Death of the Pickle King

by Marlene Chabot

  I’d barely left the – 19 °F temperature of the outdoors behind a mere six minutes ago and the heat in this building already made me feel like I was the one being baked. I quickly slipped out of my coat and scrambled to the pop machine with my cup to fill it full of ice and Coke.

  Twenty minutes later my pizza was boxed and ready to go. I threw on my coat, slung my purse over my shoulder, grabbed the order, and walked out to the back of the brick building to meet with the gal who helped me. She wasn’t there yet, so I had to literally cool my heels since I’d chosen slingback pumps to wear to the interview.

  The wait in the extreme cold brought Gracie’s welfare to mind, making me feel guilty as hell. Raised as an indoor dog, she wouldn’t survive too long in these weather conditions. I still couldn’t believe someone hadn’t spotted her by now. Hopefully, she was in a warm shelter of some sort and being treated well.

  The backdoor of the pizza parlor finally creaked open and out stepped the gal I’d been waiting for. A pale-blue down jacket covered her work shirt. She leaned up against the door, quickly lit up a cigarette, and then introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Ginny.”

  “And I’m Mary,” I said. “Have you worked with Butch very long?”

  She took a puff of her cigarette and then blew out smoke. “Yeah, I worked with him for over a year.”

  “You make it sound like he’s no longer here.”

  “Yup. The boss let him go.”

  “Geez, that’s too bad. Any idea why?”

  Ginny cocked her head. “You’ve heard that the owner of Hickleman’s was killed, right?”

  I nodded. “Who hasn’t? It’s big news in Minnesota. What’s it got to do with Butch though? He wasn’t working there anymore.”

  “No. But he’s being blamed for the guy’s death.” She brought the cigarette to her mouth again.

  I faked surprise. “What? He’s such a pussycat. There’s no way he could’ve murdered anyone.”

  Ginny flicked cigarette ash on the ground. “That’s exactly what I said. Butch is the nicest guy around. He couldn’t hurt a flea if he tried.” She gave a quick glance over her shoulder at the pickle plant and then took another puff on her cigarette. “I’ll tell you what I think. Someone over there’s got it in for him big time, Mary.” She scrutinized me from head to toe. Then she went on. “If I were his lawyer, I’d take a good look at Paul Mason, the first shift supervisor, and another guy everyone calls Chip. They both come off sneaky to me.”

  She thinks I’m Butch’s lawyer. Well, I’m not about to straighten her out. I don’t want it getting around someone’s doing undercover work at the plant. “I guess we’d better hope Butch has a great lawyer to help him clear his name then,” I said, “so he can get back to what he does best, making pizzas.”

  “Amen.” Ginny checked her wristwatch. “Oops. Gotta get back inside.” She tossed the partially burned cigarette in the snow. “Nice chatting with you, Mary. Hey, if you bump into Butch, tell him I said hi.”

  “Sure,” and then I headed to the car.

  I’D JUST GOTTEN BACK from St. Michael and was busy jiggling the key in the keyhole of the apartment with one hand and balancing the boxed pizza in the other when there was a commotion behind me. Worried that Rod Thompson, the guy we played Monopoly with the other day, was preparing to launch another sneak attack on me, I promptly withdrew the key and spun around. To my surprise, instead of finding the tall Scandinavian, I caught a petite Italian woman exiting her apartment carrying a fancy metal cage containing one occupant, a parrot.

  “Hi, Margaret.”

  My neighbor slowly backed away from her door and lifted her head, “Mary, I didn’t expect to see you until later. Didn’t you have a job interview this morning?”

  I nodded. “Yup. I’m just getting back from there.” I pointed at the cage. “So, where’s Petey going this time, to the vet’s or to offer his mating services?”

  “Neither,” she hastily replied.

  Having heard his name mentioned, Petey cocked his head and loudly squawked. “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”

  “Oops. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to get him all riled up. Too bad I don’t have a towel handy for you to throw over his cage.”

