Death of the Pickle King

by Marlene Chabot

  I pinched my squarish chin. “Gertie, can one of your family members afford to post bail for your cousin?”

  “My brother Lawrence, a bachelor, has money up the wazoo. We’ve been trying to get ahold of him, but no luck yet. I have a feeling he’s out of town. His position as vice-president of marketing for a large Twin Cities sporting goods business requires him to travel at least twice a month.”

  I happened to be working on a case at the moment plus filling in at Singi’s Optical, as well as, doing substitute teaching on occasion, I really didn’t know if I could shove anything else into my tight schedule, but I was definitely curious about Butch’s last incarceration. “Gertie, let me know the minute your cousin gets released. I want to speak with him.”

  Gertie’s pupils grew as large as walnuts. “Oh, Mary, does that mean you’re going to help him?” she asked as she pushed her plump body off the couch and stood.

  “Ah... I’m not sure I’d have time, but I could at least offer him free advice.”

  Gertie patted her hands. “Great. Free advice is better than nothing. Butch will be thrilled to hear what you have to say. Well, I’d better skedaddle. Hubby promised he’d dig out the Christmas decorations from storage, and if I’m not there to see he does it, it won’t happen in this lifetime.”

  Aunt Zoe escorted Gertie to the door, leaving me free to hunt for the strongest drink in the kitchen cupboards so I could forget what had just transpired. Hopefully I’d be as lucky as Helen Plum, a fictional character who takes solace in her hidden bottle of brandy when her mother’s antics get to be too much for her.

  Remember how unlucky I am. Today was no different. No drops of any liquid could be found in the cupboards unless one counted what remained of blue food coloring Aunt Zoe insisted on using in a frosting mix several months ago. At the moment a blue tongue didn’t appeal to me. However, another option opened up. I found a package of Kool-Aid I’d carelessly tossed in an upper cabinet this past summer. It would suffice. At least grape flavoring was the color of wine. “Now where did I stash that stupid pitcher?”

  ~3~

  I didn’t think Aunt Zoe would ever settle down on the couch with her newly acquired romance novel after helping me clear the supper table and taking care of the day’s dirty dishes. But she finally did, which left me free to visit Margaret Grimshaw. Besides discussing the problems I’d already mentioned on the elevator with her an additional one has now cropped up, thanks to my roommate’s big mouth.

  “Come in, Mary. Don’t dawdle at the door acting shy. This isn’t your first visit here,” the older woman chirped, stylishly dressed in a different wardrobe than earlier in the day: simple tan skirt, long-sleeved cream-colored blouse, and a butcher style apron created from a soft-blue floral print.

  I strode across the threshold and went straight to the dining table which took up space in one corner of Margaret’s living room. Sitting there seemed the most logical since I’d received an invite for dessert.

  The second I caught sight of the oval table I knew I’d made the right decision. Silverware, delicate tea cups, saucers, and cloth napkins decorated the top of a well-pressed ivory colored linen tablecloth, begging to be used. Too bad Miss Manners hadn’t been invited. She’d appreciate Margaret’s splendid setting as much as me.

  “Pretty bird. Pretty Bird.”

  I glanced around the dining room, expecting to catch a glimpse of Petey, Margaret’s twenty-year-old Blue-fronted Amazon parrot perched somewhere studying me, but I didn’t see him. All I noticed was the rest of Margaret’s warm welcoming living room. I sighed. This is what Matt’s apartment needed to look like in three weeks. But will it? My mind flashed to the bizarre living room I’d left a few moments prior, requiring super transformation.

  The bird sang out once more.

  “That’s Petey squawking, isn’t it?”

  My hostess bowed her head slightly. “Si. I put him in the back bedroom. He’s not happy.”

  “I hope you didn’t put him there on my account. I love birds.”

  The elderly woman looked down the hallway for a second where her two bedrooms were located. “No, no. Petey always lets off a little steam before he falls asleep in the spare bedroom,” she explained, and then she settled her olive-green eyes on me. “Please go ahead and sit, dear. I need to get a few things from the kitchen first.”

