For an instant the set was empty, then Thelma came into view. She stopped by the row of jars and picked them up one by one, squinting at their labels. Finding the one she apparently was looking for, she glanced around furtively as if making sure no one was watching. She must not have noticed Drake. Perhaps he’d been around so much he’d become part of the background, or maybe she was worried only about the Culinary Arts Club members. After seeing the way he spied on Ashley, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he were hiding behind one of the partitions that divided the vast hall into sections and poking the camera around its edge.
The image shook as the camera zoomed in on Thelma’s hands holding the jar. She unscrewed the metal ring that held the lid in place and pried the lid off with a fingernail. One hand disappeared for a moment. Then came back into view holding—I couldn’t see what, exactly, but it looked like a small envelope or a folded piece of paper. She tipped the paper over the top of the jar and tapped it. Next she took a spoon and stirred the jam, blending in the ingredient, whatever it was, that she’d just added. Looking around one more time, she recapped the jar and tiptoed away.
“Did you see that?” Teddy asked. “She put something in one of the jars. Do you think it was Mrs. Tucker’s jar? Maybe she’s the one who made the jam taste like poison.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” I stood. “I’m going to show this to Thelma Jenkins and see what she says.”
“Me too.” Teddy got up to follow me.
My plan was to take Thelma aside and show her the video privately, so we wouldn’t embarrass her if she had an innocent explanation. Though I couldn’t think of what one might be.
But when we went out to the deck Florence was sitting there alone, sipping iced tea and staring out at the darkening view. The trees were silhouettes against a sky almost as black as they were. A thin crescent moon was rising.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“They went home.” Florence heaved a deep sigh. “This has been a hard day for all of us. We decided it was time for it to be over.”
A hard day for sure. “Florence, how long has the bad blood existed between Mavis and Thelma?”
“Oh, don’t mind them. They’ve been at each other’s throats ever since Mavis moved up here a few years ago to be closer to her kids. Before that, Thelma regularly won blue ribbons at the county fair for her preserves and jellies. Chutneys even. But then Mavis came and took over as the big winner. Thelma kind of resents that.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“And they don’t always see eye to eye. They sometimes argue about politics, religion, things like that. Even the difference in their size gets in the way sometimes. I remember one day when Mavis called Thelma fat. The fur flew over that, I can tell you.”
Teddy chuckled. “Flying fur! I wish I’d seen that.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” I told him.
“Thelma’s not really fat,” Florence continued. “She’s just…big. Big bones and muscle. She’s a strong, powerful woman, and that can be intimidating to someone as petite as Mavis. But deep at heart, they’re good friends.”
I wondered about that. Were they really friends? Or was Thelma strong enough to stab a man who denied her a blue ribbon and resentful enough to try to frame her “friend” for his murder?
A mosquito buzzed near my ear. Time go inside. I picked up some of the drinking glasses that were still sitting on the table and told Teddy to bring in the rest.
“Hey, I’m famished,” he said as we came into the kitchen. “We haven’t had dinner yet.”
“We offered you something to eat earlier. You said you weren’t hungry.”
“That was then. This is now.” He set the glasses on the counter and set longing eyes on the Fourth of July pie on the breakfast table. “It is kinda late though. Maybe we should skip dinner and go straight to dessert.”
Florence laughed. “Sure, why not.” She opened a drawer and rummaged through the utensils inside. “Now, where did I put the pie knife?”
The front doorbell rang.
Chapter 6
“Who could that be?” Florence wondered. “No one I know comes calling at this hour.” Sliding the drawer shut, she went into the living room to see who the visitor might be.
“Stay here,” I warned Teddy, who’d started to follow her. I watched from the kitchen doorway in case Florence was about to open the door to trouble.
She peeked through the peephole, then turned the knob. She didn’t have a door on the chain like I did at my flat in San Francisco. City dwellers like me probably had more reason to be wary.
