Murder at the Mushroom Festival

by Janet Finsilver

  Roger had been making the rounds and now came up to our table.

  “How is your aunt?” Scott asked. “The men told me what happened when they came back to the center to get what they needed for the trip.”

  “Much better. They weren’t sure she was going to make it at first. My name’s on the emergency contact form. I’m the one responsible for any family medical decisions that need to be made. It was important for me to be there.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s improving,” Scott said. “The men loved the posh hotel and the two hundred dollars you said they could spend on room service for late-night snacks and breakfast.”

  “Happy to do it. They were excellent drivers and very conscientious about helping me. Many of the guests had left when I got the call, so it worked out for the men to leave for a while to get their belongings. I still had two other valets.”

  “You must be pretty tired.”

  “I was up all night, but I’m doing fine. I slept in the car on the way home and napped a bit this afternoon.”

  A young woman in a uniform came by and picked up our plates. Roger and Scott’s talk turned to the next steps for the community center, and I tuned out. Roger was gone all night. That meant he couldn’t have put the note on my truck, unless he did it while the drivers went to get their things. I wondered if Phil or Andy could provide more information about the evening, so I walked over to talk to them.

  Andy was replenishing one of his cheese trays and Phil was surveying the room.

  “I have a question about last night and Roger’s trip to San Francisco,” I said.

  They both looked at each other, shrugged, and then Phil said, “I don’t know anything about a trip.”

  Andy chimed in, “Neither do I.”

  I explained, and then Andy said, “Now I understand a comment by one of the valets. Roger hired a couple of them to come early and help us unpack. They were scheduled to help pack up at the end of last night’s party as well. One of them came to me and said they had to leave for a short while to get some things from home but they’d be back in time to assist us, which they were.”

  “Do either of you know if Roger left while they were gone?”

  “I can answer that,” Phil said. “My job was to tend the wine for as long as he had company. A small number of guests lingered and Roger conversed with them from the time our helper let us know his plans until he returned. Roger was here the whole time.”

  “He actually left with the men before we finished packing up,” Andy added. “The other valets helped us.”

  Roger couldn’t have put the note on the window of my truck. One more small piece of the puzzle to add to our charts. The question remained, who put the threat on my truck?

  Chapter 25

  Roger came over to the table. “Phil, I’d like some more of the cabernet.”

  “Sure thing.” He took Roger’s glass and poured him some wine. “Roger, there are a half dozen bottles left from last night. What would you like us to do with them?”

  “Please put them in the wine cellar…no, wait. Let’s have a drawing and give them away to tonight’s guests. They’re exceptionally nice wines, worth over a hundred dollars a bottle. They’ll make fun gifts.”

  “Great idea,” Phil said.

  Roger began to walk away. “I’ll go cut strips of paper.”

  “I’d be happy to help,” I volunteered.

  Maybe I’ll have a chance to ask him some questions.

  “Wonderful. Follow me.”

  He led me to an enormous kitchen with black granite counters, with fluorescent blue specks embedded throughout the stone. The catering staff busily worked to replenish trays being emptied by the hungry guests. We passed through to a spacious pantry. He stopped at a series of drawers, opened one, and pulled out two orange-handled pairs of scissors. One was smaller than the other, and he handed those to me. Another drawer held plain white paper.

  He took several sheets, folded them in half, and cut a few strips. “That looks about right.”

  Roger handed me some paper, and I began cutting. “Thanks for taking the time to introduce me to people tonight. I’m looking forward to getting together with them.”

  “You’re welcome. I like helping local businesses, and networking is one way to do that.” He opened a cabinet, pulled down a large basket, and put his paper strips in it.

  I tossed mine in with his. I took a couple more sheets of paper. “Did you hear about the big sinker log being stolen?”

  I sensed rather than saw a change in his demeanor. There was a tenseness that hadn’t been there before.

  “I did, as a matter of fact. It was a beauty. I’ve admired it for years.”

  I hesitated. I wanted to ask him if he had bought it, but that would be a clear admission on his part he’d taken in stolen property. Asking him if he took it was out of the question.

  “It’s probably in a cargo box on a steamer headed to China by now,” Roger commented.

  Or it’s in your work area.

  Had his attitude changed because I was asking questions about the log? Or because he was angry someone else had gotten it?

  “The log was near where the reporter was killed, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes, his body was found on a knoll above the river in an area that looked down on where it was.”

  Roger cut more strips of paper. “I wonder if there’s any connection.”

  He appeared perfectly comfortable talking about Ned Blaine’s murder. I didn’t sense any nervousness. If he killed Ned, he was a great actor or it seemed he didn’t have any feelings about what he’d done.

  “No idea,” I replied. “I’ll be glad when they catch whoever did it. It’s scary to have a killer on the loose.”

  He threw more strips into the basket, and I followed suit.

