“Black is good,” I answered as I selected the least cracked vinyl chair and sat.
He brought over two white mugs. “I’m not sure how much of this story you know, but I’m tired of keeping it quiet. I’m going to let it all out once and for all. That okay with you?”
Feeling a little guilty at not having to pry out the details—or maybe I was disappointed at the lack of challenge—I accepted the mug and nodded.
He dropped his heavy weight onto a cushion that wheezed out a steady stream of air until he’d shifted around and finally settled. “First let me say that Bud Picklemann, no matter his underhanded methods, has been good for this town. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. He brought more jobs and commerce to Serendipity than anyone in our history, and I think he’s the reason the town is still viable. Now, that said, he was a rascal.” Walt shook his head sorrowfully. “What you want to know about is the day Ida Carlson’s daughter came to our council meeting. She was mad. Boy, was she mad. Told Picklemann off like a pro, she did. Also told all of us that Picklemann owned the land through his company, Fulcrum. She even brought papers to prove it.” Walt stopped and sipped his coffee. “Well, I tell you, that was like dropping a bomb. Gus took over like he always does and talked to the woman. Don’t know what he said to her, but she left.”
“He threatened her and her mother,” I blurted out. “Nancy Kimble told me that.”
He shook his head again. “I’m real sorry to hear that. All these years I thought Picklemann was paying her off like he was paying us off. I’d hoped Ida was being compensated that way.” He stopped and stared into the open doorway.
I watched for a while, growing antsy. “What happened after she left?”
“Chaos broke out. Now, I’m not usually a leader, but I felt real strongly that if this news got out, people might boycott working at the factory. We needed that place. It was time we provided jobs for our kids so they didn’t have to go elsewhere.” His tone bordered on televangelist zeal.
“You sound like you really believe that.”
“I do. My oldest son, Billy, works with me, but I didn’t have enough business to keep the other two employed. They’re both in Portland. Don’t see them or their kids as much as I’d like.” Another long drag on his cup until a faraway look cleared from his eyes. “So anyway, as I tried to convince the men to let the ownership thing go, forget all about it, Picklemann pops up and promises to pay each of us five hundred dollars a month not to tell. Well, I tell you, I didn’t have to say another word to the men. That was the end of the discussion, and Picklemann came through with cash every month.”
I leaned forward, careful not to touch the germ-laden table. “You said at the hardware store that if this came out in the open it might help solve the murder. What did you mean by that?”
Walt lowered his coffee and slowly twirled the liquid. “I didn’t mean anything in particular. I just thought that maybe this was all tied together somehow. If we told Chief Lawson the truth, we might expose the killer.”
“So if you had to choose, which one of the council members do you think might have done Bud in?”
“Now, Paige. I think you’re misunderstanding me. I’ve had the pleasure of serving on the council for years with these men. They all took money for the wrong reason, but I would bet my own life that none of them had a thing to do with Picklemann’s death. And if their reputations don’t convince you, think about it. Why would any of us kill the source of a monthly payment? Picklemann paid every month, right on time, and never hinted that he might stop.”
“What if one of the men got greedy? Or had problems with his finances and asked for more money?”
Walt shook his head. “In a town this small, I’d a heard if one of the guys was hurting. And why after ten years of a good deal would someone want to make a change? No, I think Picklemann was killed because of something more current.”
Unfortunately for me, Walt made complete sense. “Any ideas?”
He sat back and pondered my question. “I watch those CSI shows all the time. Seems like money is the number one reason people are killed. I know Picklemann was struggling with Charlie Sweeny over something. I don’t mean to imply Charlie’s capable of murder, simply that he’s been different since his son died.”
“What were they struggling over?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice, but there it was, thick and heavy in my words. The hope that this might be the clue.
“I don’t know for sure, but Picklemann was working on the Leever deal to buy up land right outside town. You hear about that?”
“Uma told me all about it.”
“Well, then, she probably told you Charlie refused the offer. If Charlie didn’t sell, the deal fell through, and Bud was sunk. I’d heard them argue about it several times.”
Oh, really! The deal fell through if Charlie held out, huh? Maybe Charlie and Bud argued about it again. And Charlie got so mad he gave Bud a whack with a shovel. Not on purpose, but in the heat of the moment. This certainly screamed motive to me.
“I don’t like that look much, young lady. Your eyes look like a cat’s eyes. One that has a mouse trapped in its sights. You going to chase after Charlie the minute you leave here?”
The minute I left. Nah, it was too late in the day for that. I would chase after Charlie first thing in the morning, of that Walt could be sure.
Chapter Nineteen
“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”
“This is All Washed Up with a complaint about your advice.”
“I want to make sure my callers are happy, so go ahead, All Washed Up. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Well, I tried to follow your step-by-step instructions for putting in a small pond.”
“How wonderful. Water gardening can be as fun as digging in the soil.”
“Not for me. I got the pond in, but I’m having trouble with the plants. You mentioned one of your favorites is lettuce.”
“Yes, water lettuce is great. Although it does flower, the blooms are seldom seen, and that might be your problem, but it does provide much needed shade for any fish you might have added to your pond.”
