Chapter 4
Anger management issues for sure. Ned seemed unperturbed. I looked at the caramel-colored, tooled leather cover of his notebook. It reminded me of my saddle in the storage shed. Suddenly I yearned to get some riding in at the local stable. I had yet to ride on the beach. I shook my head and brought myself back to the present.
“That’s nice workmanship.” I pointed to the cover.
Ned reached out and ran his finger over the worn leather. “Thanks. My older brother made it for me. He was a captain in the army and was killed in battle. It keeps him close to me.”
I thought of my own family and how difficult it would be if I lost one of my brothers. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. I know about items that keep family with us. Mine put together a special cowboy hat for me when I began working here. Everyone contributed something to its creation.”
Ned nodded. “Nice.”
Elise had put the leftovers in the refrigerator and was almost finished cleaning the dishes.
I walked over to her. “I’m going to get my jacket and change my shoes for the mushroom hunt. It seemed like everyone loved your food and enjoyed the talk.”
“I think so, too. I saw a lot of smiles throughout the afternoon.”
I walked down the hallway to my rooms. When I opened the door, I felt like I was stepping outside. The huge glass windows directly in front of me framed the dazzling blue Pacific Ocean in the distance. Waves broke and scattered spray over the outcroppings of rock. Garden flowers filled the equally large window on my right and gave me ongoing opportunities for bird watching. The window seat was my favorite place to sit. The person who built this room had given its occupants a phenomenal gift.
I went into the bedroom, changed clothes, and pulled my red hair back into a ponytail. Retrieving a bottle of Pellegrino from the galley-sized kitchen, I paused a moment and thought about making an espresso from the commercial-size coffeemaker. My boss loved a good cup of coffee and made sure all the staff had opportunities to enjoy it as well. Glancing at the clock, I decided I didn’t have enough time.
When I entered the multipurpose room, I saw Daniel Stevens, manager of a sister property, chatting with Elise. Redwood Cove was a small town and pretty much anyone who had lived there for a long time knew each other. Daniel had his hand on a box on the counter. We shared duties, such as ordering produce and arranging for deliveries.
I joined them and nodded at the box. “Hi, Daniel. What’s up?”
“I brought over your portion of the fruit that came in. Dry goods are being delivered early tomorrow morning, and I’ll bring them over then.”
His high cheekbones, straight ebony hair tied in a ponytail, and light brown skin left no doubt as to his Native American heritage.
“There’s no rush. It can wait until after breakfast is taken care of.”
“Allie has been taking my place for breakfast delivery on the weekends. She earns a little extra money, and I think she likes being involved. It’s a three-day weekend, so she is home tomorrow. There’s no problem with me leaving Ridley House.”
Allie, his eighth-grade daughter, had the same lustrous black hair and tan complexion.
The Professor, his brother, and his friend came in.
I waved them over to join us. “Timothy and Clarence, I’d like you to meet Daniel Stevens. He manages Ridley House.”
They exchanged handshakes and greetings.
Daniel handed me a list of what was in the box. “Kelly, I’m going to a special place I know to pick chanterelles this afternoon. It’s on sacred Native American land and has beautiful views. Would you like to come with me?”
“I’d love to. I’m only staying for the first hour of Elise’s class when she’s going to walk with us. After that people will be on their own.”
“Okay. I’ll come by to pick you up. What time?”
“Elise, what time do you think I could be back here?”
“About two forty-five.”
“That works for me,” Daniel said.
“Great! I’ll see you then.”
Elise picked up her purse. “Time to go.”
The Professor addressed his guests. “I’ll meet you back here. The Silver Sentinels have a meeting in the inn’s conference room this afternoon.”
Timothy said, “Okay,” and he and Clarence headed out.
I retrieved the keys to the red Toyota pickup with Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast painted on the side. I had decided to use it when I felt there was an opportunity to advertise, and the festival certainly qualified. Putting the map on the seat, I decided it would be easier to follow Elise, who pulled out ahead of me in a brown Chevrolet sedan.
It took a little over ten minutes to arrive at the California national park area indicated in the directions. The rest of the group had assembled in the parking lot. Elise and I joined them.
Elise held up pictures of the mushrooms we might find. She explained that particular trees attracted certain fungi. The mushrooms were actually the fruit of a large underground organism. When hunters found a certain fungi area, they would return to it because more would be produced.
We began walking on dirt paths in a redwood forest of soaring trees reaching for the sky. After only a couple of feet, Elise stopped. Pointing to several mushrooms, she identified them as black trumpets. A few more steps and I found myself looking at a white growth that turned out to be matsutakes. Now that my attention was on mushrooms, I was astounded by how many I saw. Who knew the world was populated by so many different varieties? When you began to focus on something, it was amazing what you saw.
Within fifteen minutes, the group had found six different types. One woman was the proud “owner” of a very large King Bolete, otherwise known as a porcini. Elise recognized it because of its very distinctive shape and told her it was safe to eat.