  Roger took another basket down from the cupboard. “The man had a lot of enemies because of all his poking around. I doubt it was a random killing. It’s unlikely others are in danger.”

  “I hope you’re right. I’ll still be happy when the person is caught.”

  “I understand.” He picked up the baskets. “We’ll use the empty one for people to put their names in.”

  We returned to the dining area. Roger went to a credenza where a crystal pitcher sat. He picked up a matching stir stick and tapped the container with it, creating a high-pitched sound that drew people’s attention. Everyone quieted.

  “I have an announcement to make. We’re going to have a drawing for some fine bottles of wine.”

  The crowd’s enthusiastic response of claps, whistles, and joyful exclamations declared the idea a winner. Roger tapped again. All talking ceased.

  “Kelly and I cut strips of paper for your names.” He put the basket containing them on a coffee table. “I’ll leave an empty one here on the credenza for you to put your slips in when you’re done.”

  Women searched their purses for pens and men pulled them out of their shirt pockets. Roger opened a drawer in the chest, took out a tray of pens, and placed it on the coffee table. People began writing their names down and passing pens around.

  I found an empty chair near the coffee table and picked up a slip of paper. The pen tray was empty. I started to rise to go get my purse, then noticed a pen was headed my way only a couple of people away. I sat and decided to wait for it.

  I looked around for Scott. He was conversing with a gentleman I’d been introduced to who owned an office supply store. I figured he was doing some of his own networking.

  The woman next to me tapped me on the shoulder. “Would you like a pen?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I took it from her.

  And froze. I suddenly felt sick. I could hardly breathe.

  The pen had the name of a restaurant on it. The Blue Moon Restaurant. The one that Ned said closed many years ago and c
laimed the pen was now one-of-a kind. It must be Ned Blaine’s pen.

  I felt a rush of blood to my face. It felt like I was on fire. I leaned forward, letting my hair cover the sides of my face. I put the slip on the coffee table and wrote my name. My hand shook. Without looking up, I pulled my right hand back and slipped the pen into my front jeans pocket. It was too shallow for the pen to be completely concealed, so I pulled my sweater down. It would do the job if I didn’t move too much.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, sat back in the chair, and scanned the room. Both Roger and Scott were staring at me. Scott had a concerned look on his face. I couldn’t read Roger’s expression.

  Roger started toward me, as did Scott. An enthusiastic guest stepped in front of Roger, stopping him. I could hear his “thank you for the great party” from where I sat.

  I stood and tugged my sweater down, went and deposited my name in the drawing basket, then wove my way through the crowd. As I retrieved my purse and headed for the entryway, I felt someone beside me.

  Scott. “It’s a lovely night outside. No fog and the stars are out in full force. Let’s step outside for a few minutes and enjoy them.”

  The frown on his face made it clear this wasn’t a romantic moment.

  We walked out and away from the lights of the porch, then he stopped and turned to me.

  “Kelly, what happened in there? You have a traffic-light face. Green is when you’re smiling, yellow is the slight frown you get when you’re trying to figure something out or you’re concerned, and red is when you’re upset. What I just saw in there was bright red. What’s going on? I’ve never seen your face so flushed.”

  I unzipped my purse and pulled out a clean tissue. “I think I found Ned Blaine’s pen, the reporter who was murdered.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  As I wrapped the pen up and put it in the side pocket of my purse, I explained the pen’s history.

  “Someone in that room had this pen. While Ned might have left it somewhere accidentally, I saw him with it Thursday afternoon. So how did it get from him to here? There’s a good chance the murderer is in there.”

  “There’ll be so many prints on it, I don’t see how it could be helpful.”

  “I know, but I’ll still call Deputy Stanton.”

  Scott sighed. “You insist on being in the thick of things.”

  “Scott, you know Daniel was taken in for more questioning today.”

  We moved back to the edge of the light, now I had the pen put away.

  “Yes, Michael told me. I helped arrange for the attorney to get to him.”

  “If you had seen his daughter crying, you’d know why I’m doing this. I promise I’m being careful, but I’ll do everything I can to find Blaine’s murderer.”

  “Okay, Kelly. What do you want to do now?”

  “I want to go back in for a short while and be the happy guest. Then thank Roger and leave.”

  “All right. I doubt anyone is going to be alarmed about the pen missing. Since it was being passed around, whoever had it wasn’t concerned about the pen. However, I want to escort you to your car and follow you back to the inn.”

  “Scott—”

  “It’s only a few minutes out of the way for me. I’ll feel better watching you walk into the building and close the door behind you…and lock it.”

  I wanted to protest, but more than that, I wanted to get moving.

  “I appreciate your concern.”

  We walked back in together and heard Roger hit his crystal gong a few times. The drawing was about to begin.

  “Any more names for the basket?” Roger glanced around at the eager crowd.

  People shook their heads and no one stepped forward.

  “I’ve asked Phil, our wine sommelier, to give a brief description of the wines and to pick the names.”

