I backed up a step. “Okay, okay. We’ll go, but our next stop is to see the other council members. One of the five of you is bound to confess to blackmail.”
“Fine, have at ’em. We have nothing to hide.”
Not the response I’d hoped for. Or was it? He said, we have nothing to hide. “Let’s go, Hazel. Looks like Gus is going to keep his secret to the bitter end.” I gave him a quick skewering with my gaze. “And make no mistake about it, Gus, the end will be bitter.”
We shuffled out of the store and stood under the overhang to stay dry. I let out a deep breath and was surprised at how badly my hands were shaking.
“I’m not cut out for this,” I said to Hazel, whose eyes were alight with excitement.
She clamped her arms closed. “I’m just plain mad. That man is lying to us and you know it.”
I looked around and considered our next option. “If you were Gus, what would you do next?”
“If I was guilty like we think he is, and if the other men were involved, I’d call them up and get together to form a pact not to talk. And the sooner the better.”
“That’s what I’d do, too,” I said, barely able to contain my enthusiasm over an idea that popped into my head. I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the alley behind the store. “Let’s hang out here for a while. See if Gus goes somewhere or if the other men come here.”
We slipped into an alcove next to the entrance and waited. As if assisting with our hiding, thick gray clouds covered the sun, dimming our space.
“Let’s try not to talk much,” I whispered to Hazel. “Gus might be meeting the guys somewhere else, and he’ll hear us if he leaves.”
She nodded and slid her fingers across her lips like a zipper.
To pass the time, I named in my head all the plants I could think of in alphabetical order. I’d reached hydrangea, the oakleaf species, one of my favorite semi-shrub perennials, when the first councilman and my radio show boss, Roger Freund, arrived. Oops. I’d forgotten the man who held my radio career in his hands was also a member of the council. He plowed across the street with a deep scowl on his face, the same scowl that often rested on his face at work when things went wrong.
Waiting for him to pass so I could talk, I mocked choking myself in a mime of what could happen with my career, and it was nearly our undoing. Hazel, a boisterous laugher, had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep quiet until Roger slipped inside.
“Now what?” Hazel whispered.
“Let’s wait to see if others arrive. Then we can go back in and listen,” I whispered back, causing Hazel to clutch my arm and do a small jig.
I resumed my plant naming, reaching Lamium, a wonderful little ground cover, at the same time as Walt Cunkle turned the corner. He yawned and stretched, making his way toward us. Owner of the bowling alley, he often worked nights. His day was probably just beginning.
Hazel and I shared an aha-we-were-right look and went back to watching the road.
Not one to keep my enthusiasm hidden, I returned to the plant thing to distract me from the excitement of seeing the council members arrive. At periwinkle, a vine-type ground cover that I loathed for its aggressive spreading habit but loved for its tiny violet flowers, Tim Needlemeyer arrived, with his usual cheery smile. I’d never seen Tim without a goofy grin. Fitting for a man who spent his days in sales. As a used implement dealer, he had to be nice if he wanted to eat.
Finally, reaching zinnia, Ollie Grayson rushed down the street, eyes darting about. He acted as nervous as my stomach felt. The long lean farmer wore striped bibs with mud encrusted knees, as if the call had ripped him out of the fields.
Once he disappeared inside, I grabbed Hazel’s hand and crept out of the nook.
I peeked inside the back door. The coast was clear. The men had moved in far enough for us to spy on them without being seen. I cupped my hand around my mouth. “If we get caught, I’ll disavow all knowledge of our mission.”
After all, actually carrying this thing off bordered on a “mission impossible”, didn’t it?
Chapter Eighteen
“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”
“This is Stumped in Eugene.”
“Tell me, Stumped, are you one of the many people in Eugene affiliated with the University of Oregon?”
“No. I don’t want nothing to do with that place.”
“Oh, okay. How can I help you?”
“I’m calling about the show where you told us how to do a soil test.”
“A soil test, yes, that’s a must to determine what type of soil you have so you can add the appropriate amendments. Especially in the northwest where we have such heavy clay soil.”
“Well, I missed most of the show and don’t want to have to go thinking up things on my own. I wondered if you could repeat the list of questions you ask when you give your soil a test.”
We crept into the back room and halted by the door. The men were grouped near the entrance to the retail space, far enough away to miss seeing us enter. Gus, with animated gesturing, brought the men up to date on our little visit. I wedged myself between stacks of boxes. From this spot, all five of the men were in my view, but I was hidden well enough that I was free to observe their interaction without any threat of discovery. Hazel scooted herself into a spot to my right, close enough to communicate nonverbally. I only wished we knew sign language.
Ollie leaned against the jamb of the doorway. Tim perched on an old wooden barrel and shook his legs as if he was jittery. Gus lurked in a shadow, so I could barely make out his face, probably a good thing, as I was still mad at how he treated us. I might be tempted to let him have it if I could see him clearly.
Roger and Walt stood in the middle of the group, neither of them choosing to lean against or sit on anything. Maybe this was my first clue. They were strong enough to withstand the pressure without support. Maybe they were the most likely to commit a crime. I was grasping for straws here, but I was so thirsty for clues that I had to find something.
