“The mushroom class is being held in our multipurpose room in the back. Come this way.”
Roger wore a light tan sports coat and neatly creased navy slacks. A silk scarf tucked in his breast pocket had a pattern with colors perfectly matching his attire. He was tall and substantial in size.
We joined the others and everyone exchanged names except for Elise, who gave the newcomer a wave.
Roger looked at me. “Thank you for participating in the Mushroom Festival. The more activities we can offer, the better for attracting people.”
“I’ve been reading about it in the newspaper,” I said. “There certainly is a variety of events to choose from.”
Roger nodded. “You’re right. People really get into it. It goes for two weeks. The chefs outdo themselves coming up with new recipes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Elise chimed in. “Including dessert.”
“Dessert? Mushroom dessert?” I laughed. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Elise smiled. “I wouldn’t decide too fast. Wait until you try the candy cap mushroom ice cream.”
“There’s more,” Roger said. “Locals lead hikes to find and identify mushrooms. A stable arranged a special horseback ride and a company called Paddler’s Paradise has organized a canoe trip. You can walk, ride, or paddle to find fungi.”
Elise pointed to the table with the mushrooms. “There are lists and flyers for the activities if you want to look at them over there.” The Professor, Timothy, and Clarence went over to investigate and began picking up various papers.
“Any luck finding a job, Elise?” Roger asked.
Her back stiffened slightly. “Not yet. But something will come along.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear of anything,” Roger said.
“Thanks.” She sighed and returned to putting beverages on the counter. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to pass. I have another appointment.”
“Okay. I know this is a busy time for you,” Elise replied.
He turned to me. “I understand you’re new to the area. I’d love to have you come and see my art studio. I open it once a month to the public, and your guests might like to know about it. I’ll give you a private tour.”
“I’d like that. Elise said you create pieces using redwood. I know the trees are an important part of this area, and I’d like to learn more about what people do with them.”
He pulled out his wallet, extracted a card, and handed it to me. “Excellent. I’ll show you my woodworking equipment and walk you through the process. It’s not a side of the craft I have many opportunities to talk about with people.”
I examined the card—smooth black cardstock with his name and phone number in elegant, silver lettering. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I look forward to hearing from you,” Roger said.
A battered yellow pickup truck drove by and parked.
“Oh, it’s Peter Smith,” Elise said. “I forgot to tell you about him, Kelly. I invited him to join us for lunch. He’s won the contest for the last five years, and I think he can add some interesting information.”
Elise had seen where the plates and utensils were kept and set another place at the table. A couple of class members wandered in and she went to greet them.
I opened the back door and called out, “Mr. Smith,” as the man with sparse sandy hair locked his pickup. “This is where the class is meeting.”
He trotted up the back stairs. Peter was a little shorter than me, which made him about five foot four. He wore blue jeans almost faded to white and a red-and-white-checked flannel shirt. His scruffy sneakers appeared to have been on more than one muddy walk. Light gray eyes showed behind the light brown translucent frames of his glasses.
“I’m Kelly Jackson, manager here. Elise told me your name when she saw you drive by.”
“Nice to meet you.” He gave me a thin-lipped smile.
Clarence came hustling by. “I’m going to get our notepads and the books we bought for the class. Would you like to meet Max?” he asked me.
I was momentarily startled. Had someone been sitting outside in the car this whole time?
Clarence saw my look. “Maximilian, Max for short, is my mushroom-hunting dog.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to make a new canine friend.”
Peter inched a bit in our direction, a slight frown on his face.
I followed Clarence down the steps, Roger and Peter behind us. Roger took out his car keys as Clarence opened the back of his camper shell. A quivering bundle of silky soft, golden curls greeted me as I reached in to pet him. Dark brown eyes peered at me through tendrils of hair. He had a medium-sized body and long legs.
“When I got Max from a rescue group, they guessed he was a mix of golden retriever, lab, and maybe water dog because of the curly hair. All good sniffers, making him a good candidate for finding fungi.”
Max had a big grin and an even bigger tail wag going on. His thick tail whacked the side of the vehicle, creating a fast-paced drum beat.
“He’s really good at finding mushrooms, though I think Portia is a little better.” Clarence scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a place that would let me bring a dog as well as a potbellied pig.”
Roger had joined in petting the dog. “I’ve heard of mushroom-hunting pigs.”
“They’re used a lot in Europe and can smell truffles as far down as three feet. There’s documentation of their use that goes back centuries. However, dogs are preferred overall. Mushroom hunters like to keep their areas secret, and that’s a lot harder with a grunting pig. It’s also a challenge to haul a four-hundred-pound animal around unless you have a truck…and not all mushroom hunters drive pickups.”
Roger rubbed Max’s ears. The dog gave a low groan and leaned into Roger’s sports coat. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Always wanted to have a little farm and a variety of animals,” Clarence said. “When I moved to Oregon a little over a year ago, I found the perfect place. Since Timothy and I had our competition going, I thought I’d start with a dog and a pig and train them to find fungi.”
