Death of the Pickle King

by Marlene Chabot

  Aunt Zoe bobbed her spiked red head. “It should be. This apartment belongs to my nephew, but his current job has taken him outside the U.S.”

  “Yes, but he’ll be returning in a couple weeks and we’ll be moving,” I hastily added, relying heavily on Butch’s alleged exploits. “Butch, can I get you a can of pop or a beer?”

  Gertie’s cousin ran a hand through his long, thick head of hair that could easily be tied back. “A beer would be fine.”

  “I’ll get it,” Aunt Zoe offered. “How about a little snack to go with it? We don’t have any nuts, but my oatmeal cookies put Betty Crocker to shame. Every-

  one says they’re to die for.”

  I shook my head discreetly.

  The man decked out in an olive green Fleet Farm shirt, Lee boot-cut jeans, and black Skechers tennis shoes got the hint. He pressed his hand to his bulky stomach. “No thanks, Zoe. I feel like a stuffed pig after eating that huge meal Gertie fixed.”

  “I understand. Somedays I eat more than I should too. Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll go get your beer.”

  I walked over to the leather sleeper couch, tossed the huge plump glitzy pillows strung out across it on the carpet, and then positioned myself on the end of the couch closest to Butch.

  “According to what Gertie told me, you were sent to prison some years ago for a crime you didn’t commit, but she never mentioned what for. I think it would help if you walked me through it.” I grabbed a pad of paper and the new strawberry milkshake-shaped pen, recently acquired from Milts, off the coffee table.

  Butch leaned forward in the La-Z-Boy, pressed his elbows into his upper thighs, knotted his hands together, and then opened his mouth but nothing came out. A behavior that’s not unusual, especially when one’s train of thought is broken by an interruption, like Aunt Zoe’s rapid return with the beer.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the Bud Light off to him. “I hope I didn’t miss anything.”

  “You didn’t,” I said, displeased with her overly zealous return.

  Since my roommate had finished her errand, I expected her to sit down by me, but she didn’t. She continued to stand next to Butch instead. Her weird behavior tonight was driving me crazy. When a man is ready to open up about his past, he certainly doesn’t need Auntie hovering over him like a mother hen.

  I tapped the couch cushion like I do when Gracie can’t decide where to plop. Aunt Zoe merely rolled her eyes. So I tapped the cushion again. This time she gave in.

  Butch had been sipping on his beer while I was trying to get Aunt Zoe to do my bidding. Now that she had finally settled down, he rested his can of beer between his legs and shared his story. “I was working at the plant the first time I got arrested.”

  “Am I correct in assuming you’re referring to Hickleman’s?” I inquired.

  “Yes.”

  I shifted my body a tad. “When was that?”

  He leaned back in the chair, gripped his chin, and considered what I’d asked. “Roughly eight years ago, I guess.”

  Aunt Zoe looked at Butch adoringly. “You seem such a nice man. Why on earth did Mr. Hickleman have you arrested?”

  Butch vigorously rubbed the palm of his hand as if the pain from that day was still fresh in his memory. “I happened to be working the first shift the day Old man Hickleman discovered a few of his company’s top secret pickle recipes missing from his vault. No noise was made about it though. We simply found security guards posted by the time clock when the whistle blew for our shift to end. Being dead on our feet, none of us gave a thought about the guards standing there until they began to inspect our pockets and lunch pails.”

  “After the three people ahead of me had their things thoroughly searched, my turn came. I wasn’t nervous. Why should I be? I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. But when the security guard opened my lunch pail, there sat a few of the missing recipes. I don’t know how they got in there and I told Hickleman that when they dragged me into his office. Of course, he didn’t buy anything I had to say.

  “You see, around 2:30 that day, Paul Mason, my supervisor, informed me Mr. Hickleman wanted me to come to his office to discuss the raise I’d requested the month before.”

  “Ah, yes, Gertie and I met your supervisor the day we toured the plant with the kids. Go on.”

