Nipped in the Bud

by Susan Sleeman

  “Don’t make such a big deal about me being here, Paige. I just wanted to find out what happened with Mitch.” She cut her gaze toward the office. “Adam already filled me in.”

  Warily, I chose a chair as far from the crank as possible and slipped onto the padded seat. “That’s not all the good news I have.” I replayed my conversation with Velma. “Do you remember all of this happening?”

  Lisa pondered my question then nodded slowly. “Sure, yeah, I remember. I don’t know all the details, but it was a big mess. People were mad as can be. Bud really pulled a fast one.”

  “I don’t get it. If everyone around here hated Bud for that, how’d he keep his job?”

  “Business, pure and simple. He’s been good for the town. Bringing in tourism, even the factory. The place employs two hundred people. Kids are staying around after graduation now because they can find jobs.”

  I shook my head. “Still, doesn’t seem right to me. One of the reasons I left city life was to get away from big businesses that care only about money and nothing about people. I never expected to find that kind of attitude alive and well here.”

  Lisa’s eyes widened, and she motioned toward the back hallway. “Don’t look now, but your big business is on his way from the office.”

  I turned and made eye contact with the advancing Adam. We locked gazes. I returned his sweet and comforting smile with what I hoped was a bold flirtatious look.

  Lisa twisted the flesh on my forearm, and I swiveled so fast the room spun. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Thanks for sharing all the juicy details of what happened to put that kind of look on your face,” she whispered.

  I sat back and waited for a forked tongue to whip out and stick me. “We’ll talk about him and your wayward fingers later.”

  Oblivious to our little spat, Adam stopped behind my chair and placed his hand on my shoulder before squatting and peering into my eyes. “I need to send a fax. It’s long distance, and I wanted to be sure it was okay.”

  Umm, brown. No, cocoa. His eyes are cocoa. They go well with the milk chocolate tufts of his hair. He was just plain yummy. I was going to have to get a grip or find a new lawyer.

  Lisa kicked me under the table, and I willed my mind from the intensity of his eyes. “What? A fax? Oh, sure. Yeah. It’s okay.”

  “Great.” As if he knew the effect he had on me, likely from past experience at charming women, he stood and grinned, setting that little scar to winking again. “I still have a few things to do. Can you hold out for another hour until lunch?”

  Another hour? My happy bubble melted. Then again, maybe this was a good thing. I could use the time to go to the library. When we did have lunch, I’d have concrete facts instead of a local gossip’s theory to present to him.

  “Fine,” I said while rising. “There’s something I need to take care of anyway. I’ll meet you at the Bakery in an hour. Remember where that is?”

  His amazing eyes clouded over. “Hard to forget, since it’s across the street from the park. See you in an hour.” He retreated to the office.

  I grabbed Lisa’s elbow. “Come on. Two can work faster than one.” I jerked her to her feet.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Library. To look at old newspapers. I need details about the people Bud hurt when he brought in the factory.” I dragged her through the shop, toward Hazel.

  “I called Teri,” I yelled as we rushed past Hazel, who looked at us as if we had escaped a loony bin. “She’ll come in to give you your lunch break. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Mr. T, asleep in his cage, woke up. Arching his back, he swung his beak from side to side and ruffled his feathers. “Quit your jibba jabba.”

  I shut out his echoing Mr. T'ism by closing the door.

  “Would you please let go of me?” Lisa pulled her arm free.

  “Sorry, it’s just that we have to hurry. I don’t want to be late for lunch.” I didn’t wait to see if she would follow. I was sure she would be dying to talk about my budding feelings for Adam. I was so baffled by them myself that I didn’t want to discuss it. Not until I had a better handle on my motives. I mean, he was cute, and I could fall for his charms, but that did not a real relationship make.