  “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”

  “It’s not your fault he reacts so intensely to his name,” the elderly woman stated. “I should’ve put his cover over the cage before disturbing him.” She peered through the thin metal bars and scolded its occupant like one would a child. “Hush, Petey. You know better. We’re not in our home.”

  Petey took his owner’s words to heart. He immediately bent his head and shut his eyes.

  “That’s a good bird,” Margaret whispered. Then she gave her full attention to me again. “He doesn’t know it, but I’m loaning him out to the Veteran’s Hospital for a few days. All that attention will do him a whirl of good as well as the veterans suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. According to doctors interaction with parrots makes them feel better. And I’m all for that.”

  “It’s nice to hear Petey can be of help. You know last week I caught a news report on that same topic. Apparently, the idea came from a program started in California. Although out there the veterans with PTSD cared for damaged or orphaned parrots and healing occurred for both.”

  Margaret inhaled deeply as she fought with her arthritic fingers to get a better grip on the cage. “It’s too bad it took so long for those people in the field of medicine to realize parrots are just as attuned to peoples’ feelings as horses and dogs. I’ve known it all along. Well, I guess I’d better be off, dear. Someone from the local VFW has volunteered to pick up Petey and me and drive us to the hospital. Why don’t you catch me up on your interview later when I get back,” she suggested, slowly pivoting her body in the direction of the elevator before continuing on with Petey.

  “I will.” As I returned to the task of unlocking my door, I was thankful I’d be eating the pizza in solitude. It would give me more time to mull over what Ginny from Tioni’s had shared with me in regards to Butch and his two fellow employees.

  ~16~

  Aunt Zoe returned home an hour after I did, all hyped up after spending several hours with Reed, her charming companion, and began interrogating me like she had been handed the role of Perry Mason and me the criminal. I took the Fifth. I wasn’t going to spill the beans about my morning until Margaret came over.

  True to form, remaining quiet didn’t sit well with Auntie. More questions came my way. Not able to contain myself any longer, I held up a hand, signaling she needed to stop talking. It did the trick. Further questions were cut off at the source. “Thanks,” I said, without offering an explanation, a dumb mistake on my part. I should’ve given more thought to leaving things up in the air.

  Deep furrows materialized on Aunt Zoe’s broad forehead. “What’s wrong? Did the interview at Hickleman’s go that poorly or do you have a headache? If it’s a headache, I’ll get you a couple Excedrin out of the medicine cabinet.”

  “I’m okay. There’s nothing to fret about.” I pointed to an empty couch cushion. “Kick off your shoes and come join me.”

  “Well, if you insist. But I think I’ll take off my hat and coat too.”

  While I waited for her to remove her shoes and outdoor clothing in the entrance hallway, I grabbed my cell phone off the elaborately decorated coffee table where I had set it and pressed Margaret’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Hi. My aunt just got back from her outing with Reed and I wondered if you could come by for a few minutes.”

  “Si. May I bring coffee cake? It just came out of the oven.”

  My stomach thrilled to the prospect of eating anything baked from scratch in Margaret’s kitchen. “Of course,” I responded enthusiastically. “You know me I never turn down food.”

  By the time I pressed the OFF button on the cell phone, Auntie was getting comfy on the couch. “Is Margaret coming over,” she inquired.

  I tilted my head towards her
. “Yup. I saw her in the hallway briefly when I got back, but we didn’t get a chance to chat. She was going to the VA Hospital with Petey.”

  “Oh, no. What’s wrong with Petey?”

  Lord, this roommate business won’t come to an end soon enough for me. I know our hearing gets worse as we age, but believe me that’s not my sixty-five-year-old aunt’s case. Things just don’t click for her. I squeezed the fingers on my left hand to keep myself from laughing. “The VA isn’t a vet hospital.”

  “It isn’t?”

  Who actually was confusing whom, I wondered. Semantics, schmantics. I made another stab at it. “See, when I referred to the VA as a Vet Hospital I meant the one for veterans.”

  A tiny light flickered in my aunt’s grayish-blue eyes. “Ah, you mean older pets.”

