by Anna Drake
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s go ahead and prepare the eggs.”
“Sure. How do I do that?”
“Take an egg and crack it open.”
I grabbed an egg and slammed it onto the counter, crushing the shell and spilling the egg out onto the countertop. “Oops. I bet that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“That’s fine,” Wendy said. She grabbed a rag and cleaned up my mess for me.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You’re learning. No one’s perfect starting out. Now, try again. Do it gently this time. You only want to crack the egg, not destroy it.”
I grabbed another egg.
“Once the shell is broken,” Wendy said, “put the egg into this little cup.”
I tapped the egg gently on the counter. “Yes!” The shell cracked. I spread the shell and dumped the egg into the cup.
“Well done,” Wendy said. “Do a second one. Put it in that cup just behind the other.”
I did as directed and stepped back to admire my handiwork.
“Check your water.”
“Oh, right, the water.” I raced back to the stove. LIttle bubbles were showing on the surface. “Is this okay?”
“That looks perfect. Now, stir the water in a circular motion and lower one of the cups into the water and let the egg spill out.”
I bit my tongue and followed her directions.
“See how the white sort of wraps itself around the yolk as it spins in the pan?”
I nodded.
“That’s exactly what we want. Now, do it again with the second egg. Stir the water and lower the cup.”
A few seconds later, I stared at a pan that had two eggs softly floating in it. “They’re not spinning anymore.”
“That’s okay. They can just sit and simmer as they are. Set the timer for four minutes.”
“The timer? Where?”
“Up here.” Wendy pointed to a panel above the burners. I leaned forward and fed in the appropriate number.
“You can breathe now,” she said.
“Of course, I can.” I laughed. “I knew that.”
“Let’s heat the Canadian bacon.” She shoved a package to me.
I opened it up and removed two slices. I placed them into the skillet which Wendy had already oiled and warmed. Then I peeked over at the eggs.
“They’re doing just fine,” Wendy said.
“Should I start toasting the English muffins?”
“Yes. That’d be good.”
I pushed the button down and had to restrain myself from following up with joyous yelp. “This is fun.”
“And it will taste even better after you’re finished because you’ll know you cooked it.”
Cooking could be satisfying, I thought. Who knew?
And in short order, Wendy’s prediction came true. The dish I ate might not quite measure up to Dad’s high standards, but it impressed the heck out of me. “Thank you,” I said, as we carried our dishes to the sink.
Wendy nodded. “You’re welcome. I enjoyed it, too. How about you sleep over again tonight? You never know when that no-good burglar might return and break into the carriage house again. I feel so much safer with you here.”
“You’re on.”
“Good. You can make lasagna for us for supper.”
“Lasagna?”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I love the dish.”
“Good. That’s what we’ll have then.”
My face broke out into a silly grin. I’d discovered my own fairy godmother of cooks.
Eleven
“You’re looking pleased with yourself this morning,” Betty McCracken told me when I stepped through the paper’s wide front door.
“Thank you. I’m feeling pretty good, too. Anything new come in overnight?”
“Silvia Henning called to remind you that the PTA is having a fundraiser to help buy library books in January. She wondered if you could write up a little piece to promote it.
“Of course.”
It was nice of Silvia, I thought, to give us so much advance notice. Sometimes people would call requesting articles be placed in that day’s paper. It was a pleasant change to deal with someone who planned ahead.
Betty handed me the notation with Silvia’s phone number written down. After getting to my desk I transferred the data to my calendar. Then, I checked to see what was scheduled for the night. There was line dancing tonight at the Senior Center. I had promised we’d at least shoot a photo of the event. People would enjoy seeing long-term neighbors enjoying themselves. I figured the assignment would take, tops, maybe a half hour of my time.
It was covering little events like square dances or line dances and fundraisers and spelling bees that helped our paper bind the community together. It cost us a little extra time, perhaps, but the benefits far outweighed my labor.
Switching from the computer to the phone, I started in on news calls. In addition to a couple of fire departments, I checked in daily with several police departments. Most of them left pre-recorded messages on their newslines. The Freemont County Sheriff’s Department listed details on two people they’d taken into custody overnight on arrest warrants. Freemont was the second of the two covers the Gazette covered. I worked a small story up from the information.
Meanwhile, the State Police line contained news of an accident on a highway about five miles south of Cloverton. After completing that story, I made a note to myself to place a follow up call tomorrow before the paper went to bed. The driver of the vehicle had been taken to the hospital. And we always checked with hospitals to get the most recent condition report for people injured in accidents.
I’d been working for about an hour when my phone rang, I reached out and snagged the receiver.
“Yes, Scroggins had a lock box at that bank.”
“Ginger?”
“The same.”
“Well done.”