“Well,” Gus said and peered at his fellow council members. “Now that you heard the problem, what do you think we should do?”
Ollie pulled back his shoulders and a devious grin crossed his face. “Other than to tell those nosy broads to mind their own business, you mean?”
The men snickered, my fist curled, and I shared a just-wait look with Hazel.
Walt, the only non-snickerer of the men, loudly cleared his throat and held it long enough to silence the others. When they had quieted he said, “I say it’s time to ’fess up and let the good people of this town know what we did.”
“Hah,” Roger shouted. “Don’t be such a sissy, Cunkle. I’m not giving up without a fight.”
“Hold it.” Gus waved his hands. “We don’t need a fight at all and especially not between us. We made the decision as a group to keep Picklemann’s ownership of the land quiet. We’ll decide as a group what to do next.”
At his admission of their cover-up, I grabbed Hazel’s hand and squeezed. She punched her other fist up, hitting a precariously placed box that teetered. She uncurled her fingers and stilled the box while I exhaled quietly.
“We sure can’t tell people Picklemann was paying us to keep quiet.” Ollie made eye contact with each man. “No one around here would talk to us again. Especially my wife.”
“Not to mention what this could do to our careers,” Roger added.
“It doesn’t matter what happens to us.” Walt puffed out his chest. “I think it’s in the best interest for folks around here to know the truth. Especially if it leads to finding Picklemann’s killer.”
The group erupted in violent voices and waving of arms and hands. Shouts of, “it would only point the finger at us,” “we didn’t have nothing to do with the murder,” “if you say one word,” shot through the air. Then the men began to threaten each other.
Gus smacked his bear-sized paws together until the other men came to order.<
br />
“The one thing I’m hearing from everyone but Walt is that we keep quiet,” Gus said, and the men nodded. “So we’re agreed. We won’t admit a thing.”
“I’ll do what the group decides for now,” Walt said. “If Paige is arrested for Picklemann’s murder, I’ll come forward. We all know she didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?” Ollie’s arms hung at his sides, his hands fisted in balls.
“Now, men.” Gus held up his hand. “We aren’t here to figure out who killed Picklemann. We have more pressing matters. What to do about Paige and her snoopy employee.”
“What are you suggesting, Gus?” Roger’s face lost color at the implication hanging in the air.
I stared at Hazel. What were they planning? Would they do us in? Maybe they weren’t murderers now, but would they become killers?
Gus ran his hand over his bushy white hair. “I don’t have a clue. I think it’s best if we sleep on it and get back together tomorrow morning to discuss the options. Agreed?”
Grumbling approval traveled around the group, and Tim pushed off his stool as if ready to leave.
Time for us to skedaddle. I gained Hazel’s attention and tipped my head at the door. She confirmed my plan with a quick nod, and we both made our way quietly to the exit. When she pushed open the door, the sun’s rays now beaming from the sky caught me by surprise, and I released a huge sun sneeze.
“What was that?” I heard Gus ask.
I clutched Hazel’s arm and ran, half dragging the older woman with me. We scurried down the alley to the pharmacy and ducked into the back entrance, surprising Charlie, who was counting round white pills into a small tray.
“What’re you doing back here?” he asked in a sleepy tone.
“Sorry, Charlie,” I said and winced when I realized I’d inadvertently mimed the tuna commercial’s tone of voice. “We need to use the bathroom, quick. Hazel feels like she might throw up.”
I nudged her, and she quickly caught on, making a few retching sounds.
Charlie’s face blanched. “So what are you waiting for? Get in there, then.” He shook his head.
I held in my laughter and pushed Hazel into the ladies’ room. With the door closed, neither of us could keep from breaking up. I hadn’t had this much fun since I was a kid.
“How long do you think we need to stay in here?” I leaned against the door as the automatic freshener sprayed the air with a tangy orange scent.
Hazel followed my lead and wedged her bottom onto the stained porcelain sink. It groaned from her weight, and she stood upright. “Doesn’t take long to barf. We could go out anytime, and Charlie would believe us. Do you think the other guys saw us and followed us here?”
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine they would. We should probably wait a few minutes to be sure.”
“At least we heard the truth. Bud was paying them to keep quiet.” In a burst of excitement, Hazel grabbed my arms, pulling me from the door and dancing us around the tiny space.
I let her lead until she tired and sagged against a wall. “I guess that’s good news. Still, it doesn’t prove one of them killed Bud.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “I say we check out their alibis for the time Bud was killed. The question is, how do we search out their alibis without tipping them off to the fact that we know what they did?”
I thought about the men and saw them marching off to their jobs the morning of the murder. There were only five of them, not the full contingent of seven dwarfs, but still a picture of the dwarfs singing, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go,” marched through my brain.
I shook out the vision. “Their alibis might be hard to come by since Roger is the only one who works a regular nine-to-five job. Maybe we should just come right out and tell them what we know and ask where they were when Bud was killed.”
“Might spook them, and we’ll never find out what we need to know.”
I ran the men through my mind again. Dopey, Grumpy, Sleepy, wait Sleepy. “Maybe we should start with Walt, the one man who didn’t want to go along with the group.”