  “Well, I was on cloud nine. Nothing could’ve pleased me more. But the second I showed up at Hickleman’s door, he apologized and told me he had to step out for a few minutes. I asked if he wanted me to come back. He said, ‘No, just wait here.’” Butch lifted his beer to his lips and took a couple swallows, then set the can back down where he’d been safely storing it.

  “Was the vault open when you were in his office?”

  “Yup. Wide open.”

  “Who besides your supervisor knew you went to Hickleman’s office?” I asked.

  Butch shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to hear or talk over the din of the machinery.”

  “That’s true. I found that out yesterday. I’m surprised OSHA doesn’t mandate that the employees wear earplugs.”

  “If they did,” Butch said, “they wouldn’t hear the machines beeping when something goes haywire.”

  I squeezed my chin. “Of course, I didn’t think of that. Do you happen to recall anything else out of the ordinary occurring before meeting up with Hickleman that afternoon?”

  Butch’s thick grayish-black eyebrows shot up, covering half of his forehead. “Like what?”

  “Mmm, someone bad-mouthing the company for example.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Miss Malone, I’ve been gone from the factory eight years. That’s a long time for a person to remember stuff they didn’t give a hoot about one way or the other, even when they were working there.”

  “Sorry, I had to ask. Everybody’s memory plays out differently. Let’s take a little detour to the production area. When I toured it, I noticed it takes many hands to pack the pickles. Did you ever have a run-in with anyone while working?”

  Butch raked his hair. “If I did, it would’ve been during the summer months when pickling production is greater, not in the winter.”

  I glanced at the carpet expecting Gracie’s dark piercing eyes to be staring up at me, but she wasn’t there. Where did the darn dog run off to? And why did she have to take off now of all times?

  “Is that all you needed to know?” Butch inquired.

  Aunt Zoe gently poked me. “Mary, Butch asked you a question.”

  My head jerked. “Sorry, about that. My mind wandered for a second there. A dog we’ve been caring for disappeared over the weekend and I’m really worried about her.”

  “Gracie belongs to Mary’s brother,” my aunt interjected, “And we don’t dare tell him about it.”

  “Dang. That’s tough. Dogs are such good critters, aren’t they? I sure hope you get her back.”

  “Thanks.” I flicked imaginary lint off my stretch pants. Now, what did you want to know?”

  “I wondered if we were finished.”

  “Not quite. It would help if I knew how many shifts the plant has.”

  Butch pressed his hands into his upper thighs. “There are three in the summer and two this time of year. The first shift is for production and the other is for plant sanitization.”

  “So either an employee working sanitization or someone from the first shift snuck into Hickleman’s office and stole the recipes, which is going to make it mighty difficult to get at the truth,” I said. “Butch, be honest with me, did you ever wonder if your supervisor might have had something to do with the missing recipes?”

  “Paul? Nah? He was well-liked by the men.”

  “Often times the most likeable person can be the most devious,” I pointed out.

  Butch wrapped his hands around the beer can. “I suppose. But I think if Paul was really nasty underneath, it would’ve shown through eventually.”

  Aunt Zoe grew restless. “Edward, my deceased husband used to say, ‘There’s no such thing
as loving everyone you work with.’ I’m sure that must’ve been true for you too, Butch.”

  Good question, Auntie. It certainly makes up for her earlier behavior.

  Butch shifted in his chair, rubbing his heavily-lined forehead as he did so. “Well, yeah. There’s always a few who get under your skin, even in prison.”

  “Care to name those who bothered you at work?” I asked, ready to fill up my writing pad with a long list of people.

  Butch didn’t have to think that one over. He only shared one name and it rolled off his tongue like a convict ready to sing. “Chip O’Leary.”

  “A fellow with Irish roots. Is he still at the plant?” I asked.

  “Yup. I think he’s been made vat manager.”

  “Then I’ll begin with Paul and Chip. Since I already know what Paul looks like, I just need the low down on O’Leary.”

  Gertie’s cousin braced his free hand on the arm of the La-Z-Boy chair, swung his muscular body out of it, and drew closer to the couch. “Sure. You can’t miss him,” he said. “Chip is short and stocky, about 5 foot 7. He has cold steely eyes, a mighty pocked up face, and a handlebar mustache.”