“Why, Drake Fuller! What brings you here?” Florence pulled the door open wide to reveal the TV cameraman standing on her porch. He was dressed in jeans and black T-shirt, probably the same ones he’d worn this morning, but he had on boots instead of the dirty sneakers. He’d also added a tan photographer’s vest, the kind with multiple flapped pockets on the front.
“Drake! Hi!” Teddy cried, running forward to greet his idol.
Drake stepped inside and clapped a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “I came to see this guy.”
“You came up here from Sacramento see Teddy?” Florence looked puzzled. I felt the same way.
“We were about to have some dessert,” Florence said. “Please join us.”
“No, I don’t think—”
“It’s Fourth of July pie. My specialty.” Florence could be insistent when it came to being a good hostess, even when the guest was uninvited. She grasped Drake’s elbow and led him into the kitchen. He glanced back at the door as if reluctant to come so far into the house.
“Where’s your camera, Drake?” Teddy was doing the toe bounce that meant he was excited.
“In the car. Actually, Ted, I came to take you for a ride. I’ve got a news assignment right up the road, and I thought you’d like to ride along and see how the pros work.”
“Yeah!” Teddy pumped his fist.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why do you want take Teddy?”
“Don’t worry,” Drake said, “it’s nothing dangerous. Just a flock of sheep blocking the road. My boss thought it would make for a fun visual. With all the heavy topics we cover, it’s good to lighten the mix now and then. Bring your camera, Ted. It’s a great photo op.”
“I’ll go get it.” Teddy ran to the den.
“What made you think of Teddy, Mr. Fuller?” I asked. “And how did you know where to find him?”
He smiled in a way I found chilling. “He emailed me at the station, explained all about his ambition to become a camera operator for television news. Told me he was staying here. He attached a batch of photos he took at the county fair this morning. The boy’s got a good eye. This will be a good experience for him.”
Teddy hurried back into the kitchen, camera in hand, just in time to hear me say, “Thank you, but I don’t think Teddy should go out tonight.”
“Aw, Jess, please!”
“It’s late, and after the kind of day we’ve had—well, it’s just not a good idea, Teddy.”
The excitement extinguished as if I’d flipped a switch. But right away he turned it back on.
Teddy brightened. “I know! You can come with us, Jess.”
“No,” Drake said sharply. Then he smiled again. “I mean, this is an adventure for just us guys, right, Ted?”
Teddy looked torn between placating me and pleasing his idol. “Well, sure…”
I held firm. “Why don’t we get in touch with you tomorrow, Mr. Fuller. Maybe you can arrange to give Teddy a tour of the TV station.”
Teddy nodded at this compromise offer. “Yeah, that would be cool.”
“No.” Drake grabbed Teddy’s wrist. “He’s coming with me now.”
“Hey!” Teddy cried. “Let go.”
I reached out to intervene, but Drake punched my face with his free hand. I staggered backward a few steps before I could regain my footing.
“Jess!” Teddy cried. His eyes were wide and
frightened. He tried to pull out of Drake’s grip, but Drake tightened his hold. Teddy winced with pain.
Drake reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a gun.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do it, but you’ve given me no choice. I was going to have the boy and the camera meet with an unfortunate accident but this scenario will work too. Kid gets in an argument with his family, shoots them, and runs away. I’ve covered that kind of story often enough.”
“No!” Florence whimpered. I saw her extend her hand slowly toward the phone on the wall.
“Touch the phone and I’ll shoot you right now. Sit down.” He gestured with the gun, pointing at a chair by the breakfast table.
Florence, looking sunken and old, obeyed. “Why? I don’t understand?”
I put my hand to my bruised and stinging cheek. “It’s because you killed Gus.”
Teddy’s eyes went wide. “He did it?”
“Isn’t that right, Drake? And you thought that somehow Teddy knew. The ‘accident’ you were planning was to keep him from talking.”
“I didn’t know anything!” Teddy cried. “What made you think I did?”