Her eyes tightened, and she raised a skeptical brow.
“Look, Hazel,” I said, letting a burst of passion heat up my words. “I know it’s a long shot, but I can’t wait around and play it safe. I have to find out who killed Bud before Mitch makes good on his threat to arrest me.” I checked my watch. “Let’s go back to the shop and work on the containers. That’ll give Walt time to go over to the bowling alley and get settled for the day. Then I’ll go over there. I’ll say I was walking by and needed one of their pizzas. While I wait for it to cook, I’ll feel him out.”
“Okay. Be careful. We might not get a second chance.” Hazel flushed the toilet and grinned. “In case Charlie can hear it.”
I watched the water swirl around and disappear down the drain. Walt had to have information about the killer. He just had to or my life might be flushed away, too.
After our close encounter of the dwarf kind, we went to The Garden Gate to work on the containers. They hadn’t arrived, so I sent Teri home. Hazel set up for the weekend traffic, making space for some of the containers up front. When we did get them planted, we could slip the pots into the display area we created. I went to the office to follow up on other leads.
I searched through my bag and located Stacey’s résumé. The Beaverton Library was her last place of employment. I located the library’s phone number online and dialed. The receptionist transferred me to the city of Beaverton human resources, who handled all employment verifications.
“Hi, I’m calling to confirm employment,” I said in my professional tone. “Could you verify Stacey Darling’s employment at the Beaverton Library?”
“I’m sorry. We don’t give out that kind of information without a release from the person in question.” She might as well have been a recording for all the inflection she failed to put in her voice.
“Oh, please. I just want to confirm she worked there from 1996 through 2000.”
Sigh. “I wish I could help but that’s confidential.” Her tone was growing irritated.
“Can you tell me if she worked there at all?”
“Who did you say this was?”
Busted. “I didn’t. Thank you for your time.” I hung up and moved down the list of employers, who I discovered were equally familiar with employment laws. In our lawsuit-happy culture, few businesses today would risk giving out information without written consent.
Striking out on the job front, I located the college Web page where Stacey supposedly received her master of library science. I first confirmed that such a degree was conferred at this university and then located alumni services. No point in contacting the school. They wouldn’t give info over the phone. I found an online community where I posted a notice asking if anyone knew Stacey during the years she attended school there. I would check back in the next few days to see if anyone recognized her name.
Frustrated by more dead ends, I went to help Hazel until it was time to question Walt. In a way, the work was therapeutic. Hours of digging in the soil and arranging plants gave me time to brainstorm ideas on what to do next in my Stacey quest and think through my strategy for confronting Walt.
Now, as I opened the outer door of the Serendipity Bowl prepared to do battle, I reminded myself that Walt was a gentleman, usually levelheaded and not a conniving money grabber, but, and this was a big but, my plan was to out a blackmailer. Levelheaded or not, our confrontation might not end well. Resolved to dig up as much dirt as possible, I pulled open the inner door.
Typical bowling alley odors hit me in the face and threatened to permeate my skin. I momentarily regretted my decision to choose the bowling kingpin as my first interrogation victim. Still, I could bathe and eradicate any smell that clung to me. I couldn’t bathe and eradicate a prison sentence.
I momentarily regretted my decision to choose the bowling kingpin as my first interrogation victim. Still, I could bathe and eradicate the smell that w
ould cling to me. I couldn’t bathe and eradicate a prison sentence.
Walt, a silo of a man, stood behind the shoe rental counter, another spot that rated high on my “ick” factor. Who wanted to put their feet into shoes worn over and over again by virtual strangers? Even if they were disinfected. In one shovel-sized hand, Walt held an aerosol can, in the other, a large two-toned shoe. He gave quick spurts of the spray into the shoe.
The door slammed behind me. He looked up and arched a brow ever so slightly. “Well, Paige. Can’t say I’m surprised to see you.”
“I just had to have a pizza, Walt,” I said, trying to sound as if I was really starving.
He set the shoe and can on the counter. “I know you like our pizzas, but let’s cut to the chase, Paige. We saw you and Hazel running down the alley, so I reckon you’re really here to find out what I know about Fulcrum.”
My mouth dropped into a big fly-catching cavern.
He chuckled. “Right. How about we go to the break room? I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but flipped up the hinged section of the counter and lumbered toward the far end of the long room. I picked my chin up from the floor and followed, sidestepping another employee who rolled a dolly with cases of beverages toward the bar area. The sound of balls rushing down the alley and crashing into pins was absent. Wednesday night was league night, and the sessions didn’t start for another forty-five minutes.
The ten-by-ten space of the break room was just large enough to hold a counter with a sink and a round table surrounded by chairs that had more duct tape holding the seats together than vinyl. The laminate table, a bright yellow with sparkly flecks, had obviously been through many years of bowling wars. It held cigarette burns as testament to its years of service. Fortunately, the tiny room smelled only of the rich aroma of fine coffee.
“Go ahead, sit,” Walt said, his tone friendly. He washed his hands, thank goodness, and grabbed a full coffeepot. “You take cream or sugar?”
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