  Uncomfortable conversing with anyone towering over me while I’m seated, I got off the couch. “Hmm... a handlebar mustache. Not many people wear those these days. Too much work.”

  “Exactly, especially when dining with a girlfriend. You got to be wiping it all the time or she’ll be staring at the food caught in it instead of thinking about the guy she’s with.” Butch handed his empty beer can off to me, indicating he was leaving. I took it. “Thanks for your time tonight, Mary. I feel better knowing you’re on my side.” He turned to face Zoe. “Thanks for the beer. It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am, also,” and then he headed to the door.

  “Butch, what about my book?” Aunt Zoe asked, springing up from the couch. “You said you’d sign it for me.”

  “Right, right. You got a pen handy.”

  “I most certainly do.” She eyed the Milt’s pen still in my grip. I didn’t offer it. She whipped it out of my hand anyway.

  Sensing the two of them would be busy for a bit, I went to the entrance closet and retrieved Butch’s coat. When I came back, I caught the tail end of what Aunt Zoe was saying to Butch. Something about how lucky he was. Her comment didn’t make any sense. The man certainly wasn’t lucky getting arrested twice.

  Obviously, Butch had no idea what she was referring to either. “How’s that?” he asked. “Do you mean because my book got published?”

  Aunt Zoe rested her pudgy hand on his arm. “Well, that too. But I was speaking of what Mary told Gertie when she first learned of your latest arrest. Did Gertie ever mention it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “She said she had too many irons in the fire and couldn’t possibly help.”

  ~10~

  That’s it! Ever since Aunt Zoe’s moved in with me she’s repeated stuff she shouldn’t. Well, she’s embarrassed me for the last time. When I move out of Matt’s, I’m going solo. No more sharing an apartment. It’s for the birds.

  I’ve been living the life of a nun for far too long. It’s time to cut loose. No more crazy interruptions when I’m trying to entertain guy friends. I can get up when I want, eat whatever I desire, and not keep track of anyone but myself. The thought of saying “Hasta la Vista, Auntie,” brought a smile to my face.

  “What’s so amusing, Mary? You look like a cat that swallowed a gold fish. It doesn’t have anything to do with Butch’s circumstances I hope. That man’s problems aren’t anything to laugh about.”

  “It doesn’t involve Butch. I just remembered a joke someone shared the other day.”

  Aunt Zoe opened the sleeper couch and made it up for the night. “Oh? Well, I could use a good laugh.

  Another fib that bit me in the butt. I drew serious. “Oh, I’d totally screw up it up. I’m not in the right frame of mind tonight. My brain’s too taxed with Butch’s woes and worries over Gracie. But I do have something extremely important to tell you before we go to bed.”

  My aunt turned her back to the couch and crossed her arms over her floor-length fuchsia-colored flannel nightie. “Don’t tell me you’ve broken up with that undercover cop you met working the case at Reed’s. I really liked him.”

  “This has nothing to do with David Welsh.”

  “Well, I know Matt’s not back in town yet. If he was, we wouldn’t be here.” A second later her hands flew to her freshly scrubbed cheeks. “I know, you’ve finally got a teaching job. That’s fantastic. I’m really happy for you.”

  “No, I didn’t. Just sit down and stop guessing, please.”

  “Okay.” She moved her feather pillow and sat. “But I’m sure I could’ve figured it out if you’d given me half a chance.” She wagged her finger at me. “I’ve acquired a few sleuthing skills of my own you know.”

  I tipped my head. “You sure have.” Well, if you must know, she did help a smidgen the last two cases I took on. “I wanted to tell you this earlier but things sort of got in the way. After I toured the pickle factory this morning, I asked the receptionist for a job application.”

  Aunt Zoe’s greyish-blue eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  I yawned. “I most certainly am not.”

  “Have you told Gertie?”