“Like it even floats. I’ve been chunking in head after head of lettuce from the grocery store, and it don’t do nothing.”
In case Charlie was still at work, I wandered past the pharmacy. As I’d figured, the pharmacy closed at the usual time of five thirty, and Charlie had left the building. I could stop by his house, but he had a reputation of being exceedingly difficult if he was bothered at night. So I took the cheese pizza Walt insisted I have to my apartment and settled in for a night of computer sleuthing.
With a caffeinated soda and a plate of pizza, I plopped behind the small student desk that was in the apartment when I moved in and turned on my computer. While waiting, I chomped on pizza and doodled on a notepad. Fulcrum. Leever. Were they related?
I took a sip of the cola, and my gaze drifted to the picture sitting on my desk of Lisa and her family. One I’d taken less than a year ago on the Oregon coast. We were all so jubilant and messy after a day of romping on the beach. The girls’ hair was tangled and damp, Perry’s face sunburned, and Lisa’s lips wide with an enthusiastic smile. Her upturned mouth and beaming eyes were so far from the way her face had crumbled during the afternoon debacle. Looking at the picture intensified the episode in my mind, and I wanted to talk with her.
After leaving the bowling alley, I’d called to check up on her. She didn’t answer her cell. I hoped she and Perry were working things out, so instead of racing over to her house, I left a message on her voice mail. If I didn’t hear from her tonight, I would see her first thing in the morning, no matter what.
But now I needed to concentrate on locating information that could solve this murder. I connected to a search engine and typed in “fulcrum.” Although I’d already researched the company itself, I wanted to look up the basic description of fulcrum on Wikipedia to
see if something would jog my mind.
I read the words on the screen aloud. “A fulcrum is the support or point of support on which a lever turns.” Hmm, lever, Leever? A connection perhaps? Did Bud have more of a role in Leever than he let on? Before I could pursue the thought, my cell rang.
“Lisa.” I grabbed the phone and saw Adam’s name. I didn’t think I’d be disappointed to see Adam calling, but a pang of sadness crept over me as I wished it were Lisa.
“Hey,” I said with extra enthusiasm so he wouldn’t know he was my second choice of caller. “Perfect timing. I was totally bored looking at my computer screen.”
“More Fulcrum research?” he asked.
“Sort of.” I filled him in on the council’s confessions, my conversation with Walt, and my wild thought that there was a connection between Leever and Fulcrum. “I don’t have anything that really points at Charlie, but it’s a lead anyway.”
For a short while, he said nothing, as if choosing his words carefully. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Paige, but it’s time to hire a professional or tell Lawson what you’ve discovered.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to do either one. No telling how Mitch might bungle this.”
“You might not be bungling it, but with as complicated as this is getting, I can’t see how you’re going to resolve things on your own.”
“Thanks for the confidence in me.” My words came out sharper than I’d hoped.
“Paige, come on.” His tone was consoling. “This is a murder investigation. Do you really think you have the skills to solve it?”
“Yes, I do. Apparently you don’t have faith in me.” Realizing this was leading to a fight, I counted to ten before going on. “Did you call for a reason, or just to harass me?”
“I’m not harassing you, and I did call for a reason. Lawson called me. You need to stop by the station tomorrow. He didn’t give me a time. Said come in at your leisure, but we’ll want to schedule a time when I’m free to accompany you. I’m in court all day tomorrow, so I’ll set up an appointment for late in the day. I’ll text you with the time once Lawson agrees.”
“Why does he want to see me?”
“I questioned him, but he was vague. Rumors are, they’ve gotten the forensic report on the shovel. Perhaps it proves the shovel was used to hit Bud, and Lawson wants to put a little pressure on you in the hopes that you’ll confess to killing him.”
Guess this was the forensics report Perry mentioned at lunch. This was not good news. Not at all what I wanted to hear right now. Mitch was moving along nicely in his quest to convict me, while I was coming up empty-handed. I sat back, tears nearing the surface. “This can’t be happening. I’m innocent, Adam. They can’t send me to jail.”
“That’s why I want you to hire an investigator. You can’t do this on your own.”
My ire rose at his lack of faith. “If that’s all you have to say, I have to get back to work.”
He groaned and let the phone fall silent. I waited for him to speak. After a long and particularly uncomfortable time, I decided to end the call.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
This time a sigh. “No, nothing else. Just think about what I said.”
I said good-bye and hung up. I needed to work harder. Smarter. Faster. With a renewed purpose, I focused on the screen and clicked through link after link, page after page, hour after hour. I finished the list of five hundred plus Fulcrum leads, searched county records, googled Leever and Pacific Pickles and all their officers, and finally sat back in defeat.
Maybe Adam was right. Maybe I needed to hire a pro. I was nearly out of clues to follow. I laid my forehead on the cool desk, trying to dig up the energy to plan ahead. I closed my eyes and felt my confidence and drive melt away.
A knock sounded on the door, and I bolted upright. I’d left a trail of drool on the desktop. I must have dozed off. As I answered the continued pounding, I glanced at the clock. Nearly nine. I opened the door and yawned.
“Is it too late?” Lisa asked.