At a huge tree stump about ten feet in diameter, Elise stopped. “Almost all of the original growth trees were logged years ago. What you see are second- and third-generation trees.”
The rest of the hour passed quickly.
“That’s it for our group foraging. We’ll meet back at the inn at four thirty. We’re making candy cap ice cream and cupcakes for tomorrow’s dessert.”
I wasn’t convinced that the words mushrooms and dessert should be combined, but I’d give it a try. I drove back to the bed-and-breakfast to meet Daniel.
His faded Volkswagen bus was parked in the lot. The engine knocked a bit, but it kept on going. Daniel was proud of its all-original status and kept it immaculate.
He was at the counter with Helen Rogers, the inn’s baker and assistant, sipping a cup of coffee. Helen and her young son lived on site in a small cottage.
“How did the mushroom hunting go?” Daniel asked.
“I was amazed at how many I saw when they were the focus of my attention. It makes me wonder what I miss as I walk through life.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing more of the area.”
Helen stood and put her cup down. She pushed back her gray-streaked hair, twisted it into a bun, and clasped it with a clip she pulled from her pocket. “I’m getting an early start on tonight’s appetizers, so I’ll be pretty much out of the way when the class returns.”
“Good thinking. Elise really appreciates our hosting her class. She’s had some tough times lately with losing her job.”
“She seems like a nice lady. I hope things change for her soon.” Helen opened the refrigerator and took out a brick of cheese.
Daniel and I went out the back and walked to his bus. He opened the passenger door for me, and I settled in on the worn but clean vinyl seat. He started it, and we rattled our way down the driveway.
“As I said earlier, the place I’m taking you to is sacred to my tribe. It has spiritual mea
ning to us.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me. You said you were going for chanterelles. Are you into mushroom hunting?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t know enough and don’t really have a strong interest in it. Some of the poisonous ones and the safe ones can look very similar. Chanterelles are easy to recognize. This area produces a lot of them.”
We passed a sign for Mallory National Park, then Daniel pulled off the highway onto what was almost a dirt track, not a road. We bumped along the twisting path for about five minutes. He parked, and we got out in what I felt was an enchanted forest. I breathed in the life of the woodland around me. Musty, sweet, earthy, topped off with a sprinkling of salt from the nearby ocean. Spears of sunlight cut through the towering redwoods like beacons to highlight certain areas. A raven cawed, loud and raucous, as we walked through a sunlit glen. A hawk drifted overhead, soaring on the wind currents.
Now that my consciousness was on Mother Earth, I not only saw a multitude of mushrooms but a vast variety of flowers. I thanked nature for such a wondrous place and reveled in my enhanced awareness.
Daniel led me to an area that looked down on a river with translucent water. I saw the backs of the birds flying below us.
He had brought a basket, and he led me around, showing me where the mushrooms we sought were popping up. It didn’t take us long to fill the container with spongy fungi. We went back to the overlook.
“That’s the Carson River. If you look carefully into it, you’ll see a gigantic, submerged old-growth redwood log.”
I made out the faint line of the log under the rippling water.
He handed me the binoculars he’d been carrying around his neck. “I brought these because I thought you might enjoy getting a closer look.”
I held them up and looked at the huge section of tree trunk. It leapt to life through the lenses.
“The log is immense. How big do you think it is?”
“It’s probably about twenty feet in diameter and over fifty feet in length. The loggers had to cut the big ones in pieces to take them out. It’s called a sinker log, and it’s from the logging operations of the mid–eighteen hundreds. That log is worth a lot of money.”
“Why?”
“The old-growth redwoods are very dense and tight grained. In addition, the sinker logs have unusual colors like blond and burgundy, resulting from having been in the mineral-rich water of the river. It’s jackpot time for fine woodworkers if they can locate some. They’re illegal to harvest now without a permit. Everybody I know who has requested one has been turned down, so it’s rare when any comes on the market.”
“How does any of it become available then, if it’s against the law to retrieve them?”
“There are some stashes from when it was legal to take them. And…people continue to harvest them. There’s black market redwood. The loggers come in at night with heavy equipment. There have been some accidents from chains snapping and cranes overturning.” He shook his head. “The need or greed for money. People have been killed pulling up this timber.”
Chapter 5
Daniel unlocked the bus and put the basket of mushrooms behind the driver’s seat. “After I drop you off, I’m going to pick up Allie and Tommy and take them to my place. They want to work on their homework together.”
“It’s so great they’ve teamed up.”
Tommy, Helen’s ten-year-old son, had Asperger’s, and he’d had a hard time fitting in when he and his mom moved to Redwood Cove.
“He’s a whiz at math and science,” Daniel said. “He’s done wonders for Allie’s new success in those subjects at school. She’s reading more for fun as well. Helen and I are taking them to the school’s book fair tomorrow night.”
Daniel pulled out onto the highway and drove under a canopy of soaring redwoods. Fingers of golden light reached through the trees and pointed to a lush green fern here and a brilliant cluster of red flowers there, as if not wanting us to miss nature’s treats.