  I scooted off my aunt’s bed. “No, not yet. She wasn’t around when I spoke with the receptionist. The pickle plant is hiring, but I still have to fax the application to them and wait for a response.” As much as I hated to tell Aunt Zoe that bit of info the way she blabs, I knew if I didn’t tell her about the job, she’d wonder where the heck I was disappearing to everyday. Besides, this was the final time I’d ever share anything with her.

  Aunt Zoe kicked off her wedge shaped fuchsia-dyed feather slippers created by Vecceli of Italy and slipped under the bed covers. “I don’t mean to be negative, but do you really think they’ll hire someone with all your credentials, Mary?”

  I flicked off the only lamp still lit in the room. “Of course they will. I’m going to lie like heck on my application like everyone else.”

  Auntie mumbled something under her breath and then bid me and Edward’s cremation remains a goodnight.

  ~11~

  Day 4

  This morning I’m actually doing something healthy for myself, and food isn’t even involved. Ah maybe I’d better retract that disclaimer. While it’s true that after returning to the Foley from faxing my filled-out job application form to Hickleman Company, I broke down and took the stairs instead of the elevator, my habits hadn’t really changed overnight.

  You see, while I chased around town doing errands, temptation struck in the name of Dunkin’ Donuts. I just couldn’t resist their special of the day, Brownie Batter donuts. Except now, with every new step I take my heart pounds louder and louder, making me feel like death is knocking at my door.

  By the time my clammy hand wrapped around the knob of the fourth floor exit door, my body was depleted of energy. I could barely breathe. Sweat poured out of every cell in my body. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that I could plop in Matt’s La-Z-Boy as soon as I got back to the apartment, unless of course Aunt Zoe happened to be occupying it.

  I yanked open the door leading to the hallway and almost knocked Margaret Grimshaw flat on the ugly orange and mud-brown striped carpet as she stepped off the elevator loaded down with bagged groceries from Food to Go. “Sorry, if I scared you. I don’t usually rush out of the stairwell like that.”

  “No need to apologize, dear. As you can see I’m perfectly fine.”

  I was unconvinced. The woman was definitely struggling to keep the two grocery bags above her waist. “Here, let me take one of those,” I offered.”

  Margaret’s thin lips curled up, indicating she was pleased to be rid of some of the load before going any further down the narrow hallway. “Thank you. Has there been any word on Gracie yet?” />
  “Nope. However, Aunt Zoe might have gotten a call while I was out. By the way, I took your suggestion about posting notices beyond a four block radius and have notified the Hennepin Humane Society. Oh, and Raj Singi offered to put a huge poster in one of his windows at the optical store.” We stopped walking now. Our faces were almost touching Margaret’s door.

  The elderly woman unzipped a small side pocket on her black leather purse, pulled out a key, inserted it in the lock, and pushed the door open. “He and Kamini are so nice. I’ve never heard anyone in this building speak ill of them.”

  “Me neither.” I handed off the bag of groceries I’d helped carry before I forgot and kept them for myself.

  Margaret took the extra bag and shuffled across her threshold without saying her usual goodbye or closing her door. Instead, she left the door open, set both bags down by her hall closet, and turned around. “Mary, you didn’t say whether you resolved any of the other problems you shared with me?”

  I thought of Tinker Bell with her fairy dust. I know it was for flying but maybe it would work for other things too, like cleaning up messes. “The living room still looks like Vegas,” I said, allowing a bit of disgust to flavor my voice, “but I’m about to put a dent in Butch’s problems.”

  “So, you’ve chosen to help him after all. Good for you. What made you change your mind?”

  “I think touring the Hickleman Pickle Plant with Gertie the other day did it.”

  “You took a tour? How did you manage that? I thought most businesses these days didn’t allow non-employees inside their facilities for safety reasons.”

  I leaned against her doorjamb. “A teacher from Washington Elementary knows someone who works there and they set up the tour for the second graders. When Gertie found out about the trip, she put our names down to help chaperone the students.”

  “Ah, hah.” Margaret’s eyes blazed with excitement. “I’d love to hear what you’ve got up your sleuth sleeve, but I need to get these groceries put away. Can you come in and sit a spell?”