  The dressier shoes I’d paired with my khakis for the interview clicked on the sidewalk like a woodpecker tapping on a tree. Lisa caught up. Surprisingly, she didn’t mention my tête-à-tête with Adam and pulled out her cell instead. She gabbed with her mom about picking up the twins, and I marveled at how much Serendipity had changed since I left after high school. In the sixteen years I’d been gone, wineries had sprouted up in the Willamette Valley, bringing plenty of weekend tourists to town and making my plan for a small nursery and landscape business viable.

  To cater to the weekenders, the locals had spruced up store-fronts, painting them bright colors. After a facelift, the old Cameo Theater sparkled in its former glory, and the brick courthouse had been nipped and tucked as well. Along the sidewalks filled with planters, antique wrought iron lamps lit the evening shopping experience on most of the main streets. Even as I turned left on Oak, I passed the renovated elementary school, now a hotel-brew pub that anchored a string of thriving antique shops.

  The library was located on the back side of the fire station. I’d always wondered who came up with the idea to pair a quiet library with a noisy firehouse. If it hadn’t been this way since I could remember, I’d blame it on Bud’s mismanagement.

  Waiting for Lisa to finish her phone call, I shoved open the glass door and looked into the simple one-room building. Our library, filled to the brim with reading materials that were an essential part of the residents’ daily activities, resembled most libraries in Oregon. Book circulation in this state, likely due to the continuous rain, hit record highs. Facts were facts. We were all big readers.

  Lisa clamped her phone closed and trudged past me, her face fixed and determined. Though testy and irritable, her body language screamed a perfectly put together, albeit tired Stepford Wife.

  “Do you know the librarian?” I asked as she passed me. “What’s her name? Stacey?”

  “Yeah, she’s a real sweetie. Loves the twins when I bring them in.”

  I closed the door silently. “Are we talking about the same person here? She’s always been cranky to me.”

  Lisa pointed at the counter. “Just look at how nice she’s being to old Frank.”

  I followed the line of her finger. Stacey slid out cards from the back of books as she conversed with irritable Frank Becker. Slender, on the fashion side of thin actually, Stacey wore a knit dress. Although her lower half was hidden behind the counter, I was positive her skirt was cut short to draw attention to her Barbie-doll legs. Her shoulder-length bottle-blond hair, alive with ringlet curls, accentuated a heart-shaped face boasting full lips lacquered in a berry frost.

  If she were in my garden, I’d want to plant her front and center to show off every inch of her beauty, but she was too tall for the front. Still, even in the back of a garden bed, all eyes would go straight to her. The only flowering plant I’d ever seen with that type of power was Crocosmia, the ‘Lucifer’ cultivar, to be specific. This plant produces scarlet red flowers borne along the upper portions of arching stems that rise up to four feet above sword-shaped leaves. A true beauty that no gardener should forgo.

  That’s where Stacey differed. I could do without her, even though she was pleasantly entertaining Frank as if he were a neighborly man instead of a curmudgeon.

  “You feeling better today?” Frank asked her.

  Her head popped up, and she peered at him. “Fine, why?”

  He jerked his head at the door. “Came by here yesterday around eleven. Found a closed sign on the door.”

  Stacey’s mouth dropped open. Frank had obviously hit on something she didn’t want to talk about. What could she have been up to yesterday morning?

  “I had a little problem to deal with.” She schooled her features then resume
d checking out his books. “Couldn’t seem to stay out of the bathroom. By noon, I was fine. You know how that goes.”

  Frank snickered. “Don’t I ever. Wait till you get old. I ain’t had a regular—”

  “That’s fine then, Mr. Becker.” She shoved a stack of books into his hands, preempting additional description of his irregular habits.

  Maybe she was embarrassed. I didn’t buy her explanation about her supposed health problem and made a mental note to put her on my follow-up list. I turned back to Lisa. “I guess you’re right. Stacey is being nice to Frank. I still think it’d be better if you asked for the newspapers. Make sure she gives us the—”

  “I know what we need,” Lisa interrupted and set off, mumbling, “I could tell by your tone that you said I was right just to make me happy. I don’t know why I do these things for you when you’re not up front with me.”

