* * * *
The next morning I’d finished picking up the last breakfast basket when Daniel arrived. He entered with a large box of produce in his arms. I unpacked it while he went back to his vehicle for more food. Helen had gone to wake up Tommy. We’d finished putting everything away when a deputy sheriff’s car pulled in beside the blue bus.
A figure I knew well emerged from the vehicle—Deputy Sheriff Bill Stanton. I wondered what brought him here. He’d been helping Tommy with a science project, but I didn’t think that was it because he was in uniform. He occasionally took his breakfast break here. Helen prepared it for him as a thank-you, but she wasn’t fixing anything now.
I’d know soon.
He knocked at the back door, and I waved him in.
“Good morning, Deputy Stanton. How are you?”
He gave a rueful smile. “Already tired. A very early start this morning. Doesn’t bode well for the long day ahead.”
“Sounds like coffee time. Have a seat at the counter, and I’ll bring you some.”
He pulled a stool out and settled his large frame onto it. “I’d sure appreciate it.”
I knew he took it black from previous visits. I poured him a large mug, handed it to him, and sat down next to him with my own cup in hand. “What brings you here?”
Daniel had joined us and was leaning on the counter.
Deputy Stanton took a sip of the dark liquid, then put the cup down and looked at me. “Found your name in a notebook and a date for a meeting.”
I wonder what this is about.
“Whose notebook?”
“Ned Blaine’s.” The officer put his hands around the mug. “He’s been murdered.”
Chapter 7
I put my coffee cup down with a loud thud. “Oh, my gosh! What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to piece together. He was found shot to death this morning. We figured it happened last night. We’ll know more about the time after the autopsy report. Right now we’re working on when he was last seen.”
Deputy Stanton looked at Daniel. “I’m glad you’re here. You were on my list of people to talk to. He was found on your tribe’s sacred ground in Mallory National Park.”
I sat up straighter. “Daniel and I were there yesterday afternoon picking mushrooms. Ned was here when I got back. He was taking the mushroom class taught by Elise Jenkins.”
“What time did you last see him?” Stanton had his pen and pad out.
“About six.”
“Did he say anything about where he was going?”
I shook my head. “No.”
The deputy turned to Daniel. “Did you see him yesterday?”
“No. I dropped Kelly off and went to pick up Tommy and Allie.”
“Was yesterday afternoon the last time either of you visited the site?”
“It was for me,” I said. “I was here the rest of the night.”
“Actually, I did go to the park again,” Daniel said. “A friend of mine knew I was planning to mushroom hunt there. He called and left a message asking me to get some chanterelles for him. I heard it when I returned home. The kids were busy with their homework, and I knew where there were a lot of them since I’d just been there. I took a quick trip to the site.”
“Did you see Ned or anyone else?”
“No. I went out and back.”
“Kelly, in any of the conversations you had with Ned or what you observed during the class, did you hear or see anything that made you think someone might want to harm him or had a serious problem with him?”
I thought of Elise and the issues she faced. I hated to involve her, but there was no way I could dodge such a direct question and be honest.
I sighed and recounted the altercations between Peter and Ned and the conversation with Elise. I remembered Elise’s wish-you-were-dead look to Ned’s departing back but didn’t mention it. That was my interpretation, and she didn’t need any more grief in her life right now.
Stanton sipped his coffee. “He was a reporter. That meant stepping on toes now and then, and he never hesitated or backed off when he was on a story. I heard about the mushroom-site book he was writing and how he was selling information over the Internet. Not illegal, but people were upset.”
“How much are the mushrooms worth?” I asked.
“Depends on the type, condition, and availability. The right time and place, and a serious fungi hunter can bring in thousands of dollars in a day.”
Stunned, I said, “I had no idea. That sounds like enough money that someone would kill to keep their areas secret.”
“You bet,” Stanton said.
Daniel pulled a stool out and sat at the counter with us.
Stanton eyed him. “Daniel, tell me what Ned was up to that involved you. I saw your name and notes from a talk the two of you had. Haven’t had time to read them yet.”
“Ned questioned my tribe’s right to claim the knoll at Carson River as a sacred site. It gives us privileges in terms of using the land that others don’t have. Ned didn’t think it was fair, and he pushed for proof of our assertions.”
“How did your people get it designated as sacred?”
“Ceremonies have been performed there for generations. We know because it’s part of the history told in stories passed down through the years. The area has spiritual significance to us. Ned wanted something more concrete.”
“Were you able to provide him with anything?”
“There were ceremonial items found there, but he claimed they could’ve been planted. His words angered some of the younger men. The rest of us let it roll off our backs. Ned didn’t have any power. We decided we’d deal with it if we ever had to. The Feds are the ones in charge, and we weren’t struck by Ned having an inside track there.”
“Can you give me the names of those who were upset?”