“Did you ask Wendy if she knew anything about what Barnaby might have kept inside one?”
“Ah… no. As of this morning, I wasn’t sure he had one. Besides, I was a little busy, and I didn’t get the chance.”
‘What do you mean, busy? You’re a house guest, for pity’s sake. Busy is usually left to the hostess.”
“When I arrived Wendy had tea and seed cake waiting for us.”
“And you couldn’t find a way to introduce a little topic like lock boxes into the conversation?”
“Give me a break. We talked about the money, but not about the bank box, okay?
“And this morning?”
“I had a different agenda.”
“Like what?”
“Like making eggs Benedict.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“And they were edible?”
“Hey, Wendy’s a good teacher.”
“I’ve always argued, considering your father’s skills, that you should be handy in the kitchen.”
“I’m not sure those skills are part of my DNA mix. But I had fun, anyway.”
“Congratulations. But next time you’re together, could you quiz her about the lock box?”
“I’ll bring it up tonight.”
“You’re going back?”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“She’s teaching me to make lasagna tonight.”
“Oh, good grief. Listen, you’re not going to turn into a Dolly Domestic on me, are you? I mean, if I wanted that sort for a friend, I could hang out with Marcia Klinder.”
“So noted.”
“Good. You need to stay focused on our mission and not be spending all your time in the kitchen.”
“Hey, I’m having fun. Besides, you’re the one who thinks I need to run away from home. I can’t do that without knowing how to feed myself.”
Ginger sighed. “That’s true. Did you ask Wendy about the apartment? When she plans to put it bac
k on the market?”
“First of all, it’s a crime scene. You know it’s still sealed off by the police. Second, Wendy just lost someone she loved. I don’t think she wants to be thinking about replacing a renter just yet. Besides, she only put in the apartment for Barnaby. I’m not sure she’ll want to rent the place to anyone else.”
“You know you’re problem?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure you want to grow up.”
“Well, that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I hung up the phone and glanced over at Dad. Our offices have partial windows in the walls, enabling us to see each other from our desks. It helps in an operation this small where we all jump in and do whatever needs to be done.
Dad was busy on the phone. Probably selling advertising. We had a woman who handled accounts. But it never hurt to have the big boy contact advertisers from time to time.
I watched him smile and speak and work his wonder with whomever was on the other end of the line. And I wondered what it would be like for us each to live alone?
Somehow, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. Maybe, Ginger had a point.
I gave myself an internal shake and pushed on with my next duty, dialing Deputy Larkin’s home phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Sorry to bother you on your day off,” I said.
“No problem. What’s up?”
“I wondered if you could tell me more about Agnes Plummer’s son?”
“Who?”
“The change-of-life-baby. The one you said was a teenager.”
“What do you need to know about him?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell me what you know, while I figure it out.”
“I’ve seriously spoiled you, haven’t I?”
“Come on, just answer my question, okay?”
Larkin paused for a moment before he finally responded. “Mostly I’ve told you what I know of the kid. His name is Jeremy. From what I hear, he seems to keep his nose clean. I know he doesn’t have an arrest record, but I’ve heard he skates close the wind. So it’s possible he simply hasn’t been caught yet.”
“You’re saying he’s a little dicey?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“You heard about the break-in at Scroggins’ place?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you picked up any rumors about who might have done it?”
“Melanie, that’s a city case. Chances are they won’t share any inside information with us county folks.”
“Come on. You’re plugged into all the information that circulates in this burg. You’re bound to hear something.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be passing the stuff along to you. You want inside information on a city case? You go ask Gossford.”
I sighed. “I just thought it might help to know if Jeremy were a housebreaking kind of kid.”
“You need to date more and think less. Where’s that hot, new beaux of yours?”
“Josh is currently busy. He’s putting together year end reports for the company. I won’t be seeing much of him until after the new year rolls around.”
I sometimes thought Larkin wanted to take up that role of beaux, but I loved Josh and hoped to marry him. Plus, I knew Larkin’s type, and I wasn’t it. He liked to love ‘em and leave ‘em. I had no desire to be on the receiving end of that kind of behavior.“So… if you do hear anything suspicious about the Plummer kid, would you tell me?”
“Only if you promise me that you’re not trying to run a killer to ground.”
“You know I’m not.”
“That’s what you keep saying. But I’ve known you from kindergarten, Melanie.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“You’ve been known to stretch the truth from time to time.”
Dang.
“That’s no way to talk to a friend,” I said.
“I generally deal honestly with my friends, and I expect them to do the same with me.”
“I guess that rules me out,” I joked.
Larkin paused for a minute, then said, “Yeah, sometimes it does.”
Ouch.
