“It’s going to work out. I have no idea exactly how yet, but I know it will.”
“Oh, that’s how I knew I’m in deep trouble, you’re as bright and positive as Pauline. Where’s the sarcasm? The quips?”
“Yeah, fresh out.”
“There it is. Now look, Mario can’t come and visit me—daylight and all that—and I need him to know a lot of stuff for The Frog Toe. Can I put that in your head and you tell him?”
“Of course, anything. Yes.” Tatum gave me a list of instructions, things to order, locks to engage, food in coolers to rotate, and a million other things that I had no idea she did, every single day.
“Mario also knows not to let the Snyder brothers in because, last time, the three of them clogged the toilets. I mean, what kind of degenerate does a week’s worth of business when they visit the local brewery?”
“Yeah, the Snyders are exactly that kind of degenerate.”
“Mario has no idea how to do any of this, but if someone doesn’t take charge, I’ll lose my business on top of everything else. Oh, but also authorize Mario to bring over whatever beverages are needed at the Beltane. Free.”
“Free? you’re worried about keeping the business afloat and you’re doing free? That doesn’t seem smart.”
“Free, that will draw everyone to Beltane with their festicles between their legs.”
I laughed out loud, which was totally inappropriate in the situation. And just what we both needed.
Chapter 12
I had a lot to convey to Mario, I had to find out who, besides Tatum had reason to kill Tommy Strayhorn. Oh, and I needed lunch meat, bread, and about a gazillion gallons of milk. It weighed on me a little that I hadn’t been much of a mother to my boys since they got back.
It also weighed on me a lot that I hadn’t called my Aunt Dorothy. I remedied that on the way to The Frog Toe.
“Hey Aunt Dot.”
“Hello dear.”
“How are you doing?” It was a question that didn’t have a good answer, but it was all I had to offer.
“Oh, well, I'm trying to be strong for Maxine.” Her voice was bright, but Frances had been in Dorothy’s life her whole life. And that was several lifetimes long.
“Who’s being strong for you?”
“Oh, the whole coven dear, that’s how it works. I think you know that by now.”
“Yes.”
“You do the things you need to do; you find who really killed that Tommy person, you keep Alvarado from getting too much power. Get all the word out about Beltane. All those things.”
“But you need me too.”
“An essential element of you, me, and most formidable women I know, is that they want to be all things to all people. That is folly. Gloria Steinem said, do what you can uniquely do.”
“Yes, Aunt Dot. So, you and the boys have been conspiring to get them here to Widow’s Bay. In all the commotion, I’d forgotten to give you trouble about that.”
“Why would you give me a whit of trouble? Those boys are an excellent addition to Widow’s Bay. And they have something extra. Don’t you doubt it for a moment, they belong here.”
“A firefighter and a ski whatever? That’s not what their Dad and I planned for their lives.”
“Life plans are quite a waste of time, and what was it your mother planned for you to do?”
“Hospital administration.”
“Right, now aren’t you glad you had your own ideas? Just like the boys do?”
“Yes.” I realized that Aunt Dorothy now, in her old age, had her family around her in Widow’s Bay.
“Now go do what you can uniquely do. Be The Liaison for the Yooper Naturals and report on who really killed Tommy Hornface.”
“Strayhorn.”
“Whatever.”
My phone buzzed again and this time it was the boss I had ditched.
“Your update was good on the McGowen case. What else today?” I’d written a short and to the point bond denied story. There wasn’t much to tell. Which was of no help to Tatum.
“Meet me on Main. I have an idea.”
“Got it.”
Garrett and I met up at the end of Main. The disheveled aspect struck me again. This wasn’t the well put together boss who’d I’d interviewed with or who’d showed up to help yesterday.
But I forged ahead, despite what we’d seen in the vision, there was still a murder to solve.
“Okay, we’re going to hit the pavement.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know really, but there has to be someone who saw something, there has to be something more than Tommy Strayhorn dead out of nowhere.”
“You think the police are lying?”
“No, not that. Just that they aren’t looking for clues anymore. To them the case is closed. They have ballistics that matches Tatum’s gun, they have Tatum arguing with the victim. They also have a bunch of people to keep safe here at the festival. I mean, I get it. The murder case is closed. But for me, it can’t be.”
We went vendor to vendor.
“How’s business?” I asked Luce’s Bakery stand. He had exactly one person in line for elephant ears, normally a street festival favorite.
“Yeah, well, since the poisoned potato salad it’s been slow. As you might guess.”
“Ah, yeah, that could put a damper on things.”
“I made so much more on Yule Days and All Souls.”
“So, what has to change? You know, to make Testicle Festival work?”
“Give it back to Pauline. She’s the best at organizing these things. I mean she’s a control freak and as bossy as heck, but she runs a tight ship.”
“Got it.”
I walked to the next booth, Garrett trailing behind me.
“So, how’s business? How’s the Testicle Festival treating you?”
“Crappy, some kid stole all my cooking grease. I had to drive fifty-miles this morning to get more.”
“What?” This was the first I heard of any robbery and my ears perked up.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yeah, but they said it was too small potatoes.”
Grease thievery probably wasn’t a thing, I supposed.