“Sure, Deputy Stanton. I’ll write them down for you. While some of them were mad, I think you have much better suspects who are linked to his news reporting and his mushroom-area quest. He was just at the digging stage with us. Nothing threatened the site’s status.”
Stanton closed his notepad. “Makes sense, but I have to gather all the information I can.”
“I understand,” Daniel said.
Stanton stood and stretched. “Gotta go. Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you can find out who did this as soon as possible,” I said.
Deputy Stanton nodded. “So do I.”
Crunching gravel announced the arrival of another visitor. Through the back window I saw Elise park her vehicle next to the police car and then emerge carrying a box. Joey’s monster truck drove in and stopped next to his mother’s sedan.
I opened the back door for her. “Good morning, Elise.”
“Hi, Kelly.” She entered and put the box on the counter. “I made a mushroom-carrot-cheese loaf for you and one for Helen as a thank-you for letting me take over the kitchen.”
“That’s really nice of you.”
“Joey’s bringing in some additional food for tonight.” Elise glanced at Deputy Stanton, a questioning look on her face. “Hello, Deputy Stanton.”
The officer took a step toward Elise and pulled out his notepad. “Morning, Elise. I need to ask you a few questions.”
She frowned. “What’s this about?”
“Ned Blaine was murdered last night. I know you had some hard feelings toward him when the restaurant closed.”
Her eyes widened a fraction and her face drained of color.
Stanton took out a pen. “Where were you last night?”
“Home alone baking and watching television,” she replied in a defiant tone, her jaw now set in a firm line.
Joey had gotten out of his truck and was coming up the back steps with a paper bag. I opened the door for h
im.
Elise took the bag and put it next to the food she’d brought. “And in case you were wondering what my son was doing last night, he had a bite to eat with his friends and then watched a basketball game.” She looked at Joey. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Blaine got himself killed last night,” she said. “The deputy here is checking on where people were.”
“When was the last time you talked with Ned Blaine?” Deputy Stanton asked Joey.
“The last time I talked to him was also the last time I saw him—the town’s salmon barbecue a couple of weeks ago. I helped with setup, and he asked me some questions for a newspaper article.”
Stanton made some notes.
“Listen, Deputy Stanton, I know you know I didn’t like the guy after breaking up our shoving match when Mom lost her job.” Joey shrugged. “I didn’t like the way he worded his article about the restaurant, which had people whispering and wondering if the food poisoning was Mom’s fault, but that was a long time ago. I didn’t kill the guy.”
“Anything else, Deputy Stanton?” Elise asked. “If not, I’ll put this food away and get on with my errands.”
Stanton closed his notepad. “Nothing more for now, Elise.”
She and Joey took care of the food, said their good-byes, and left.
“Time for me to go, too,” Stanton said. “If you hear or see something you think might be helpful, give me a call.”
He departed, a full day ahead of him.
Daniel and I looked at each other.
“Quite the turn of events,” I said.
“Yes. Ned was pushy about our status but never malicious.”
We sat in silence, lost in our thoughts.
Ned Blaine.
Dead.
Why did people murder? Sometimes to obtain what someone else had. What was so important that it meant taking a person’s life? Or did a heated emotion get out of hand? Did the killer want to hide something and fear fueled the killing?
I shook my head and tried to refocus on the mundane, my to-dos for today.
I looked at the kitchen clock. “They’re giving instructions for the contest today. Participants can meet and sign up with the different groups to take them for trial mushroom hunts. I want to go see what is offered and participate in some of the activities.”
“I’m off on Ridley House errands,” Daniel said, “but I plan on swinging by the event later. Some of my guests are participating in it. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
I went to my living quarters for a warm jacket. The fog hadn’t lifted yet, and I knew the cold would knife through any fleece. I hadn’t expected to be wearing my Wyoming down jacket in California. I still had a lot to learn about the area—but I was learning fast.
The small size of Redwood Cove leant itself to walking places, so I set off for the town center at a brisk pace. The meeting for the festival was outside the town hall, built in 1910. When I arrived, I found people milling about tables filled with coffee urns, doughnuts, and croissants, all the while smiling, eating, and sipping. I poured a cup of coffee and enjoyed the warmth of it in my hands. The fog began to lift and patches of bright blue sky appeared.
Roger Simmons stood at a podium. His faded blue jeans had a neat, sharp crease down the front, leading me to believe they’d been pressed. Ironed blue jeans? That was something I’d never seen in Wyoming. A tailored black sports coat covered his broad shoulders.
A waving hand from the Professor caught my eye as I surveyed the scene. The Professor, Timothy, Clarence, and canine Max of the golden curls occupied a place on the other side of the crowd. I wound my way through the happy festival-goers and joined them.
The Professor’s bow tie matched his brown plaid cap and wool coat. Timothy and Clarence were dressed alike in black jeans and puffy coats, except for Clarence’s bright red knit scarf and cap.
“Hi. Do you know what you’re planning to sign up for today?” I asked them.
