I opened my eyes.
He was peering at me with a mixture of longing and horror. Quickly and surely, he pushed me away. “You’re a client. I can’t do this. I have to go. Talk to you tomorrow.” He scrambled down the steps as if I were a blazing fire chasing after him, mumbling repeatedly, “She’s a client, she’s a client.”
I rushed inside nearly as fast as he’d traveled away. Leaning against the door with my arms wrapped around my middle, I preened over the almost-kiss. If only I weren’t his client. I’d have a real kiss to ponder as I hugged my arms like a lovesick teenager. Even when the ringing phone ripped through the quiet, I stayed put, smiling like a fool.
On the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up. “Paige, this is Gus Reinke. Wanted to let you know that the council has decided to cancel your contract. We’ll pay the cancellation fee, of course. Give me a call and let me know where you want the maintenance man to store your temporary fence when he cleans up the park.”
“Great, they fired me.” I let my arms and my dreams fall and trudged toward my bedroom, intent on sinking into my comfy bed and forgetting about my problems with a Nancy Drew book. I had no choice. I had to escape into a book to forget about this situation. I couldn’t constantly live with the rollercoaster emotions of the last two days.
I had enough of that life when I turned ten and my dad died unexpectedly. After an unsettling year of ups and downs, I sat myself down and resolved to keep things under control from that day forward. For the most part, I had.
The craziest thing I’d done since then was to open The Garden Gate. Look where that had gotten me—out on a ledge, ready to plunge into the abyss. No way I’d listen to Adam and let someone else be in charge of this investigation. Controlling my life kept me safe. Let me sleep at night. If that meant Adam moved on after this was all over, so be it. I would, as usual, be in charge of my life, and everything would be fine.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is Tim Needlemeyer, host of Success Serendipity Style, inviting you to attend Pickle Fest right here in Serendipity this weekend. You won’t want to miss the exciting events we have planned, starting on Friday at eight with our kickoff, an accordion concert by our own Serendipity Squeezers. Be sure to squeeeze this event into your schedule. Get it, squeeze? Ah, c’mon, it was funny. Okay, well, be sure to bring the kids on Saturday as we have found a wonderful replacement for Greg. Briny, the world’s one and only pickle mascot, will be there to join in all the fun and games.”
“Now we return to the locally acclaimed show, Through the Garden Gate with host Paige Turner.”
Today was a new day, and I’d adopted a new attitude. I pummeled myself with positive thinking as I dressed this morning and all the way to the radio show, which had for once gone smoothly. No thanks to Lisa, I might add. She was distracted and living in another world.
“We’re back in five.” Her gloomy tone droned through my headset. “Only enough time left for this caller. Make it short.”
What was going on with her? She sat back and picked at her fingernails, the same distressed expression on her face that she’d worn the entire morning. She didn’t appear to be tired, so what was fueling this attitude?
In a break, I’d tried to get her to spill the details of what was bothering her. Instead, she snapped at me, went into her booth, and shut the door with a leave-me-alone thump. Her girls were gaga over Briny, and one would think Tim’s announcement that Briny would definitely appear at Pickle Fest would brighten her day. Instead, without bothering to look at me, she signaled the caller was on the line.
Fine. Maybe the caller would be more enthusiastic. “Go ahead, you’re on the air.”
“Is this that Through the Garden Gate show?” The deep and angry male voice boomed into my headset.
“Yes it is, caller, and you’re talking live with Paige Turner, the host.”
“Well, Miss Paige Turner, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
What now? I held my hands palms up and quickly cut my eyes toward Lisa, hoping she might hold up the board explaining the caller. She looked so distracted it was amazing the caller even got on the air.
I had to make do without her. “Caller, would you please identify yourself?”
“This is Earl. My wife, I think she goes by the crazy name of Weed Whacker, said you wanted to talk to me.”
He was alive. “Oh yes, great, thank you for calling, Earl.”