Drake pulled Teddy in front of him like a shield. “The photos you sent. The one of my shoes. I didn’t realize until I saw it that they got jam all over them when I smashed that jar. Couldn’t have you taking them to the cops. I used a potholder on the knife handle when I stabbed Gus. Now I’ve burned the shoes and I wiped my email clean. Once I destroy your camera, poof, no more evidence.”
The paint on his shoes was really red jam. How didn’t I see that? “The photos are on the email server,” I reminded him. “They’ve been sent to other people too. You can’t get rid of them.”
“By the time the cops find them, I’ll be long gone.” He touched the gun to my brother’s head. “And so will you.”
Florence was crying. Teddy squeezed back tears.
My head whirled with pain. With fear.
Think, Jess, think.
The phone was on the wall, beyond my reach. The spot on the counter where Florence’s knife block normally sat was empty; she’d taken it to the fair.
What was close at hand that could serve as a weapon?
The pie.
I grabbed it from the table and threw it in Drake’s face.
Startled, he yelped. He dropped both Teddy and the gun.
Teddy ran to the phone while I scooped the gun off the floor.
Crushed blueberries and strawberries dripped from Drake’s three-day whiskers, down to his shoulders and farther down his shirtfront. Red jelly covered his face. The color matched the splotches of Mavis’s jam on his sneakers in Teddy’s photo.
I pushed him into a kitchen chair and pointed the gun at him. “Florence, what do you have that we can use to tie him up until the police get here?”
Chapter 7
The next morning Florence convened an emergency meeting of the Culinary Arts Club. The members, plus Teddy and I, settled on her deck with mugs of coffee and glasses of iced tea. The air was already hot, and the scent of pine trees and roses filled the air.
Florence called the meeting to order. Mavis, Thelma, and Carlene all looked shocked when she described what had transpired the previous evening.
“The cameraman!” Carlene said. “Who would have guessed?”
“I would have,” Thelma said. “He was a jerk really, always ordering people around like getting the picture just how he wanted was the only thing that counted. So rude.”
“That’s right,” Thelma agreed. “He was a real PITA.”
“What’s a PITA?” Teddy asked.
“Don’t you know?” Thelma said. “It means—”
Florence cut her off. “Pain in the assembly. That’s what the letters stand for.”
“What kind of assembly?” Then his face reddened and I saw that he got it. “Oh!”
Mavis shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why did that man want to kill Gus?”
“Because of the reporter, Ashley,” I explained. “He wanted to stop her from going to L.A. with Gus.”
Teddy told the next part. “But the funny thing is, she had already decided not to go after all. But she hadn’t told Drake.”
When the police arrived last night, Drake blurted out most of the story. I told the club members that he’d gotten the idea when he recorded the video of Gus complaining about Mavis’s jam tasting like poison. Ashley had driven her own car to fair, but Gus and Drake were riding together. Drake slipped the security guard fifty bucks to let them back into the exhibition hall and then go away, with the promise of more money in exchange for his silence. The guard was next on Drake’s hit list, after he was done with Teddy.
But sorting out the murder was not the main reason for the gathering. Faces grew solemn as Florence told them about the YouTube video showing Thelma and the jar of jam.
“You poisoned my jam!” Mavis cried. “How could you!”
“I’m sorry.” Thelma looked truly contrite. “I didn’t mean to hurt anything or anyone. It wasn’t poison—just some cayenne pepper, a pinch of salt, dry mustard, baking soda. All things that are edible but wouldn’t taste good with jam. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a bad idea—”
Carlene nodded. “Stupid.”
“Cruel,” Florence added.
“Unforgivable.” Mavis folded her arms tightly across her chest.
“Yes,” Thelma said. “But I hope you’ll forgive me anyway.”
There was a long silence. Everyone looked at Mavis, who was staring with a frown at her coffee mug. Finally she looked up. “For the good of the club, I’ll overlook it this time. But don’t you dare do anything like that again.”