  I ignored the couch and selected one of the four lightly-stained oak chairs arranged around the table. “Don’t rush on my account,” I said while keeping watch on her slow progress to the kitchen. “I’m not going anywhere else this evening.” No thanks to my male friends. To kill time until the elderly woman rejoined me I inspected her intricately designed tea cups. They didn’t look like ones Margaret had used for entertaining me before.

  Hmm? Maybe this set is a recent gift from one of Margaret’s male admirers. According to Matt, two men from the elderly woman’s church have proposed marriage, but I’ve never seen any sign of a new ring on her finger since moving into the Foley and I’m certain Aunt Zoe hasn’t either. She’s got such a big mouth she would’ve blabbed it to the whole world by now. Actually, hearing the ninety-year-old woman speak as fondly as she does about her late husband, I don’t foresee her ever remarrying.

  Curious to discover the origination of the cups and saucers, I gently lifted one above eye level: England. Who could’ve gone there?

  I was still holding the dainty cup in mid-air when my cell phone rang unexpectedly, cutting off all thoughts floating around in my cranium pertaining to Margaret’s private affairs. Remembering that no good comes from rushing, especially when I’m holding a delicate object not belonging to me, I purposely ignored the ringing until I’d gently set the tea cup back on its saucer and freed up my hands for other uses, including answering the phone. “Hello.”

  “Mary, have you found Gracie yet?” my mother inquired in a frantic tone. “You know your brother will be home in three weeks.”

  Really? As if I had forgotten. My free hand instinctively reached for one of the cloth napkins on the table and began to fuss with it. “I know. Believe me I’m working on it, Mom.”

  “Well, you’d better be. Your brother lost a wife; he doesn’t need to lose a dog too.”

  Way to go, Mom. Adding more stress to my life. “I hear ya.”

  “What are you and Zoe doing this evening? Please don’t tell me you’re wasting your time watching NCIS or other such nonsense when you should be putting up posters all over town.”

  I zoned out the tenseness creeping throughout my body. “I’m visiting with Margaret Grimshaw.”

  “Oh, is she the elderly lady who lives across the hall from Matt?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well, I’d better let you go then. Tell her I said hello.”

  “I will. Good-bye.”

  The minute the conversation with my mother ended, Margaret reappeared on the scene clutching a fancy teapot. “Did I hear music,” she inquired, “or are my old ears deceiving me?”

  I took a deep breath and then lifted my head, letting go of the built up stress caused by my mother’s phone call before Margaret’s kind eyes noticed how upset I was. “Yes. It was coming from my cell phone,” I turned the gadget off and stuffed it back in my pocket. “My mother called. She says, ‘Hello.’”

  Margaret shuffled to the dining room table and gently deposited the beige and dark chocolate glazed teapot near me. I hadn’t seen it before and questioned whether it was new too. “You look worried, dear.” She pulled a chair next to mine and sat. “What is it? Is everything okay at home? You’re father’s heart isn’t giving him trouble again, is it?”

  She was referring to the quadruple bypass surgery my dad had two years ago. “No. He’s fine. Mom just wondered if I’d found Gracie yet.” Before I said anything I’d later regret, I tapped the teapot’s narrow wooden handle, the safest spot to touch, and switched to a different subject, one that had nothing to do with family. “What type of tea have you brewed this time? I d
on’t recognize the aroma. Is it another new blend you’ve discovered?”

  She smiled. “Yes, it’s an herbal one. I’ll tell you about it as soon as I get our dessert.”

  I shoved out the heavy oak chair I’d been perched on. “Stay seated. I’ll get it.”

  “Why, thank you. My legs are rather stiff tonight. You’ll find the dessert sitting by the fridge.”

  “Too much dancing, huh?” I asked as I paraded out to the kitchen.

  “Probably, but I’m not giving it up anytime soon.”

  I entered the kitchen and found a scrumptious pie awaiting me. It happened to be my favorite. The light-as-air pie could be easily damaged though so I’d needed to be extra careful, meaning I’d better take tiny steps back to the dining area.

  “Margaret, you’re going to have to teach me how you get meringue to sit four inches high. My Mom’s eyes would pop out if I showed up with something like this at the next family gathering. The filling is lemon flavored I presume.”