  I shook my head. Margaret, please get here soon. My patience is growing thin. “Nope. I mean guys who joined the army and other branches of service.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would Margaret take Petey to the VA Hospital then if he wasn’t sick?”

  A noise coming from outside the apartment door kept me from letting my frustrations out of the bag. “Auntie, did you hear something?”

  “No, why?”

  “I thought I heard what sounded like a knock.”

  “Oh?” Aunt Zoe tilted her head in the direction of our entrance. “I still don’t hear anything. Maybe one of the neighbors is hanging pictures on their wall.”

  I cupped my ear. “There it goes again. Someone is definitely knocking at our door. It must be Margaret.” Yay. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the door. I felt like the executioner had just given me a reprieve.

  “Margaret,” I whispered, “Thank God. You got here in time to save my sanity.”

  She threw her head back and looked at me through the bifocal part of her lenses. “Is she confusing you again, dear?”

  “Yes,” I loudly replied. “I can’t wait to try a piece of your delicious coffee cake. Come in.”

  Aunt Zoe stood, smoothed out her gray knit pants and waltzed over to our guest who happened to be wearing the same style and color of pants. “Margaret, what’s this about Petey going to the VA Hospital. Why did he get dropped off there?”

  Before Margaret could reply, I stepped between her and Aunt Zoe and quickly latched onto their arms. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, ladies, over coffee cake and tea,” I said, parading them to the kitchen table where I shelled out more orders. “Margaret, have a seat. Aunt Zoe, please put the teakettle on. I’ll get the plates, napkins, and other items.”

  “Certainly,” Aunt Zoe chirped, “and I’ll grab the tea bags too.” Before she wandered over to the cupboards where the box of Lipton’s Black Tea was kept though, she collected the teakettle from the stove, filled it with water, and then returned it to the burner it had been on. “I turned the heating knob on high,” she informed us, “so the water should be ready in a jiffy.”

  “Yes, that should do the trick,” our ninety-year-old visitor said with no malice intended. “Mary, go ahead and cut the coffee cake. I can see you and Zoe are dying to try it.”

  I smacked my lips and reached for the knife. “Are we that obvious?”

  Margaret smiled. “Si. Now cut the cake and tell us about your interview.”

  After I cut a small wedge of coffee cake for each of us and passed them around like Margaret requested, I said. “Ladies, I’m pretty positive I impressed the woman who interviewed me.”

  Aunt Zoe sounded skeptical. “How could you tell?”

  “Well, for one, I showed up and on time. That ought to have earned me a couple brownie points in this day and age, right?”

  “I suppose.” She picked up her fork and broke off a bit of coffee cake.

  “But there’s more to it than that,” I continued. “Sharon Sylvester acted genuinely thrilled to receive such a neat, well-filled out application from someone. Although, she did question the gap I had in between jobs.”

  My aunt almost choked on her snack. “See, that’s exactly what I worried about, Mary, you putting stuff on your application that had no business being there.”

  The teakettle whistled. Nobody noticed.

  Always the peacemaker, Margaret tried her best to calm things down. “Zoe, she had to fib about her jobs, she had no choice. Hickleman’s wouldn’t hire a teacher. They’re looking for blue collar workers not white.”

  The teakettle kept on whistling.

  Aunt Zoe’s chair scraped the linoleum floor when she pushed it back to stand. “If that’s the case, perhaps Mary made a mistake in applying for the job,” she said with a snooty tone. “I should’ve been the one to do it since I have only a high school education.” With that said she moved to the stove, picked up the teakettle and a potholder, and brought them to the table.

  What can one say without upsetting the applecart? I needed time to think. While I tossed ideas around in my head, I picked the teakettle up off the table and filled each of our cups. “Auntie, this job is too stressful and dangerous for you. If something happened to you, we’d all be at a terrible loss, especially my dad. You’re the only sister he has.”

  Aunt Zoe bowed her fiery-red head. “You’re right. I’m sorry I went off like I did. I know you love me and would never want any harm to come to me. Besides, I like being a member of the retirement community and I don’t think my feet could handle standing on a cement floor for eight hours.”