Peter had been creeping closer and closer. Now he stood next to Clarence, a scowl on his face.
He glanced at Max. “Nice looking dog, but you can’t use it in the contest.”
Clarence’s chin jutted forward the slightest bit. “Yes, I can.”
Peter’s hands balled into fists. “No, you can’t.”
His voice had gone up several decibels. Peter’s complexion had reddened and his nostrils flared. He thrust his face closer to Clarence’s.
Clarence’s chin was out as far as it would go. “Yes, I can. I checked the rules and there’s nothing in them about not using an animal.”
Peter responded by mimicking Clarence’s posture. “No, you can’t.”
We had dueling chins. If they’d been pistols, I would’ve expected them to walk ten paces away from each other, turn, and shoot.
The mushroom-hunting lark had flown in an unexpected direction. I never thought I’d hear about people being killed in the woods or see someone about to fly into a rage. What next?
Chapter 3
Roger stepped up next to the two men. “Gentlemen, we have a Mushroom Festival committee. They’ll decide about using the dog.”
“But it starts tomorrow,” Peter sputtered.
“Not a problem. They’re meeting with me this afternoon to go over the final details. Peter, I have your contact information. Mr. Norton, what’s the best way for me to reach you?”
Clarence pulled out a card and handed it to Roger. “This has my cell phone number on it. I understand there are areas where they don’t get reception here. If you have trouble getting ahold of me, I’m staying at the Blue Heron
Inn. You can leave a message for me there. And, of course, I’m here for lunch as well as cooking later this afternoon.”
Roger carefully placed the card in his wallet. “I’m familiar with that inn. I’ll let you know what the decision is.”
Peter wasn’t going to let it go. “But…but…but he can’t.”
Roger looked at him and inclined his head toward his car. “Walk with me.”
I went over to give the dog a last pet.
Roger’s voice drifted back to me. “Peter, that temper of yours could get you in serious trouble again. Someone might figure they’ve had enough of it, and there’ll be an unhappy outcome.”
Clarence came over, scratched Max behind the ears, and closed the back of the camper shell. “I certainly didn’t expect that.”
“Some people don’t deal with surprises well, especially when there’s a contest involved,” I said.
We walked up the steps of the back porch. As I entered the work area, I wondered what kind of trouble Peter had been in.
I went to check phone messages and saw Elise point Clarence to one of the three empty chairs. The rest of the class participants had arrived and were chatting with each other.
When I finished, I joined the group and Elise directed me to a seat beside a man I hadn’t met. He was talking to Clarence, who was sitting on his other side. I seated myself next to the newcomer. The uniform color of his black hair made me suspect he dyed it. A worn leather notebook rested next to his right hand. I could see part of a name embossed on its spine, but not all the letters were discernable.
He turned to me. “Hello, I’m Ned Blaine.”
His dark eyes were magnified behind thick black-rimmed glasses. His pencil-thin black mustache mirrored the shape of the top of his eyeglass frames.
“Kelly Jackson. I’m the manager here.”
“Nice to meet you. I asked Elise to seat me next to you if possible. I’m a reporter for the Redwood Cove Messenger and wanted to ask you some questions. I know you’re new to the area and you’ve made some changes here. I’d like to schedule an appointment to hear about them and learn more about you.”
“Great. When we’re done here, I’ll get out my calendar.”
Peter entered and took the remaining seat. His face had returned to the pale color I’d seen when he arrived. He scowled in our direction. I figured it was for Clarence, though his gaze seemed to be on Ned.
Elise stood. “Thank you, everyone, for joining the class and signing up for the mushroom contest. We’ll be doing some fungi hunting this afternoon. The main prize this year is for the largest variety of mushrooms found. In addition, there will be a prize for the most artistic collecting basket and a new one called Judge’s Choice.”
Ned took notes as Elise talked.
“We have a full afternoon ahead of us,” Elise said, “starting with lunch…a mushroom-themed one, of course.”
She went on to talk about what was in the quiches and the appetizers. Two large bowls of salad had been placed on either end of the table. As people helped themselves, Elise delivered plates with two types of quiches, bright yellow and red cherry tomatoes, and a number of colorful flowers. Bright red blossoms intermingled with orange ones, and thin curling green strips of vegetation circled the edge of the plates. Squash blossoms, purple lilacs, and dark blue pansies rested next to the main course.
Elise held up a paper. “Everything on your plate is edible. You’ll find next to your plate a photo and description of each item as well as recipes for the quiches.”
“This looks gorgeous, Elise,” I said.
“Thanks, Kelly.” Pink colored her cheeks. “Everyone, there’s more quiche. I’ll leave it on the counter, and you can help yourself if you want more.”
Appreciative murmurs filled the room as people began to eat. I took a bite of each quiche and was surprised at the distinct difference in taste. They looked very similar. One had an earthy taste and large slices of mushrooms rested in the creamy custard mixture. The other one had notably more herbs and small chunks of fungi. There were other flavors I couldn’t identify.
