Murder at the Mushroom Festival

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Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 9

by Janet Finsilver


  The three of us walked to our vehicles. Clarence unlocked his truck, reached under the driver’s seat, and pulled out a blue vest with service dog printed on both sides.

  “Come here, Max.” Clarence held it out.

  The dog rushed to him, wiggling from one end to the other. I couldn’t quite tell with all the long hair on his face, but I thought he was smiling.

  “It seems like he’s excited about wearing the vest,” I said.

  “I agree,” Clarence replied. “I think it makes him feel special. He struts and prances when he has it on.”

  Clarence then took out a plastic container with Max written on the top and gave the dog a biscuit.

  Timothy took out the directions to the last event we’d signed up for today, which started in half an hour. The guys were going to stop for coffee. I decided to go on ahead and see what I could find out before the off-roading started. Clarence, Timothy, and Max got into Clarence’s green Toyota pickup. Max sat in the middle with the same upright posture I’d seen in the boat.

  I arrived at the site of the next event—a parking lot adjacent to a beach. The tide was going out and strings of glistening seaweed littered the packed sand. The salty smell of the ocean drenched me with its pungent scent. A black-and-white bird hopped on orange legs in search of bugs.

  I recognized Elise’s son’s vehicle, with its oversize tires and winch on the front. Three other trucks were parked in the area. A group of men had gathered next to the vehicles. Joey appeared at the side of his truck and put a sign against the back tire that said Happy Trails Off-Roading Company.

  “Hi there,” I said.

  He looked up and smiled. “Hello, Ms. Jackson. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Please, call me Kelly. I didn’t realize you were going to be part of this event.”

  “Yeah. My friends and I started a tour business. It’s a chance for us to advertise.”

  “I’ve been collecting information about different activities I can share with my guests. Please tell me about what you have to offer.”

  “We do a variety of trips. It depends on what people want to experience. For example—”

  “Hey, Joey, we’re meeting now,” one of the men called out.

  “I have to go. We need to work out some details of the drive. I’ll tell you more later.” He left to join the others.

  Clarence pulled in and parked next to me. The three of them got out. Max trotted around…and around…and around. It was like he was saying, Everyone look at me. I’m wearing this cool vest.

  Others arrived and we were soon getting our instructions. Joey explained this was a “gentle” drive. He went on to talk a bit about what their company offered. People piled into the vehicles. I chose to go with Joey. A balding man wearing a tan sweatshirt with a large brown mushroom on it joined us, filling the truck’s cab.

  We drove about twenty minutes, often over roadless terrain. I’d ridden on horses a lot in areas without roads or paths, but rarely in a vehicle. I also occasionally helped drive trucks with fencing supplies across pastures, but this was different.

  I wouldn’t have used the word gentle to describe the ride, as I bounced like I was on a trampoline. Joey drove us through ditches and rocky creek beds, water spraying up on both sides. Once again we went uphill, but our beasts of burden were mechanical this time. I’m sure Clarence was much happier.

  We parked in a grassy field. Joey gave directions and handed out maps. The fungi foragers marched off.

  I walked over to Joey. “You were beginning to tell me about your new business.”

  “Right.”

  He explained how they drove people to remote areas that couldn’t be accessed by normal vehicles. Depending on what kind of experience people wanted, it could be an easy ride or a rugged one, reminiscent of the Rubicon Trail, where they went over boulders and through streams.

  “It’s been a great way to get paid for something we love to do.”

  “Do you have brochures?”

  “Yeah. They’re pretty minimal right now, since we’ve just started. We’ll do something nicer when we get more money. I’ll get you some.”

  He walked to his vehicle and rummaged behind the driver’s seat, then closed the door and headed back toward me. What I needed in addition to his pamphlets was information about our suspects that he knew—Roger and Peter.

  He handed me some pamphlets. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  Joey started to turn away. I knew he’d been to Roger’s gallery, but he didn’t know I had that information.

  “Your mom told me you were into woodworking. Have you seen Roger Simmons’s collection?”

  He turned around. “Yeah, man, cool stuff. I helped Peter deliver some wood, and he showed us his studio and the work area. Man, the tools he has are incredible. I don’t have the equipment yet to do anything as polished as he creates.”

  I continued to pretend ignorance. “I’ve been learning about sinker logs. Is that what Peter sells?”

  “Sometimes. He has a stack of wood in a barn on his property. He sells other types as well.”

  I pressed on. “I was surprised when I found out how much the logs are worth.”

  “Yeah.” He shifted from one foot to the other and glanced over toward his friends. “They have a lot of unusual colors.”

  “I understand it’s illegal to harvest them without a permit, but some people are doing it anyway. I was told retrieving them can be very dangerous.”

  His face got a closed expression, and his eyes hardened. “So I hear. Is there something in particular you want to know?”

  “No, just making conversation.” That sounded a bit lame, even to me.

  One of the young men from the group of drivers had taken out a football while we’d been talking. Joey glanced over to where a game of pass and catch had started. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him.