  Phil held up a bottle with a gold label and proceeded to give a couple of sentences of wine talk. He ran his fingers around in the basket and pulled a name. “Elise Jenkins,” he declared.

  Elise gave a “Yippee!” of delight and claimed her prize.

  Peter gave her a hug when she got back to him.

  After another brief wine description, Phil chose the next name. “Kelly Jackson!”

  Totally surprised, I walked forward.

  Phil handed me the bottle. “Congratulations, Kelly.”

  He continued through the process until all the wine was claimed. Scott stayed with me as I touched base with some of the people I’d met earlier. I introduced Scott to the ones he didn’t know. When I was ready to leave, I went to thank Roger and say good-bye.

  “Kelly, thank you for your help with the drawing.”

  He was a difficult man to read. Was it a warm thank you or an inquisitive assessment in his eyes?

  “It was a great success,” I said.

  “Seems like it.”

  “Thank you for the wonderful time. I’m going to excuse myself. I have a meeting in the morning and some preparation work I need to do.”

  Time to update the charts.

  “Thank you for coming.” He turned to Scott and shook his hand. “Good to see you again. I’ll be hiring your people for more events in the future.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll let them know.”

  I reclaimed my jacket and Scott stayed with me while the valets went to get our vehicles. He offered to hold my bottle of wine as I put on my parka and zipped it up to ward off the onset of the chilly night air.

  The cars arrived one after the other.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Scott said.

  “Okay.”

  He followed me home and walked me to the back door.

  “I’ll wait until I hear the click of the lock.”

  I laughed. “You are thorough.”

  “I don’t want Murphy’s Law to be in effect and find out later the lock decided not to work.”

  I nodded and smiled. “I understand.”

  He started to say something else, then one of the guests drove in.

  We said good night. I went in, locked the door, and gave him a wave through the window. He smiled and trotted down the stairs. I did a routine check of the parlor. The fire was almost out.

  I swung by the study and put the pen in the office safe.

  I went to my rooms and pulled my phone out to call Stanton, then saw a text from Corrigan. He’d planned on coming next week but had rearranged his schedule and would be arriving tomorrow morning. He’d be by as soon as he could make it. I texted Daniel to let him know.

  I called Stanton and told him I had what I believed to be Ned Blaine’s pen and how it had come into my possession. He felt like Scott and I that, with so many people handling it, it was unlikely he’d get anything of value from it. He said he’d come by tomorrow and pick it up. I told him I’d put it behind the bottom step of the back porch.

  “Elise and Joey made an appointment with me, and I talked with them this afternoon,” Stanton said. “I know who bumped into you and put you in the water.”

  “Who?” I almost shouted.

  “Joey.”

  It made no sense. Why push me in then pull me out?

  Chapter 26

  “Why did he do it?”

  “Not a why, according to him. He said he stumbled and accidentally bumped into you. He was too embarrassed to tell you. Personally, I’m not buying it. I’d watch myself around him, if I were you. Since he also saved you and no one actually saw the incident, there’s nothing I can charge him with.”

  The deputy said he’d talked to some of the guides and they told him Joey had been near the area where I went in, but no one had witnessed him pushing me. Stanton told Joey he planned to question the rest of the guides, and if someone saw him shove me, he’d take action. That was when Joey confessed to the accidental p
ush into the river.

  “It was a pretty clever move on his part to tell me he did it,” Stanton said. “I doubt if anyone would’ve been close enough to be able to tell the difference between a bump and a push. He did a good job of covering himself.”

  He went on to tell me what else had transpired. Elise had kept her word and she and Joey had talked about the blackmailing by Ned Blaine.

  “I’m telling you about Joey being blackmailed because Elise says she talked with you about it. I’m not at liberty to give you any other information I received about the blackmailing.”

  “I understand. She told me this afternoon.”

  I didn’t mention she had contacted him at my insistence or that the conversation took place before he arrived.

  We ended the call, and I turned in for the night, with many questions and few answers on my mind.

  The next morning I retrieved Ned’s pen and put it behind the back porch step for Deputy Stanton to pick up. Helen and I made quick work of cleaning up baskets and leftover breakfast food. I let her know Corrigan was coming and could show up at any time.

  Helen put the last of the dishes in the washer. “Tommy, Allie, and I are going to the festival presentations in town. Priscilla’s owner said she’d be there, and the kids want to see her again.”

  “I plan on being there as well.”

  I headed for the conference room, wanting to update the information before Corrigan arrived. I added finding the pen and Roger not being the note deliverer on the “other” chart. After “Joey” I wrote accidental river pushing with a question mark, being blackmailed, and finding the body. I wondered if the others would have anything to contribute. Helen brought in the usual refreshments and the room was ready for the meeting.

  Andy and Phil texted as promised. Unfortunately, neither of them had heard or seen anything they thought would further our investigation.