparently I’d said the magic word: Dolly. Richard narrowed his eyes, but relented. “Fine. I’ll give you a week. If you don’t take care of this on your own, I’ll have no choice but to report you to the appropriate state authorities. I don’t want a lawbreaker for a neighbor.”
“Thank you.”
He harrumphed. “How is Dorothy holding up? Is there, ah, anything I can do to help?”
Wow. Richard must have been really taken with my aunt Dolly. I’d never heard him string so many kind words together before. Ever.
“Thanks, Richard. I’m not sure what anyone can do right now. We’re trying to figure out who else might have had motive and opportunity to kill Daniel. If you have any thoughts . . .”
“I’ll think on it some.”
I had a sudden thought. “Hey, do you know Hal Olson is building condos on the old Soaring Eagles property?”
Richard frowned, the expression turning the lines around his mouth into gullies. “Vacation property,” he spat.
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” Rena asked. “I mean, you rely on the tourist industry as much as we do.”
He drew himself up. “Got nothing against tourists. But I got something against mucking up the natural beauty of Badger Lake. Won’t be anyplace on the lake you can sit or float where you won’t be able to see those condos or whatever.”
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but his frown deepened. “Come to think of it, I walk down to the lake near every day. Gotta stay fit. Saw that Daniel guy more than once.”
“What was he doing?” I asked, my heartbeat starting to kick up a notch.
“Nothing. Just standing there by the build site. Watching.”
I knew it. Something about the lakeside development had brought Daniel Colona to Merryville. And that something had gotten him kil
led.
* * *
That evening, Sean Tucker came over to join Rena and me for dinner and a movie.
The three of us had been inseparable from the day Sean moved to Merryville in the fourth grade until a week before we graduated from high school. Then, one night, Sean had stood beneath my bedroom window in the midst of a summer storm and declared his love for me. At the time, I was so lost in my infatuation with Casey Alter that I couldn’t see the truth of Sean’s words: that I was an accessory to Casey, not a real partner. By the time I caught on, fourteen years had passed and the rift between Sean and me had grown into a vast gulf of awkward silence.
A few months ago, Sean had reentered my life when Rena’s alleged involvement in a murder threw us together. The reunion had been rocky, to say the least. Sean’s feelings for me had withered on the vine just as I started to think maybe Sean and I should have been more than friends. Still, we’d managed to mend fences enough to hold a conversation, and Rena was positively giddy to have the old gang together again.
The night after Daniel’s death, we were all looking for a little lighthearted fun. I had DVRed Clueless, a movie we’d watched about forty-seven times when we were in high school, and Rena had promised to make her decadent cheese enchiladas. With Ingrid and Harvey’s permission, we’d gotten rid of the wedding cake—a tier for the Merryville General staff, one for the police department, and one for the firefighters—so we didn’t have dessert on hand. Sean brought the ice cream—he’d long since learned that we preferred a gift of ice cream to a gift of wine—and we had ourselves a party.
While Rena finished up in the kitchen, Sean and I leaned against the pass-through.
“So you think he was here to investigate the Soaring Eagles development?” Sean asked as he dunked a tortilla chip into a bowl of chunky salsa.
“It makes sense,” Rena said. “Nothing ever happens in Merryville. That development is probably the biggest change to this town since the streets were paved.”
“From what I hear, nothing much has happened yet,” Sean argued.