  “I’ll be sure to put your brochures out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He joined the group in time to catch a hard pass to his chest. A short, sandy-haired man bumped him hard. Joey shoved back, and they laughed.

  The man clapped Joey on the back. “Sorry you couldn’t stay with us to see the game last night. There were some great moves.”

  “Yeah. I had a chance to earn a few bucks and didn’t want to pass that up.”

  They sauntered over to Joey’s truck and leaned back on its red metal side, soaking up the sun.

  A new piece of information. Joey hadn’t watched the game. Where was he? Did he have an alibi? He was on our list of suspects because of his mom and his connection with Peter.

  Another question to answer.

  The group returned, and we began the drive back. On our way to the meadow, we had gone up a challenging hill where I’d seen more sky than ground. Downhill I could see where we were going, but at such a steep angle, I wondered if the back of the pickup would come up and flip us over. I decided I was sticking with horses.

  I met Clarence and Timothy in the parking lot. “I’m heading back to the inn.”

  Timothy nodded. “We’ll be along shortly for our dinner event.”

  “Can’t wait to try the candy cap mushroom ice cream,” Clarence said.

  He bent down and began to unbuckle Max’s vest. Clarence paused for a moment. “I’ll leave it on a little longer. He seems to be enjoying it so much.”

  Maybe Clarence was beginning to accept what he needed to do to help himself.

  We went our separate ways. When I arrived back at the inn, I found Elise in the kitchen preparing food.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

  Elise wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Sure. How about putting the name cards on the table?”

  “Happy to.”

  Elise reached in her traveling bag and pul
led out a stack of placards. Suddenly, she froze and her lips became a tight, straight line. “We won’t be needing this one.”

  She put the cards on the counter, except for one she held in her hand. Elise went to the sink and pulled the recycling bin out from underneath it. She began to tear the name card into little pieces. Her face contorted, and she ripped faster and harder.

  I could see the name Ned Blaine disappear in shreds as her fury devoured it, letter by letter.

  Startled, I said, “Elise, that man was killed. I know you’re upset about the restaurant, but—”

  “It’s not that. He was a blackmailing son-of-a-gun. The world is a much better place without him.”

  Chapter 13

  “Blackmailing! Was he blackmailing you?”

  Elise took a pot from the stove and slammed it down on a hot pad. “Forget I said that…please. It just slipped out.”

  “But it might be important to the police. Maybe the person—”

  “I said forget it. The person he was blackmailing had nothing to do with his murder. I know that for a fact.”

  “But—”

  Two class members entered the workroom. “Welcome.” Elise acted as if nothing was wrong and hurried over to them.

  There’d be no more talk of blackmail for now, but I wasn’t going to let it drop.

  Helen entered, went to the refrigerator, and pulled out a tray of different cheeses. “Hi, Kelly. How was your day?”

  I shoved thoughts of blackmail to the back of my mind. “It was a lot of fun. I’ve never done so many different activities in such a short period of time. I hiked, went horseback riding, paddled a canoe, and went off-roading.”

  Helen laughed. “That sounds like a full day.”

  “Definitely. I picked up a lot of information we can share with the guests. Next week, when we have more time, I’ll go over it with you, and we can add it to our binders in the parlor.”

  “Okay. I look forward to hearing about them.” Helen took the plastic wrap off of the platter. “I’ll put the cheese and wine out for the inn guests. Incidentally, Phil and Andy arrived. They’re in the common room of the Maritime Suite.”

  “Great! I’ll go say hi.”

  Cheesemonger Andy Brown and wine expert Philopoimen, “Phil,” supplied the cheese and wine for the Resorts International inns in the area as well as a number of other local establishments. In addition, they were often asked to do pairings for public and private events. We asked them to cater for our guests when they requested a party.

  I shot a glance at Elise. Her back was to me and she was talking to the young couple with animated hand gestures. She was completely focused on them. I got the message there was no room for her to talk with me.

  I walked across the parking lot to a two-story building. The bottom housed a working area for our employees, as well as storage space. The upper floor had recently been renovated into four guest rooms and a common area with a table, chairs, and a small kitchen. I’d chosen a seagoing theme for the unit.

  When the idea of creating special rooms had been approved, I shared my thoughts with the Silver Sentinels. They had enthusiastically jumped in, listing places where I could find interesting pieces to decorate the rooms. When an accommodation was completed, I took them on a tour.

  An ongoing treasure hunt had evolved. The Silver Sentinels scoured antique stores and rummage sales and texted me with pictures when they found something I might be interested in—everything from a collection of leather-bound books to an antique porcelain doll.

  For the Maritime Suite, Ivan and Rudy, retired fishermen, tied four intricate sailors’ knots for me. I learned Helen was a calligrapher when she offered to write the names of each one. Mary had searched the Internet to find frames for the placards. The end result was a stunning, unusual display on one wall of the common room.

  I climbed the stairs and entered the shared room as Andy unwrapped a soft, blue-veined cheese and placed it on a crystal platter, with parsley and purple violets along the rim. He stepped back and eyed his creation, the smile creasing his plump cheeks, delivering a message of satisfaction.