“I don’t know what you could want with me. I hate gardening.”
“I just wanted to find out if everything is okay at your house. You know, between the two of you.”
A long moment of silence filled the line. “What’s it to you?”
Excuse me for wanting to make sure you’re alive. “I don’t mean to pry, Earl. I like to take a personal interest in my callers, that’s all.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, but I’m gettin’ sick and tired of my wife yammering on about how wonderful you are. Don’t know what you’ve done to her. Since she discovered your show, all she wants to do is dig in the dirt.”
His praise, though roundabout, brought out a big ole smile on my face. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“Hah! Shows what you know. If you were in a sinking boat with me and her, she’d probably save you first.”
Sounded like I had my first groupie in Weed Whacker. I cut my eyes to Lisa, who was sticking her finger in her mouth and fake gagging. She reminded me of the herbicide threat.
I turned back to the mic. “Thank you for the compliments, Earl. By the way, I was wondering if there were any signs of excess herbicide being sprayed around your place?”
“Herbicide? Nah, my wife said she was gonna start trying that organic way of gardening she heard about on one of your shows. Only thing I smell around here is the new cologne she gave me. If I didn’t love the woman so much I wouldn’t spray it on every morning when she asks me to. It smells as bad as some of those garden chemicals she used to use.”
Cologne that smells like herbicide? Was Weed Whacker really poisoning him?
Lisa knocked on the glass and gave me a double slash across the throat, which meant wrap things up and do so in less than fifteen seconds.
“That’s all the time we have for today, folks. Earl, please stay on the line, and for the rest of our listeners, keep your radio on for the Farm to Market Report and Success Serendipity Style. Until tomorrow, this is Paige Turner, signing off.”
I flipped on the Farm to Market Report and picked up the phone. “Thanks for waiting, Earl. I’m curious about the brand of your new cologne.”
“Don’t know. Doesn’t have a label. The wife musta gotten it at one o’ them outlet stores she’s always goin’ to. They don’t label everything.” A short beep traveled over the line. “That’s my call waiting. I gotta go.”
“Wait, Earl,” I said.
Silence.
“Earl, are you still there?”
More silence.
Oh, well. I didn’t really think Weed Whacker was poisoning him. I hung up the phone and went straight to Lisa’s booth to see if I could uncover the reason behind her mood. “What’s up with you? You’ve been distracted all morning. And don’t say nothing, ’cause I know you’re worried about something.”
Lisa looked up, her eyes vacant. “Have you ever bought anything from the boutique section of Uma’s shop?”
All this funk was over clothes? And Uma’s clothes no less? This was Lisa, the prim and proper mother, asking about purchasing provocative clothes and thinking I might have already done so. She was so far off base. I rarely bought anything feminine, let alone something from flashy Uma.
I opened my mouth to offer a smart reply, but Lisa’s vulnerable expression stopped me cold. She was serious about this. Why, I didn’t know, but I had to tread lightly. “Uma’s things aren’t really my style. Why do you ask?”
She looked at her nails and picked the pinkie with only a spot of pink polish left on it. “No reason, re
ally. I just wondered what you thought of her stuff.”
“C’mon, Lisa, you’d never ask something like that without a reason.”
“Well, I did, okay?” She jumped to her feet and grabbed her handbag. “No need to grill me about it.”
Fearing she might gore me like a bull, I stepped out of her way. “Okay, okay. I just thought with the way you’ve been acting today, there was something you wanted to talk about.”
“Well, there isn’t.” She headed for the door.
If I couldn’t find out what was ailing her, maybe I could distract her. I followed her into the hall and changed the subject. “Wasn’t that weird what Earl was saying about Weed Whacker saving me over him? He seems awful paranoid.”
Lisa shrugged. “Either that or she has a weird stalker kind of thing for you. You know, like big-time celebrities sometimes get.”
My eyes flashed open. “Seriously, you think it’s that bad?”