“And otherwise, getting a lot of customers through here?”
“Pete! You need to watch this fryer.”
“Sorry, I gotta go, Marzie. This grease thing put us way behind.” He walked off mumbling something about unreliable help.
There were one-dozen vendors from food to trinkets and another dozen or so craft booths. And I was like a dog with a bone.
Each booth had one or another calamity brewing.
“Why?”
“Do you see this?” Big Ray’s BBQ Stand, one of the out of town vendors, directed us to the back of his stall.
“I had a cooler full of ribs, racks, and racks. People can’t live on testicles alone.”
“I can attest to that.” I said, and the joke fell flat.
“I got in this morning and the cooler was knocked down, the lock was ripped off—RIPPED off—and all my ribs—raw, mind you—were gone.”
“Any suspects?”
“I’d say it was a wild animal, but they didn’t eat anything else. I mean if it was coyote you think they’d eat the chicken wings too, right?”
“So maybe just someone who was hungry or down on their luck?”
“I’m going to be down on my luck if this festival doesn’t turn around, fast. Sorry lady, I must go. I’ve got to figure out what to serve, it’s going to be Big Ray’s Peanut Butter and Jelly at this point.”
“Mind if my photographer takes a few pictures?”
“Fine.” Big Ray waddled off to find the components for lunch and I realized Garrett was backing away, with a strange look in his eye.
“Buddy, if you’re a vegan this is no time to get squeamish. I need food photos of the place, okay?”
“Yes, of course, no not a vegan.” Garrett’s head was clearly somewhere else. He probably
had a million things on his mind, what with being the boss. He took a few pictures and then we got moving again.
We found ten vendors in the same boat, sometimes after very specific questions from me, but they all reported food missing, from the fry grease, to the ribs, to a tub of donuts, all gone from the various vendors.
Garrett DeWitt did as I asked and took pictures of each person I interviewed and any evidence of damage from food thieves.
“What do you think, Marzie?”
“I think I have a story.”
“Impressive pounding of the pavement there.”
“Thanks.” I called DeLoof to get a comment.
“No, we’ve had no reports, Marzie, of any food robberies.”
“Well, there are robberies, from over one-third of the vendors. What are you going to do about it?”
“Well, until the victims themselves report it, our hands are tied. These are all very minor, if what you’re saying is accurate.”
“It is.”
“The safety of people and property is our mission.”
“That’s the official statement?”
“Yes, and off the record, why are you doing stories about missing elephant ears?”
“What if it’s connected to the murder of Tommy Strayhorn?”
“You’re grasping at straws. I get it, I like Tatum too, but that’s no longer a police matter. It’s up to the courts. Missing ribs don’t equal shot in the chest, no matter what kind of math you’re doing.”
“Fine, whatever Loof.” I was frustrated with him. Or rather, I was frustrated that my little investigation hadn’t done a thing to help Tatum.
“Let’s file the report, Garrett.”
Garrett and I sat in my Jeep and I typed up the story. Garrett edited the pictures and I sent it to Justin to post on Your U.P. News. The smell of barbecue and fried bull testicles started to permeate the car. I really hated this festival.
“Garrett, do you think I should do a live shot on this for Facebook?”
“On what?”
“Uh, on the robbery spree? I mean, it’s going to be exclusive, since I was the one who put all this together. No way Weston Redman has wind of it, right?”
Garrett was barely listening. Maybe the story was lame. I mean, I couldn’t even keep DeWitt’s attention and he’d reported on it with me. He looked rather panicked actually, and completely distracted.
“I have to go.” Garrett opened the car door and literally ran out of the Jeep.
I got out and called after him.
“Are you okay? Garrett? Mr. Dewitt?” He was gone. He’d ducked between a couple of craft vending stands and was out of my sight.
What the heck was that about?
Garrett Dewitt, who’d looked odd all day, and distracted, just cut and run from my Jeep.
Jeez, an honest day’s work might be too much for millionaires.
Whatever, I had other things to worry about.
Chapter 13
The plans were in full swing when it came to getting Beltane going. I met Pauline, Georgianne, and Fawn at Fawn’s vet clinic. She’d been so good about getting away for meetings and arrests and everything lately, it was our turn to try to make it as easy as possible for her.
Savanah, her receptionist, was at the desk.
“Hey Marzie.”
“Hey!”
“Finn wanted me to invite you to the camp. They’re having a big cookout next week.”
“Yeah, sounds awesome, I’ll try.”
Savanah was in love with Finn, one of the younger werewolves who worked as a logger with Grady outside of town.
I thought I might enjoy time with the Grady and his pack after all this blew over. I just hoped it did, and that Tatum would be off the hook for murder. I briefly envisioned the heck I would catch from Brule for hanging out with Grady. And then the questions I might face from the boys on the next installment of Who’s Mom’s New Male Friend Jeopardy?
“Grady talks about you all the time; you really should try. He’s cute for an old dude,” Savanah said. She was right, he was cute. And he talked about me all the time? I was glad I was too busy to think about what that might mean.
“Ha, okay, right.” I ended the line of questioning and head back to Fawn’s office.