I’d never eaten flowers before, but I was always game to try something new. As I tried an orange one, I scanned the handout. I discovered it was a nasturtium. Its flavor was sweet and peppery. I recognized the lilac and nibbled on it while enjoying its fragrant scent and lemony taste. Sweet pea tendrils created attractive slender green curlicues. I grazed my way through lunch.
I sat back and Ned caught my eye. “Would it be possible for you to tell me now a little about the changes you’ve made?”
“Sure,” I replied.
Ned opened his notebook and pulled a pen from a holder inside.
“There’s only one overall change I’ve made. I created a theme for each room.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“One is called the puzzle and game room. There’s a large jigsaw puzzle guests can work on, set up on a table. There are smaller ones a person could finish during a weekend stay. I have antique puzzle boxes that are decorative and can be a challenge to figure out. There is also a variety of well-known board games as well as some unusual ones from the Victorian era.”
Ned was taking notes in small, precise, cursive handwriting. No time or energy lost with large loops. “Interesting. Do you find people ask for particular rooms?”
“Absolutely. We have a lot of pictures and descriptions online. It’s rare that a person hasn’t made a choice before calling.”
“Where did you find the furnishings?”
“Antique stores, garage sales, arts and crafts stores. I started looking as soon as my boss, Michael Corrigan, the owner of Resorts International, the company that owns this inn, approved the idea. There was a renovation planned before I started as manager, so the timing was good to make changes. When I was hired, I went back home to get my things. I found a number of items in Jackson, Wyoming, near where I lived on my parents’ cattle and guest ranch. I shopped my way across the states as I drove here. It’ll be a fun work in progress for a while to come.”
Ned nodded and closed his notebook. “It sounds like an innovative idea. I’d like to do a couple of articles. One specifically about the inn and the rooms and one about you being new to Redwood Cove and how you feel about it.”
“Wonderful!”
It would be a great opportunity for advertising the bed-and-breakfast as well as an opportunity for people to learn about the changes.
Ned turned to Clarence and they engaged in conversation as I finished my lunch. Every so often Peter cast a frown in our direction. People settled back in their chairs with contented sighs and empty plates. Elise and I cleared the dishes as people conversed.
“Class,” Elise said when we were finished, “I’d like to introduce you to Peter Smith. He’s won the contest the last five years, is very knowledgeable about all things mushroom, and has agreed to help answer questions you might have.”
Peter stood. “Thanks, Elise. The lunch was outstanding. Your culinary talents continue to delight and amaze those fortunate enough to taste your creations.”
Once again a rosy glow graced her cheeks. It was nice to see Peter had a pleasant side.
“The contest is a lot of fun.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at the group. “I’m happy to assist Elise. However, I’m out for win number six Saturday. I’ll be at the starting line waiting for the sound of the shot with all of you. The race will be on when the pistol fires.”
For the next hour, Elise instructed the class in the art of mushroom hunting. We learned about different types of fungi with names like milk cap, pig’s ear, lobster, and cauliflower. The latter indeed looked like a big, brown head of the vegetable. Peter chimed in on occasion.
Elise held up a stack of papers. “Here are the directions for where we’re going to take a mushroom walk. I’d like to meet there in half a
n hour. We’ll work as a group for an hour and then you’ll be on your own.” She passed out the information. “Remember to dress warmly. Redwood Cove can get quite chilly, especially if the fog comes in. Also, the woods can be very damp and muddy, so wear appropriate shoes.”
The inn’s guests departed for their rooms. The Professor, Timothy, and Clarence went out to take Max for a walk. I made an appointment with Ned then helped Elise clean up. Ned sat down at the counter that separated the kitchen from the work area. He opened his notebook and took out a pen.
Peter came over and planted himself next to Ned, arms crossed, feet apart. “There’s talk all over town about what you’ve been up to. People don’t like it.”
Ned looked up at him in an unhurried way. “And just what is it you’re talking about?”
The red returned to Peter’s face. “Don’t give me that. You know darn well what I’m talking about. The book you’re putting together on where to find mushrooms. The articles you’re selling on the Internet giving away the location of people’s hunting areas.”
“Everything I’ve written about is on public land.” Ned raised his pen and brought it down in a decisive movement, like a band conductor emphasizing a certain note with a baton, when he used the word public. It stopped a couple of inches from Peter’s chest like a jabbing finger. “The public has a right to know what’s out there.”
“If you weren’t spying on people, following them, you wouldn’t know about those places. The whereabouts of some of those patches have been passed down through generations. A number of families rely on those mushrooms as part of their income. You know as well as I do how difficult it can be for some people to make a living up here.”
“As I said, it’s public land.” Up went his arm and down again. Another explosive note. “The public has a right to know. It’s the public’s land.”
Peter put his face close to Ned’s, almost nose to nose. “I’d sure better not find anything about my places on your website, or else.”
Ned held his ground. “Or else what?”
“You’d better hope you never find out.” Peter barged past Ned. Windows rattled as the door slammed.
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 2