She laughed for the first time that morning. “She does call into the show all the time. Then there was that direct call yesterday.”
I grabbed Lisa’s arm and turned her to face me. “Do you really think she’s a stalker?”
Lisa shook her head. “Nah, it’s probably nothing to worry about.” Her words said no, but her eyes said maybe.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“As sure as I can be.” She turned and headed for the exit.
I traipsed behind with an unease settling over me. A stalker was all I needed right now. What if Weed Whacker did something dumb and jeopardized my show? A show that was already on thin ice with Roger. Wait, Roger. I should check in with him.
I jerked my thumb toward the open doorway on my right. “I’m gonna stop at Roger’s office to see if he listened to the show. I want to make sure he heard there wasn’t even a hint of the word murder this morning.”
Once again, in whatever world Lisa had been living in since she’d arrived, she waved a hand. “Fine, I’ll see you later.”
I paused outside Roger’s door and waited until Lisa stepped outside, letting the sun drift into the hallway as she exited. Maybe the sun’s bright rays would wash out her mood. I wished I could figure her out, but whatever was going on with her would remain as elusive as Bud’s killer for now.
I peeked into Roger’s office. Drat. It was empty. I wanted to talk with him, but I really needed to get to the shop to create dazzling containers to sell at the Pickle Fest on Friday. That is, if the shipment that went AWOL yesterday arrived. Even with Hazel’s help, that project would take the remainder of the day.
Resolved to put the mystery behind for now and head to the shop, I jumped in my truck. Outside the drugstore, I spotted Charlie entering the building, and my resolve vanished as quickly as it had arrived. I glanced at my watch. Ten fifty-five. I could make a quick detour to see Charlie. Even if Kurt was on time, he had to unload the containers.
I swung into an angled parking space in front of the drugstore and jumped from my truck with renewed vigor. This interrogation would end with important information revealed. It just had to. Inside, I found Charlie rounding the pharmacy counter, ready to disappear into the back room.
“Charlie, hey, Charlie,” I called and rushed forward. “You got a minute?”
He turned and gave me an impatient stare. “A minute. That’s all I’ve got. What do you need?”
I decided to be as blunt as he usually was and hope for the best. “Remember in the park on Monday when you threatened to reveal Bud’s secret? What kind of secret did Bud have?”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s personal information.”
Blunt did not work. Time for the sneaky underhanded approach. “Okay,” I said and nodded as if I planned to follow his wishes. “I understand you might want to keep that quiet out of respect for Bud, but you were so mad at him. Were you ever able to talk to him again?”
“If you’re hinting that I found Picklemann in the park later and killed him, you’re sadly mistaken.” His eyes bored into me.
I wanted to squirm but forced my shoulders back. “So you didn’t get to resolve your problem, then? That’s too bad. Maybe if you tell me what you were so angry about I could help.”
“Young lady, didn’t anyone teach you any manners?”
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
“This is none of your business.”
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, don’t get so mad. I’m just trying to help. I suppose you have been able to talk with Rachel since then. I mean the two of you were going at it that day, too. Was it about the same thing?”
He answered me with crossed arms and a glare.
“No, huh? That’s too bad. Must be hard carrying that secret around. Stressful, if you ask me. Especially when you’re already upset over that Leever company putting pressure on you to sell your land.”
“We’re done here.” The muscles in his jaw worked overtime as he took a step away.
“But Charlie, I’m only trying to help find out who killed Bud.”
Charlie spun around, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the floor. “I don’t think you honestly care about who killed Picklemann. You just want to clear your name. I’ve already told Chief Lawson everything I think he needs to know. If he decides it’s relevant, he’ll deal with it.”
So much for trying to be Mister Nice Guy, er, Girl. I crossed my arms. “You’re just like the rest of the people around here. You think I killed him, don’t you?”
“You are the most likely person. New to town, with a big grudge against Picklemann.”