  “Si. It’s been way too many years since I’ve made one. I hope it turned out okay.” She placed a hand by her tea cup. “Would you mind pouring the tea for us?”

  “Of course not, but I’m still waiting to hear what kind of tea you’ve prepared.” I wrapped a hand around the teapot’s smooth handle, filled our cups three-quarters full, and set them back on their saucers.

  “Almond Sunset. It has a hint of cinnamon and orange in it.”

  “Ah, I thought I smelled cinnamon. Did you purchase the tea from Tea 4 Two down the block?”

  Margaret grabbed a large smooth knife off the table to cut the pie. “No, I still haven’t gotten over there. My friend Tom actually purchased this tea for me as well as the teapot. He recently took a bus trip that included a tour of the Celestial Seasoning’s facilities in Boulder, Colorado.”

  “That would be an interesting place to visit. I hope Tom found the tour worthwhile especially if he likes tea as much as we do.” I sat and drew my chair closer to the table.

  “Si. That’s all the man could talk about. He told me an enormous quantity of loose teas are stored in one building and each different tea housed there is kept in its own separate compartment that can be sealed off with a garage style door. Of course, the peppermint tea’s door must remain down at all times.”

  “That makes sense. Peppermint’s strong aroma would be absorbed by the other teas before a person managed to snap their fingers.”

  Margaret placed a spatula under one of the two slices of pie she’d cut, slipped it out of the pan, set it on a dessert plate, and handed me the serving. “You know, Mary, working on more than one problem is like slicing a pie into portions.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, thinking in terms of arithmetic.

  “You want to give each person or problem a fair share, but the first always seems the most difficult to tackle.”

  “And mine would be finding Gracie, right?”

  “Si. Now eat. Nourishment helps one think better.”

  I grinned. “Lady, you say such profound things.” Thanks to her I have another great excuse for putting off dieting.

  The moment I lifted the fork to my lips and tasted the fluffy peaked egg whites along with the thick lemon filling I knew I had died and gone to heaven. “Ooooh, this dessert is fantastic. You must make it more often.”

  The elderly woman’s olive-green eyes twinkled. “Grazie, but I think this type of pie should be reserved for special occasions.”

  “Ah... and what are you celebrating?” Was I off the mark? Could she have gotten engaged to one of her suitors after all? She did say she wasn’t home this past weekend.

  Margaret’s misty eyes drifted to her gold wedding band still worn on her left hand. “Today would’ve been my seventy-fifth wedding anniversary.”

  “Wow!” I’m in my mid-thirties and still haven’t found a man interested in committing to me. “I’m guessing you must’ve been about sixteen when you and Antonio got married in Sicily.”

  My words caused undue embarrassment to her. The ninety-year-old’s pale complexion turned a brilliant red like a male cardinal. Expecting a rapid contradiction to follow, I waited to hear her comment, but no denial flowed from her mouth. However, she did finally speak. “Pour me another cup of tea and we’ll see how you can fix your problems. That’s why you came over here, isn’t it?”

  “Why of course.” She didn’t need to know including dessert in her invite had something to do with my visit too.

  ~4~

  Day 2

  Last night Margaret suggested I tack up and pass out missing dog flyers beyond the few blocks Aunt Zoe and I’d already covered in our neighborhood this past weekend. So, before we went to bed, I laid out my plans to my aunt, including my 7 a.m. rising time.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t too keen on the lateness of the hour. You see most mornings she manages to wake up around 5:30. But just because she’s the early bird around here doesn’t mean she’s dressed and ready to go before I am. “Okay,” I said, willing to compromise yet again, “How about I get up at 6:45.” I know I didn’t give her exactly what she wanted, but at least it was better than nothing. Thankfully she accepted the terms.

  At 6:45 on the dot, the clock radio and cell phone jarred me awake; both were sitting on the nightstand. Not having set the phone as a backup to the radio wake up, I assumed the early caller was a teacher from Washington Elementary where I used to work until I got laid off. When I left, I asked to have my name put on the substitute list so the school doesn’t forget about me if an opening ever occurs in the lower grades.