  Shaking her head, my drooping daisy approached the counter. Frank greeted her with a grumbled hello. I hoped his demeanor wouldn’t force her to wilt further before we could retrieve the information we needed and get her home for a nap.

  Frank spotted me and growled like a rabid dog. Turning to Stacey and Lisa, I did my best to ignore him. Lisa’s usual gentleness overcame the funk she’d embraced for the last hour and as they chatted, Stacey warmly responded. Maybe I was the problem here. Maybe. . .but I didn’t want to think about that right now.

  I leaned on the juvenile mysteries shelf. The bold titles on colorful spines piqued my interest. I looked down the aisle at The Secret of the Old Clock, the first Nancy Drew I’d read, right in this room. I’d spent countless hours nestled in a monster beanbag chair under the window, with the tall pine tree outside shading my eyes. I devoured Nancy Drew novels until my mom closed up and dragged me out the door.

  I went over to the books and longed for the days when my mom used to make everything okay. I was sure she could even handle murder accusations. If she were still alive, what would she do? Actually, I didn’t really need to wonder. She would tell me to speak my mind, not run and hide. To quietly find the killer and clear my name. Exactly what I was doing, albeit not quietly.

  “She’s getting the papers,” Lisa said as she approached, banishing my thoughts to the recesses of my mind where they belonged. “See how easy that was?”

  “Point taken.” Still longing for the feeling of peace I used to find in this room, I ran a finger over the spine of The Hidden Staircase.

  “You weren’t even watching, were you?” She tapped my finger. “Nancy Drew makes an appearance and you veg out. Nothing changes.”

  “Thanks for the idea.” I pulled the first four titles off the shelf. “If I read these at bedtime, maybe I’ll forget all about Adam and my problem and get some sleep.”

  “Argh,” she grumbled.

  Books in hand, I went to the circulation desk and waited for Stacey to return. Lisa moseyed behind, stopping at the kids’ section. She loved to read to the twins. I fished my library card out of my wallet and tapped it against the aged laminate counter, working up a good rhythm as I scanned the room.

  Hold up. A white sweater hung on a chair behind Stacey’s desk. I tamped down my eagerness and strolled over to look. As I reached out to check for stains, Stacey lumbered from the back room, the muscles in her fit arms bulging from the weight of two file boxes.

  I let my hand fall and followed her to the check out station.

  She dropped the boxes on the counter and looked at me. “Can I help you?”

  Care to tell me if you killed Bud while wearing that white sweater? Better not to say anything until I came up with a motive. I slid the books and my card across the counter then reached for the boxes.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped. “Those are for another customer.”

  “I know. Lisa Winkle. We’re together. Thank you for getting them for us.”

  “I didn’t get them for you. I got them for Lisa.” Her voice skated higher with each word.

  “Hey, Lisa,” I turned and called out in a library whisper-shout, “can you come over here a minute?”

  “Shhh, you’re disturbing our patrons.” Stacey’s tone reminded me of my eighth-grade math teacher. I piped down like I did in math class, where I fought to comprehend why letters were ever introduced into a subject where numbers should rule.

  Stacey busied herself checking out my Nancy Drews, and I thumped my fingers on the counter to keep from speaking. Thankfully, Lisa slipped a tall picture book onto the shelf then joined me at the counter. I rolled my eyes over the two-faced librarian and nudged Lisa toward the desk.

  She furrowed her brow at me then smiled at Stacey and tugged the boxes off the counter. “Stacey, thanks for getting these so fast. I can always count on you to be helpful.”

  Stacey sent a starlet smile back at Lisa. I’d never seen this side of the woman—a side that would melt most men’s hearts on the spot. Not at all librarianish, if you asked me.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with genuine warmth coloring her voice. “I can’t wait to see those precious girls again.” She handed the books to me and her smile faded. “Please be sure you keep the newspapers in order. I don’t have the time or the workforce to clean up after you.”

  Lisa wound through displays of gardening and canning books and the reference section until she reached the back corner. I followed close behind, stopping to admire one of my favorite gardening books.