I stomped my foot. “I am not new to town. I grew up here. Remember? And I didn’t have a grudge against Bud.” I stared at Charlie, his closed stance, his hard eyes. “Oh, what’s the use? I can’t change your mind. You’re going to believe whatever you want to believe anyway. Since nobody is willing to entertain the idea that I didn’t kill Bud, you all better hope that no one else gets hurt.”
His eyebrow jerked up as if trying to reach his receding hairline. “Is that a threat? Are you saying you’re going to kill someone else?”
Argh. “What I meant was, if you would help find the real killer, then none of us would be in danger. If you keep focusing on me, the real killer is going to go free, perhaps to kill again.”
“That’s why we have a police force. Lawson will figure it out. Good day, Paige.” Charlie marched into the back room.
Frustrated beyond measure, I spun around and stormed down the pain reliever aisle. If I took every drug I passed, it still wouldn’t be enough medicine to eliminate the pain I just talked to. I shot out the front door and headed for The Garden Gate. That did not go well. Not at all. Charlie knew something of value, I was sure of it, and I had no idea how to get it out of him. I wouldn’t give up. No siree. I would keep after him like a tick on a dog, irritating him until I got what I wanted.
Just as I’d hoped the sun would improve Lisa’s mood, I now wished it would help me. I looked into the clear sky, white clouds inching their way across the vast horizon. The rays warmed my face but did nothing for my attitude. I reached the shop, and the glare simply reminded me to clean the glass in the shop’s doors and windows, which were as smudged as my mood. I had to find a real clue. Something that moved me in the right direction.
I yanked open the door and stormed inside.
“You look upset,” Hazel said from a stool placed next to Mr. T’s cage.
“I am.” Wishing the only problem facing me was which ladder to climb on, I stopped to watch Mr. T move around the top of his cage for his daily exercise. As much as Hazel pretended not to like the goofy bird, she doted on him and made sure he was well taken care of.
“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days,” he sang out and hopped from his exercise area to the counter.
I stroked his soft head. “You couldn’t be more wrong, old buddy.”
Hazel stood. “So what’s up?”
I described my swing and miss with Charlie. “There’s got to be a way to get him to
talk.”
“That old coot won’t have a decent conversation with anybody. He’s probably a lost cause.” Hazel held her arm out for Mr. T to hop onto. “Any word on whether Bud had any money on him?”
I shook my head. “It’s about time we get some good news, though. I’ll go check on my source. See if he found out anything.” I took a few steps and turned back. “Did you hear from Kurt?”
Hazel shook her head. “Not yet. If he doesn’t get here pretty soon, I’ll give him a call.”
She lifted Mr. T to the cage door. “Okay, fella. I’ve got work to do. It’s back to the big house for you.”
Normally I would smile at her jailhouse reference, but being so close to incarceration myself, I could only imagine the rest of my days in a cell.
Blessedly alone in my office and able to sulk over Charlie, I pondered my next move. Who did I know that could talk to Charlie? Had to be someone he respected, had never argued with him, and someone with a reason to pursue the matter. Did such a person exist?
Maybe when I called Perry, he’d recommend someone. I selected his number on my cell, but had to leave a message—a pathetically desperate plea to call me back ASAP.
Great, strike number two, and we hadn’t even reached noon. I glanced at my desk and spotted my suspect list. All it would take to follow up on Nancy’s alibi was a simple phone call. Since Kurt hadn’t arrived, I punched the number for Nancy’s boss into my phone and tapped my foot.
“Hello, you have reached Terrance Paulson. I can’t come to the phone right now so please leave a message at the tone.”
Argh. I detailed my question then slammed down the phone. I plopped onto my chair, air gushing out the sides. Well, that was strike three. I was out. Or was I? I looked at my hastily scribbled writing. Mrs. Gherkin might have come up with some way to get Gus to talk.
Nipped in the Bud Page 13