  I flicked off the radio and grabbed the phone. “Good morning, Mary. I hope I didn’t wake you,” said the cheery male voice on the other end.

  The strong, heavy accent narrowed the possibility to one man, Dr. Raj Singi, and he wasn’t a teacher. His livelihood was optometry. He, his wife Kamini, and their three girls aged four, three, and five months live directly below my brother’s apartment. “Of course not, Dr. Singi,” I fibbed, “I’ve been up since six like you.”

  “Good. Good. I don’t like to impose on you at the last minute, but if you’re not substituting, would you be so kind as to fill in for Kamini at the optical store today. Baby Anika isn’t feeling well and Kamini thought she, instead of her parents, should be home with her.”

  I’d been filling in on and off at Dr. Singi’s eyeglass business since Kamini took time off to have little Anika, so it wasn’t a job I knew nothing about. And the best thing about this part-time job, I didn’t need to fill up Fiona, my VW, with gas every time I went to work; Singi Optical rubbed bricks with the Foley. “Sure, I’d be glad to.” Only a fool would turn down income with bills coming in left and right. Besides, the only thing I had lined up for today was finding Gracie.

  “What time should I be at your office?”

  “One moment please. Kamini should know when the first patient is to arrive.” The loud clunk of a landline phone receiver came across the wires instantly. I pressed my ear even tighter to the phone assuming I’d hear the conversation between husband and wife, but didn’t. Little Anika’s wails drowned out whatever was shared. Three seconds later Raj came back to the phone. “Our first eye appointment is set for 8:30, so please be at the store by 8:00.”

  Delighted to have any job thrown my way, I said, “I’ll be there with bells on, Mr. Singi.”

  “What? You’re going to wear bells. No. No. That won’t do. It’s not appropriate attire for an optical store. Kamini only wears those when she performs belly dancing in public or teaches classes.”

  “Mr. Singi, you misunderstood. I’m not really wearing bells. It’s simply an odd American expression from way back when.”

  “Oh? I see. All right, Mary. I’ll expect you to arrive promptly at 8, with bells on.” Then Mr. Singi, an extremely serious person, let loose with a thunderous laugh and hung up.

  I tossed the cell phone back on the nightstand and flew off the bed. “Holy Smoley. I gotta get rolling.”

 
; I scrambled to the bathroom planning to take a quick shower, throw on a dab of makeup, and then select a suitable outfit from the meager wardrobe I owned before heading to the kitchen to fix an uncomplicated breakfast, and pack an edible lunch. And then, after all that was done, I needed to squeeze in a brief talk with Aunt Zoe about flyers.

  Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned. The tips of my non-pedicured toes had barely touched the bathrooms cold ceramic floor when a knock at the door dashed shower plans and anything else for the time being. Not wanting Aunt Zoe to wake up before she needed to, I rushed to the door without considering what I was wearing, a tatty purple flannel nightgown that barely dusted my kneecaps.

  Could Matt be arriving sooner than he intended? Don’t be silly, Mary. He would’ve warned you. It’s got to be Gertie or Margaret.

  I ignored the possibility that the early visitor might be a criminal and unhooked the door’s safety chain without first looking through the peephole. A mistake I’d regret once I flung the door open.

  “Wow, Mary, I must say your dressing standards are improving,” Rod Thompson, another fourth floor neighbor said, while his wandering eyes continued to check me out. “Nice touch with the nightie by the way.”

  Acting like I’d gotten caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I grabbed the side seams of my nightie and overlapped the fabric in front as much as possible.

  “Ah, don’t act so coy with me. That nightie of yours is a far cry from the tee shirt and undies I saw you in six months ago.”

  Why do people enjoy bringing up embarrassing moments in other’s lives?

  I kept a straight face, giving the impression I didn’t recall what he was referring to. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. Clearly Rod enjoyed seeing me squirm.

  “Surely you haven’t forgotten the day Zoe burnt toast and I popped in to disconnect the kitchen fire alarm, catching you off guard and under dressed. Did you get the pun?” he said, “Under dressed, underwear.”