  “You see?” I said when I caught up to her. “That woman is out to get me.”

  Lisa shrugged. “She was kind of mean to you. You must have done something to her.”

  I chose not to argue. I would never win with Lisa in this mood. She set the boxes on a table in front of the rack of current newspapers and magazines.

  “Did you see what was on her chair?” I asked.

  “No. Should I have?”

  “A white sweater.”

  Lisa shook her head. “You are so far off base. Why on earth would Stacey want to kill Bud?”

  “I don’t know yet, but he was her boss.”

  “Oooh, that’s a reason for murder if I ever heard one.” She grabbed the top box and moved to a table by the magazines.

  I wanted to point out that Stacey had closed the library around the time Bud was killed, but I didn’t think I’d get very far. I kept quiet and took the other box. “Let me know if you find anything.” I sat with my back to her to keep from making faces over her comments.

  As we worked, the room remained quiet. Library quiet. If I hadn’t heard the occasional pages of the newspaper rustling, I might have peeked at Lisa to see if she kept her eyes open. Knowing the sooner I finished this task the sooner I could go to lunch with Adam, and as a bonus find the killer, I plowed through the papers. I found council minutes, lots of them, but nothing in the reports raised a red flag. I neared the bottom of my box and the bottom of my hope in locating a clue. Lisa came over and slapped the current week’s edition of the Serendipity Times in front of me.

  Disappointed, I sighed and looked up. “Seriously, Lisa. Why can’t you help me here? I thought you were going to look in the old files, not read today’s paper.”

  “I did both. I didn’t find anything in the box, but you’re going to want to read this.” She stabbed her finger at the headline on page one.

  Ida Carlson Dies, Suicide or Accident?

  I picked up the paper. “Ida Carlson. Why do I know that name? Ida Carlson? Wait, oh yeah! Velma told me she was one of the people involved in this mess.”

  “Good job, Sherlock.” Lisa rolled her eyes and sat next to me. “She owned a house by the factory. I remember her fighting for some sort of reprieve from the factory’s noise. They refused, and she seemed to give up. No one ever really saw her much after that.”

  I scanned the story. Six months ago, Ida’s daughter, Nancy Kimble, had her mother declared insane and moved her from Serendipity to Hillsboro, where Nancy could care for her. Last week, Nancy found her mother on the floor of her bedroom with empty
pill bottles scattered across the room. No one could prove it wasn’t an accidental overdose, but Nancy believed her mother killed herself. She went on to say, if her mother’s death was intentional, Bud Picklemann’s decision to bring the factory to town was the driving force behind her insanity and the desire to end her life.

  I finished the story and looked up at Lisa, satisfaction swelling my chest. “Finally, a concrete motive. Nancy Kimble had every reason to want Bud dead. Now all I need to do is prove it.”

  Chapter Ten

  “And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

  “Hi, Paige, this is Chirpy in Salem. My wife and I love to listen to birds singing outside our windows and found your advice about attracting hummingbirds very interesting.”

  “Oh, yes, Chirpy, I bet you’ve added red flowers to your garden, and you’ve planted all sorts of nectar rich flowers, since it is really the sweet nectar that brings the hummingbirds into the garden.”

  “Right, we did all of that, and we even put out fresh drinking and bathing water every day.”

  “Well, it certainly sounds like you’re doing everything right. So what is your problem? No hummingbirds yet?”

  “You nailed it. We’re so disappointed. After your show, we couldn’t wait for those birds to sit in our trees and hum away in harmony to our singing friends. But we’re spending all of our time chasing away stupid little birds that just flutter around, taking up the place where the birds that hum would be. What can we do?”

  Seated across a small two-person table from Adam, I nearly salivated as the Bakery owner, Donna Davis, set a steaming bowl of vegetable soup with homemade biscuits in front of me. She stepped to the other side of the table and watched Adam move his legal pad out of her way. While our food was being prepared, Adam and I had talked about my discoveries, and he jotted down ideas for follow-up.