~*~
A fiery cloud of orange and blue sparks burst in the night sky above the lake at the Mira Vista Fairgrounds.
“Wow! Look at that!” Teddy cried. His camera clicked, and he nodded in approval at the result on the screen. “Wait till Dad sees all these great shots.”
The murder of Gourmet Gus solved, the Mira Vista County Fair reopened. Teddy and I arrived in the early afternoon, having decided that coming back would help to heal the trauma of yesterday’s events. Florence had elected to stay home. The culinary demonstrations had been canceled out of respect for Gourmet Gus’s memory. Besides, she said, she had a project to do, though she wouldn’t tell us what it was. All she said was, “I want it to be a surprise.”
My brother and I spent several hours cheering at the pig races, admiring the prize sheep and goats, and riding the Ferris wheel and the Whirl-a-Thon over and over. Well, Teddy kept riding the Whirl-a-Thon. After the first time, I realized that spinning in four directions at once made me way too dizzy for comfort.
For me, the best part of the day was going back to the Palace of Fine Arts. We took time to go through the whole exhibit. I was always both soothed and inspired when I wandered through a collection of good art and today was not an exception. Teddy would have probably preferred another go at the Whirl-a-Thon, but he was willing to indulge me, and occasionally I heard him make a little murmur of appreciation.
When we came to my painting, there was a pleasant surprise. Not a blue ribbon—that still belonged, undeservedly, to the murky mess in the frame beside mine. But something had been added to the little card that bore my name and the title of the painting
“What’s with that red dot?”
“It means the painting’s been sold.”
“Someone bought it? You’re going to get money?”
“That’s right.” But better than the dollars was knowing that someone liked my work enough to want to hang it where they could see it often.
As we drove back to Cousin Florence’s house from the fair, Teddy’s anticipation heightened. He looked from reviewing the photos on his camera to ask, “What do you suppose Cousin Florence’s surprise is?”
“We’ll find out soon,” I said. I was curious myself.
“I hope I like it.”
He needn’
t have worried.
Florence greeted us at the front door. “I hope it’s not too late for dessert.”
“Yes. Dessert!” Teddy pumped his fist.
“Never too late for that,” I said.
“Good.” Florence led us to the breakfast nook. “Because I made another Fourth of July pie to replace the one that got …” She sighed at the memory of Drake Fuller dripping with fruit. “Well, ruined.”
The pie was on the table, a small round circle perfectly centered on the large round table, like the bull’s-eye of a target.”
“Oh, boy,” Teddy said, licking his lips. “I want a big piece.” He thought for a second and added, “Please.”
Florence grinned as she granted him his wish.
“Why do you call it Fourth of July pie?” he asked.
“One reason is that the Fourth is a summer holiday and the weather’s often hot,” Florence explained. “With this pie you don’t have to turn on your oven and heat up the kitchen. It doesn’t get baked. The fruit is uncooked and it’s a graham cracker crust. But the main reason is the color. It’s red, white, and blue.”
Teddy stuck the fork in his piece. Florence set another one in front of me.
“The blueberries are blue,” Teddy said. “And the raspberries and strawberry slices are red. But what’s the white?”
Florence went to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door. “The vanilla ice cream that goes on top.”
“Yeah!” Teddy said. “That will make it perfect.”
When I took my first bite, I agreed that he was right.
--The End--
Margaret Lucke flings words around as a writer and editorial consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is fascinated by the power of stories and the magic of creativity. Her novels include House of Whispers, a tale of love, ghosts and murder on the California coast, and two that feature San Francisco artist and private eye Jess Randolph: A Relative Stranger (nominated for an Anthony Award) and Snow Angel (coming in 2016). Margaret teaches fiction writing classes and has authored two how-to books on writing, Schaum’s Quick Guide to Writing Great Short Stories and Writing Mysteries. She is a former president of the Northern California chapter of Mystery Writers of America. Visit her at http://www.margaretlucke.com.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 66