I pulled my gaze away from the entrancing scenery and looked at Daniel. “It’s sweet how protective she is of him.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s a no-nonsense kid. The bullies at school know to stay away from him now.”
The tall thirteen-year-old was a force to be reckoned with.
Daniel took the turn off for the inn, drove into the parking lot, and stopped next to the inn’s truck.
“That was fun,” I said as I got out. “Thanks for showing me the area and teaching me about sinker logs.”
“You bet. Happy to do it. I’ll be back in a bit with the kids.”
“Okay.”
Helen was in the kitchen area covering trays of cheese with plastic wrap. Elise stood at the worktable putting out brushes.
I went over and picked one up. It was about six inches long with stiff bristles.
“Hi, Kelly.” Elise pulled another brush from a pouch she had on a chair. “Those are what you use to clean mushrooms. You don’t want to run them under water because they absorb too much liquid.”
“My mom taught me that years ago. I used to help her in the kitchen.” I put the brush down. “I’m going to go check on a meeting and then I’ll come back and help you set up.”
“Thanks for the offer. There’s not much to do. The class will be cleaning and preparing the mushrooms.”
As I walked down the hallway, I heard voices from the conference room. I turned and went to see what was happening. I paused at the entrance and read the name over the door—The Silver Sentinels’ Room. The word silver was for their shared hair color and sentinels for the watch they kept over their community. I entered and saw the namesakes of the room busy sorting piles of photographs.
“Hi, everyone,” I said.
Gertrude Plumber, “Gertie” for short, sat on the far side of the table facing the entrance. She looked up from the neat piles arranged in front of her. “Hello, Kelly.”
Mary Rutledge sat next to her in a fuzzy pink sweater that complemented her round, rosy cheeks. She pushed a plate of chocolate chip cookies in my direction. “Try these. I added pecans instead of walnuts.”
A light brown Chihuahua in Mary’s lap made herself visible by putting her front paws on the table. Princess, a retired hearing-assistance dog, wore a coat and jeweled collar that matched Mary’s top.
“Yah. Good. Crunchy,” Ivan Doblinsky, the larger of the two Russian brothers who were part of the group, commented as he finished his cookie.
I expected Elise and Helen might be wondering what was good and crunchy, as I imagined his booming voice had made it down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Ivan’s brother, Rudy, and the Professor had their backs to me. They were sorting through piles of black-and-white photos they’d pulled from a cardboard box.
Rudy turned toward me. “Kelly, good to see you.”
“Same here,” I replied. “What are you working on?”
The Professor glanced over his shoulder. “A while back you gave us some photographs you retrieved from Redwood Heights. We’ve been so busy we haven’t had time to work on them until now.”
Mary grinned as she sorted. “Redwood Cove appears to be crime-free at the moment, and we decided to start working on these.”
During the restoration of another property owned by Resorts International, I’d found some photos from the eighteen hundreds and had asked the Silver Sentinels if they were interested in sorting them and researching their history. They had been eager to help.
Paper charts on the wall behind them had their names with a list of responsibilities under each. Mary’s had people and clothing; Gertie’s had mansion, rooms, and stable. Ivan had the word logging under his. Rudy and the Professor had distributed photographs on the sideboard under their names.
“Gertie,” the Professor said, “since you’re doing the stable, why don’t you do carriages, too.”
“Good idea.” Gertie stood, grabbed her cane, went to the board, and added carriages under her name.
It was a good thing her list was on the lower part of the wall or she wouldn’t have been able to reach it considering she was only about five feet tall.
She looked at me and explained the process they were using. “We’re adding categories as we come across them.”
The Professor leaned over and put a photo in Gertie’s sort pile.
I walked to the other side of the table and peered around Ivan. His bulk and height didn’t make it possible for me to look over him. His photographs showed huge redwood trees in various states of being logged. One showed men sawing and another had teams of mules dragging the felled wood.
I recognized the early owners of the mansion in Mary’s stack. The lady of the manor wore a walking suit with lace at the hem and the sleeves. Her hat, tipped slightly to one side of her head, sported a small feather.
“It’ll be fun to see what you learn about the history of the place,” I said.
“Once we get them sorted, we’re going to take some to the museum and meet with the Redwood Cove Historical Society and see what they can tell us,” Rudy said.
“Thanks for your help with this,” I said.
“We’re enjoying it,” the Professor said. “Kelly, I recently decided to have a party tomorrow night for Timothy and Clarence—a pie party.”
“A pie party? How does that work?”
“Everyone brings a pie and guests get to sample them. It’s not necessary for you to bring a pie. There will be plenty. Just bring your charming self. It starts at seven thirty.”
“Professor, that doesn’t feel right. I want to contribute to the party, too.”
“Please, I insist. The inn’s kitchen is being used for the class, and you have a full house of guests.”
“Okay. I’ll agree on one condition. I’ll get some ice cream for the party, and I’ll make a pie for one of the group’s meetings.”
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 3