“Oh, tell Fawn that Mr. Hopper just called and wants to bring in Dwayne, he has the sniffles.”
“Isn’t Dwayne a parakeet?”
“Yeah.”
“Parakeets get head colds?”
“You’d be surprised,” Savanah said and went back to answering phones.
I found Fawn, Pauline, and Georgianne in the office.
“It’s all in place. You need to start publicizing. Here.” Pauline handed me a list of particulars for the Beltane.
It was to be a beach night celebration. I gasped when I saw the name of it.
Frances Corey Soul to the Sky Bonfire.
“Soul to the Sky?”
“Yes, Aunt Dorothy will be in charge of the actual ceremony. We just need to get people there, and a few materials of course,” Georgianne said and I had to take a moment. I felt tears well up. Frances was loopy, funny, and a mainstay in Aunt Dorothy’s life. I could only imagine how she felt right now. Sitting here planning things without Tatum was only a bitter little taste of how Dorothy and Maxine must feel.
The bonds we felt were 30 years old; the bonds they had, were incalculable.
“Shoot, that—what?” Pauline’s information session was interrupted by her phone buzzing, and then mine, and then all of us.
We all had a message from Candy.
“Watch Man Cave Dot News right now!”
I opened the Mancave Facebook page and there was smug little Weston Redman, with the Yooper Man logo underneath it. Never trust a person who gives themselves a cool nickname.
He was standing outside The Frog Toe and on the bottom of the screen was a banner that read, Tatum McGowan—Murder Could be Tip of the Ice Brew.
“Tatum McGowan is accused of brutally murdering a competing business owner in cold blood. Not only did McGowan’s actions lead to the death of an innocent man, but this reporter has learned McGowan’s crimes don’t stop at murder.
We took a look at McGowan’s history in the wake of the charges and the picture is disturbing to say the least.
An interview with Perry Snyder revealed her anti-snow mobile hatred.
‘She is prejudiced against snowmobilers; it’s a proven fact. We were kicked out because of the way we look. How is that even legal in America?’
But discrimination, intimidation, violence, and cheating seem to be McGowan’s trademark.
We had to disguise the face and voice of our next interview subject to protect her anonymity. She’s afraid if McGowan found out who she is, Tatum McGowan would have her fired.
‘She’s terrible to work for, abuses us, yells, and never lets us have a day off. Especially on holidays, those are the worst. Well, unless you worship with her coven, then it’s all fine.’
We talked to representative Ridge Schutte, who’s high up in state government. He had this to say:
‘I want to know how Tatum McGowan can single-handedly stop water sales that would bring millions of dollars in profits to Widow’s Bay thanks to lucrative offers from Pure Liquid. She shoots down valid business on land she inherited and didn’t work for, at all. Maybe she’s doing secret deals to line her own pockets. One can only conclude that is what’s happening, based on her business practices.’
Phillip Powell Governor Poohbah of the Order of the Buck had this, perhaps the most damning thing, to say, about Tatum McGowan.
‘It’s a good old girls’ network in this town, and she’s lining her pockets because of it. My party hall has lost out on multiple, multiple events because of the unnatural way McGowan does business. The cronyism is downright evil, one only has to look to the Mayor to see why McGowan can get away with everything, well, everything except murder it appears.’
It is clear to this repo
rter that the town is better off with Tatum McGowan behind bars. One only hopes that the maximum sentence will be pursued. And rest assured, Widow’s Bay, that this reporter and Man Cave Dot News will be keeping tabs on every aspect of this story.
Including the allegations of corruption in the mayor’s office connected to Tatum McGowan. We have calls now into Mayor Candy Hitchcock and will bring you her response as soon as we get it.
For now, I’m Yooper Man with this special in-depth report into Tatum McGowan, Tip of the Ice Brew.
For a moment we sat there quietly, stunned at what we’d just watched.
We were all livid, outraged, and I—who liked to consider myself the voice of reason—was the most upset. I took the responsibilities of being in the media very seriously.
I knew I could be accused of bias, and it worried me to no end. But this was biased in the other direction. This was a slam piece against a woman who’d not had her day in court.
This was whipping people into a frenzy based on your own prejudices.
I’d had enough.
We were gathered for good, to make Beltane happen, but it was clear, something more had to be done.
“I cannot believe that smear piece. If you ask me, that’s the crime,” Pauline said. I was in complete agreement.
“We need to give him a taste of his own medicine.” Fawn was pacing the floor of her office.
“Just get the word about Beltane,” Candy added. We’d called her and put her on speakerphone after the report aired. “My office phone is ringing off the hook. Everyone thinks I’m in with a crooked murderer. I’ve got to go.”
“It’s time to use our powers ladies, really use them,” I said.
“What?” Georgianne asked.
“We’ve done it before, and it was fine. I agree with Marzie,” Pauline said.
“What?”
“The potato salad, we cursed the chickens,” Georgianne said.
“Not the chickens, just the eggs after they were laid. I’m a vet, for goodness sake. Cursing chickens could mean my license.” This time Fawn spoke up. She’d be in on it too?
“Wait, what? You cursed the potato salad?”
Curse Strings Page 8