I held out my hand to invite her in then twisted my head and stretched my neck. “I fell asleep in front of the computer. I was hoping I’d hear from you tonight. How are things with Perry?”
She laughed in her normal cheerful way, sending a wave of happiness through me. “With Perry, fine.” She sat cross-legged on the worn blue sofa. “With my self-respect, not so good.”
I sat beside her. “So the two of you talked?”
“Yeah. He told me he was getting bored at work. He’s limited to what he can do here in Serendipity. He asked me if I would consider moving if he found another job.”
Move! No. She couldn’t leave me here with all the quirky plants of the world. I had to have Lisa around to keep me sane. I tried to keep my angst at the thought of losing my best friend off my face and out of my voice. “Would you move?”
“If it meant Perry was happy, yeah, I would.” She laughed again, this time in a more mocking tone. “Besides, after my performance today, we might need to leave town.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
She snorted and swatted a hand at me. “Spoken like the friend you are. I figure the best thing I can do right now is get out in public in normal clothes and show them I’m okay.”
“I’d offer to do lunch with you tomorrow, but I’m behind at the shop, and Adam just told me I have to go see Mitch tomorrow.” I shared the highlights of my conversation with Adam.
“Adam’s right, you know.” Her mom voice was now in full bloom. “You have to let go of this, Paige, and let someone else help you.”
“Yeah, right. Like you did with Perry?”
She laughed, head thrown back, once again telling me everything with her would be all right. “And you saw how well that worked. If I had turned it over to God, I would never have done something so stupid. So learn from me. Ask for help.”
We moved into the kitchen and chatted about her conversation with Perry and of the possible places she might like to live if they moved. I worked on preparing a soothing bedtime tea so we both could get a good night’s sleep for a change.
Another knock sounded on the door.
I spun around. “Who could that be?”
“I didn’t know you were so popular,” Lisa said from a barstool at the counter. “Want me to get it?”
“Please.” I continued filling the teapot.
Lisa peeked under the curtain. “It’s Adam.”
As the door creaked open, I put the pot on the stove. What was Adam doing here? Did he come to argue more? Or maybe he came to drag me down to the station to tell Mitch what I knew. I dried my hands on a worn dish towel and crossed the room.
Wearing a polo shirt and no jacket, Adam stood on the landing, dancing a bit to keep warm. Though we’d had a tiff, the sight of him eased my frustration and helped chase out the chill that whipped into the room. His face was meek and his eyes apologetic.
I opened my mouth to ask why he was here.
He held up a hand. “Before you say anything, I know it’s late, but I didn’t like the way we left things. So I wanted to apologize in person for not supporting you.” He clapped his hands on his arms to stay warm.
“Come in before you freeze,” I said with a belligerent tone that was meant to cover up how thrilled I was that he cared enough to drive all the way from McMinnville to apologize. “I’m making tea. Want some?”
“Not a tea guy,” he said, his tone clipped and unusually terse.
Maybe I just needed to warm him up. “How about hot chocolate?”
He shook his head. “Just give me a few minutes of your time.”
“So, sit then.” I held my hand toward the living room.
“Maybe I should go?” Lisa held the doorknob and took a step toward the landing.
I shook my head. “No, you stay.”
She searched my face then said, “I’ll finish making the tea.”
She went into the kitchen, and Adam ambled toward the plaid lo
ve seat handed down from my mom. It was worn and sagging, but I didn’t want to part with it. The memories from the day she helped me move into my first apartment clung to the faded blue and red fabric like I wanted to cling to her.
I watched Adam lower his body onto the end cushion. This was perfect, the man I was growing to like sitting on one of my fondest memories. But he perched on the edge as if he’d bolt for the door if I said the wrong thing.
Our eyes connected. He opened his mouth then closed and opened it again. I listened to the tabletop fountain sitting on a sofa table behind him and wished I could make him speed up to at least the pace of the slowly dripping water. He was making me nervous.
“Out with it already,” I said.
“If you never want to talk to me again, I’ll understand. I can even find you another lawyer.”
Surprised and confused by his words, I quickly glanced at Lisa, who had her back to me. I dropped onto my favorite overstuffed chair with a big plop. “Okay.”
“I know you don’t want anyone to take over this investigation. You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to hire anyone, but I have an investigator who works for me all the time and—”
I flapped my hand up like a crossing guard demanding a driver to stop. “You came all the way over here to convince me to hire an investigator? Un-be-lieve-a-ble.”
“Now, Paige, before you get all mad, just listen. I don’t want you to hire Frankie. I already sort of did.”
“What?” I jumped up and looked to Lisa for support. Her head was buried in the pantry, probably looking for cookies to go with the tea. I turned back to Adam.
His eyes begged me to give him a chance. “Please, just hear me out.”
Should I? He’d gone where no man should boldly go, into my control zone. This was the very point in my relationships in the past where I said adios, amigos to any guy who survived our first date. His motives might be good, but if I let him take over this area of my life, what was next? And next and next and next?
“Bud Picklemann owned Leever.” His words rushed out like racing floodwaters. “He had a scam so big planned it made the pickle factory look like child’s play.”
Nipped in the Bud Page 17