  He looked at me. “Kelly, it’s so good to see you. Are you ready to do some sampling? I have some new cheeses.”

  “And I, my dear”—Phil put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug—“have a new wine that complements them nicely. One you’ll particularly love, because the winery has a dog adoption area setup there.”

  “Dog adoption at a winery? That sounds like a wonderful idea. Please tell me more,” I said.

  “First”—Andy cocked one of his bushy gray eyebrows at me—“do you have time for a tasting?”

  I glanced at my watch. I could spare a little time before leaving for Scott’s place. “Sure. I can stay for a bit.”

  It had been a while since I’d had a chance to sit with these two learned men and discuss wine and cheese. I always learned a lot from my conversations with them.

  Phil picked up a bottle and displayed the label. It had a collage of photographs showing six dogs. They ranged in size from a pint-sized terrier to one big dog that looked like a St. Bernard. Felix, Trixie, Sophia, Tony, Fluffy, and Queenie gazed at me with imploring eyes.

  “Dogville Winery started a rescue group a couple of years ago. They thought it would be a great opportunity for people to sample wine and possibly meet the next member of their family—one with four legs.”

  “I’ve heard of coffee shops doing that with cats,” I said. “This is the first I’ve heard of a winery providing it for dogs.”

  “It’s a win-win situation. Some come expressly to see the dogs and then end up sampling wine, and with others it’s vice versa.” He uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount in a glass and handed it to me. “They’re doing quite well with both their endeavors.”

  I sniffed the wine and swirled it like Phil had shown me when we first met. That time he’d taken me on a vertical flight of wines—a selection of wine made by the same winery over a number of years.

  I took a sip and found this current event offering smooth, with flavors I didn’t recognize. I didn’t pretend to be a wine connoisseur and trusted Phil to choose and describe the wine for our guests.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s nice.”

  “Nice?” Phil pointed his finger at me. “Kelly, you are now the manager of a bed-and-breakfast in the heart of wine country. Come, my dear, let’s start seeing what else you can discern.”

  Andy placed a small plate with a couple of cheeses in front of me and a basket of crackers. “Let her nibble on some Grana Podano and Mimolette while you share wine talk.”

  “Thanks, Andy.” I turned back to Phil. “You know it’s a foreign language to me.”

  “And when learning a new language, you need to start somewhere.”

  I took another sip. “It’s crisp, and there seems to be a citrus flavor.” I sipped again. “And I think maybe some apple.”

  He nodded, teacher to a beginning pupil. “Much better! There’s also a touch of pear.”

  “Thanks for the lesson.” I put a golden slice of cheese on a water cracker. “Are you doing any events while you’re here?”

  Andy settled in a chair at the table. “Roger Simmons hired us to provide and serve the cheese and wine for a party tonight and one tomorrow night.”

  I sat up. Roger Simmons—one of our suspects.

  “Have you worked for him before?”

  Phil poured some wine for Andy and himself. “A number of times. It’s always a joy because he spares no expense. He encourages us to find the best and most unique supplies. We get to sample varieties we rarely have an opportunity to experience.”

  “How would you describe his interactions with people?”

  Andy sipped his wine. “He’s always very cordial and treats his staff well. Roger’s ver
y organized and contacts us well in advance of any party he’s planning. Why do you ask?”

  “I met him recently and was curious about him.”

  And he was on our charts to investigate. Andy and Phil could be an extra pair of eyes and ears, since they would be spending two nights with Roger and his guests. It was quite likely some people would be talking about Ned Blaine’s murder.

  “I’d like to ask you to assist me and the Silver Sentinels.”

  I explained what had happened and our concern for Daniel. They were happy to do whatever they could to help.

  I finished by saying, “Stolen sinker logs and finding prime mushroom-hunting areas to sell online and in a book were two of the areas the reporter was working on. We know he had interactions with Roger Simmons, Elise Jenkins and her son, Joey, and Peter Smith.”

  Andy added chunks of bread to the basket. “We met Elise when we arrived this afternoon. I don’t know her son, Joey, or Peter. What about you, Phil?”

  Phil shook his head. The short, tight gray curls covering his head glinted in the overhead light. “No.”

  I put my glass down. “I’ll be seeing the Silver Sentinels tonight. We’ll set up a meeting time for tomorrow, and I’ll let you know when it is. Perhaps you’ll be able to get together with us.”

  “We both have deliveries in the morning,” Andy said, “but we purposely left the afternoon free in case we had to do additional preparation for the second party. We should be able to attend your meeting for a while if it’s noon or later.”

  “Thank you both so much for helping.” I stood. “And thank you for the superb wine and cheese.” I turned to Phil. “I enjoyed the lesson and beginning to learn a new language.”

  We said our good-byes and I trotted down the steps, energized that we had additional assistance. As I neared the back porch, I saw Tommy and Fred on the lawn in front of their cottage. Tommy rolled over and sat up in front of Fred. He did this a second time. Curious, I went over to see what he was up to.

  “Hi, Tommy.”

 

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