Twelve
After the call to Larkin, I returned to my newspaper duties. I rewrote some press releases and made note of any events that might be photo worthy, jotting them into my calendar as I worked. By about noon, I’d caught up with most of the stories I needed to finish. Sitting back in my chair, I cast my gaze Dad’s way.
I needed to break the news that I was going to remain with Wendy until the murder got sorted out, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.
Taking my nerves in hand, I rose from my desk and crossed the hall to his office. “Dad?”
He glanced up and smiled. “Melanie, come in. What’s up?”
“Not much.” I crossed the room to the chair in front of his desk and sat. Dad kept an uncluttered office, except for our bragging wall. There he’d hung photos of the paper’s many wins at state newspaper competitions.
Otherwise the room was Spartan. White walls, a gray metal desk. A coat rack and a wastepaper basket, which was admittedly usually filled to overflowing. Dad sat before me in a navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He was a handsome man, and I’d often wondered why he’d remained single all these years.
“How did it go at Wendy’s house last night?” he asked.
“Things were calm. We both managed to sleep through the night.”
Dad nodded. “I saw Gossford when I went for the mail this morning. He says they don’t have any leads on the burglary.”
“Maybe he’ll have more information by tomorrow.”
“Mmm, perhaps.”
“Do you think the burglary could have anything to do with Scroggins’ death?” I asked.
“I hope not. I’d hate to think of you putting yourself at risk by spending time at Wendy’s house.”
“I’m not sure she’s in any danger. Apparently, Scroggins may have kept a large amount of cash in his apartment. If someone’s after the money, they’ll stick with the apartment and leave Wendy’s place alone.”
Father’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Where did you hear about this money? There wasn’t word one in your news story.”
“Ah… I think Wendy mentioned it,” I lied. I figured if I said I’d stumbled across that gem while grilling Lester Porter, Dad might suspect I was sticking my nose into another murder again. He’d go all protective of me. Pull me off the story. He’d done that once. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
Why couldn’t Dad and Larkin lighten up and just accept my desire to set wrongs right? I mean, as long as Ginger and I were careful, there was no reason for the killer to learn we were after him. Or her… I reminded myself.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ve agreed to stay on with Wendy until she’s not quite so shaky.”
Dad frowned. “But you’ve said she’s not at risk.”
“That’s true. I don’t believe she is. But try telling her that.”
“So you won’t be coming home tonight?”
“I’m afraid not.” The look on Dad’s face made me realize he would never handle my moving out on him well.
He smoothed his tie. “She’s going to have to face life on her own sometime.”
“I know. But she’s so isolated there. None of the relatives liked Barnaby well enough to come for the funeral. She’s basically going through this whole thing all alone.”
“You need to toughen up that heart of yours.”
I grinned. “Give me a couple more years working news, and I should get there.”
“Too true,” Father replied.
“So it’s okay with you if I go back to Wendy’s tonight?”
“As long as your work here doesn’t suffer, I guess I can muddle through at home. Taffy will miss you, though.”
I laughed. “Dad, unless you’re away for the night, Taffy hardly knows I’m there.”
~~~
“I’ve got the price for that warehouse.”
It was Ginger calling. I’d just returned to my desk after having wolfed down a bowl of soup in the break room.
“Well done.”
“Can you meet me there in ten minutes or so?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got the key. We can get in and look around.”
“You want us to tour the place?”
“Why not?”
I reviewed the tasks I’d planned to work on during the afternoon and realized they could all wait. Other than the update on the murder investigation, nothing was urgent. And I wouldn’t contact Gossford for the latest news on Scroggins’ death until early tomorrow morning. “It’s a deal,” I said.
“I’ll call the agent and let her know we’re going. You can meet me at the front gate.”
I told her I’d pick up coffee on my way over. I could see no point to standing in a cold warehouse without a little comfort of some sort. Then, I grabbed my coat and hat, told Betty that I’d be out for a while, and headed for my car.
The warehouse stood at the outskirts of Cloverton. It was one of several buildings left behind when the manufacturing company abandoned our fair city in search of cheaper labor. The decaying buildings covered a couple of acres and looked forlorn under today’s wintry sky.
The place had remained empty for more than a dozen years. City fathers had tried and failed to entice a new business to buy the plant. They claimed the buildings were zoned and priced to sell. Yet nothing had come of their efforts.
The main building sat back about a hundred yards behind a tall, metal fence. A generous parking lot spread out between the gated entrance and the main plant. The warehouse was off to the left, about halfway between the plant and fence.
In normal weather, I could have driven into the lot and parked close to the warehouse. But on this day, deep snow meant Ginger and I would have to abandon our cars at the curb and wade through the snow drifts to reach our destination.
Such is one’s fate sometimes in winter.
A horn honked behind me. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw Ginger’s car. I waved a greeting, grabbed our coffees, and stepped out into the obscenely cold day.