Clarence’s grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. “As many things as we can. The choices are such fun. Hiking, bicycling, horseback riding, paddling canoes, and off-roading are on our list in that order.”
Timothy petted Max’s head. “We’ve been told we go to a variety of different sites, and then we’re on our own to search for mushrooms for a period of time. Clarence and I are going to do the activities together and then separate when we reach an area for searching. That’ll allow us to share the fun of the traveling part together.”
“That sounds like a great plan,” I said.
I heard tapping on the microphone and turned my attention to Roger.
“Welcome, everyone,” he said. “It’s wonderful to see such a large turnout for our Mushroom Festival. Thank you for coming.”
The crowd clapped. I noticed Peter off to my left.
“The purpose today is for you to see the ways you can go hunting tomorrow and try them out. The trips are short and we have two in the morning and three this afternoon. Tomorrow the excursions will be longer, with one in the morning and two in the afternoon. Sign-up information is on the table over there.” He pointed to an area next to the building.
People turned and looked. A volunteer held up a stack of papers.
“We’re asking that you make your decisions for tomorrow by five today so the vendors know how many to prepare for. There will be a box on the table for you to put your forms in.”
Members of the different businesses gave five-minute overviews of what they offered and half an hour was designated for people to ask questions and sign up for what they wanted to do.
When that was finished, Roger addressed the crowd. “You’ve now had an opportunity to learn about your choices and make your decisions as to what you’re doing today. We’re out to see who can find the widest variety of mushrooms tomorrow. There are two groups—locals who live within thirty miles of town and are familiar with the area, and people outside of that. The winners will receive a carved redwood mushroom with a winner’s plaque. No prize money is involved. It’s just for fun. This is a good faith contest and we’re trusting you to follow the rule about not picking mushrooms today.”
People nodded in agreement.
“You’ve been given permission to go on some private property. I want you to know the owners have surveillance cameras at some sites where rare mushrooms are found because of their monetary worth. You have permits for the parks and some of their areas are monitored as well. Anyone seen picking mushrooms on the cameras today will automatically be disqualified. Now, if you’ll…”
A loud squeal followed by a series of grunts disrupted his final words. I saw a tall, lean man walking a black-and-white potbellied pig in a harness down a ramp attached to a pickup truck. The pig squealed again when it reached the ground. Her curly tail never stopped moving.
I realized Peter had moved next to me during Roger’s speech.
His face flushed red. “What the…”
Roger cleared his throat. “We have some unusual participants this year in the form of two animals trained to find mushrooms. We have a dog, Maximillian, and a pig named Priscilla. The committee hasn’t had requests to use animals before. It’s being allowed this year. After the contest is over, they will meet and discuss what the rules are in the future.”
Peter began slamming his right fist into his left hand. A loud smacking sound punctuated each hit. I spied Deputy Stanton in the crowd near us. He walked in our direction.
Stanton stopped in front of Peter. “Quite the temper you have there. That’s what led to the incident at the bar a few nights ago.”
Peter glared at him, his lips clamped shut.
Stanton continued, “I hear you’ve had problems with Ned Blaine. When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Yesterday afternoon at the mushroom class. Why do you want to know?” Peter asked
in a challenging tone.
“What were you doing last night?” Deputy Stanton asked.
“I was home watching television until I went to bed.” Peter’s nostrils flared. “Like I said, why do you want to know?”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“No. I was alone. Stanton, what is this about?”
“Are you sure yesterday afternoon was the last time you saw Ned Blaine? Or did you see him last night and your temper got out of control? Did you lose it and kill him?”
Chapter 8
Brash, hotheaded Peter stepped back from the deputy. He began shaking his head. “No way. No way you’re going to pin this on me.” Peter took another step back. “I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t kill him. He had plenty of enemies.”
“I’m not accusing you, Peter.” Stanton smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just asking questions.”
“Anything else, Deputy Stanton?” Peter spat the words out.
“Not for now.”
Peter stamped off without a good-bye or a backward look.
Stanton looked at me. “Thanks again for the coffee.” With a nod, he left.
Roger was no longer at the podium. I’d been so engrossed in the exchange between the officer and Peter, I hadn’t heard his final comments. The Professor, Timothy, and Clarence had joined the man with Priscilla the pig. I walked over to them.
I stopped next to the Professor. “Were any more instructions given? I didn’t hear the last part of what was said.”
“Roger said the activities would begin in half an hour and there was still time to sign up.”
“What are you going to do first?”
“I’m not going. I’ll stay here and enjoy a cup of coffee. Timothy and Clarence plan to hike. Priscilla and her owner are going to go along with them.”
“It should be fun seeing the dog and pig hunting mushrooms.”
The Professor nodded. “I agree. They are bike riding after that. Then this afternoon the boys are doing horseback riding, canoeing, and off-roading, in that order.”
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll go register.”
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 5