  I sighed. The storm was over. Hopefully the weather in here will remain sunny until move out day. Wait a minute. Did she say cement floor? “Oh, boy. I never gave the floors a second thought. I’m so used to working in comfortable environments; cement might bother my feet too. Oh, well, we’ve got a tub. I guess I can soak my tired feet when I get home.” I leaned back in my chair and relaxed.

  Margaret shared a smile with me. “Any idea when you’ll hear back from Ms. Sylvester about the job?”

  “My references still need to be checked, but I have a feeling it could be as soon as this evening.”

  “Oh, yes. References are terribly important, aren’t they?” Margaret wrapped her tiny hands around her teacup. The heat probably made her swollen fingers feel better. “If I remember correctly, a business these days usually wants three names listed. I hope you gave names of people you can depend on to fib for you?”

  “I did indeed.” I left the table for a short duration to collect something in the bedroom, and then came back. “Here, Margaret, this is what I want you to say when she calls.” I handed her a slip of paper with information on it. “And, Auntie, here’s your copy.”

  “I don’t like her calling me,” she said. “She’ll recognize your phone number.”

  I shook my head. “No, she won’t. I put down Matt’s landline number.”

  She lifted her head. “Ah. I suppose Rod Thompson is your other reference.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Well, I only thought since he’s a neighbor and knows you so well.”

  My voice shot up. “I don’t know what ever gave you that idea, Auntie.”

  Before battle lines could be drawn, Margaret interrupted. “Zoe, I didn’t have a chance to explain about Petey yet.”

  “That’s right. We’ve been so busy talking about other things. Why did you take Petey to a veteran’s hospital if he wasn’t sick? It doesn’t make sense.”

  God bless Margaret. If she’s not a saint yet, she’ll be canonized soon.

  MARGARET HAD BARELY left when Matt’s landline rang. Since most people contact us via cell phones, I figured the caller had to be Sharon Sylvester. When I last spoke with her, she sounded eager to fill the production positions. I glanced at Aunt Zoe. “You might as well answer it.”

  “I... I don’t know if I can do this, Mary.”

  The phone continued to ring. “Yes, you can,” I prodded. I took the sheet of paper assigned to Aunt Zoe off the coffee table and shoved it in her hand. “Remember the wonderful story you weaved for the jeweler at Padock’s in Duluth when you were que
stioned about the loose gem in your possession and what your plans were for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the same thing. It’s all play acting.” I led her to the phone, picked up the receiver, and handed it to her. “You’ll be fine,” I mouthed. Then I prayed she wouldn’t screw up.

  Aunt Zoe took a deep breath and said, “Hello, this is Zoe Rouge. Who’s calling please?” I gave her two thumbs up. She grinned and then dropped her eyes to the paper. “Yes, I’ve known Miss Malone for roughly ten years. She’s a hard worker and very dependable. She’d make a wonderful asset to any company. What’s that? Oh, yes, she was willing to take on any assignment Kelly Temps sent her on regardless of how difficult the task sounded. Is there anything else you’d like to know about Ms. Malone’s skills? No? Good-day then.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My aunt didn’t crack under pressure. Perhaps I expect too much of her. Aunt Zoe was pampered all of her married life. She knows nothing of the real world I’ve lived in. Maybe it would work out for the two of us to continue living together after all. I studied my aunt who was busy setting the phone receiver back in the cradle as if she was a specimen under a microscope. Nope. Forget it. The phone call was just one teeny thing she did right.

  “Well, what did you think, Mary? Was I believable enough?”

  I gave her a hug. “You bet. Your performance was fantastic. You didn’t go off script once. If I get hired, I’ll treat you and Margaret to supper at Milts.”

  Her stomach growled loudly. “Then let’s hope you hear before supper. My lunch and the coffee cake have worn off.”

  ~17~

  Day 9

  Aunt Zoe stood by the kitchen door dressed in morning attire, fluffy slippers, a long flowing neon-pink bathrobe, and her hair wrapped around those humongous foam rollers of hers. “Mary, you’d better get moving or you’ll be late for your first day on the job and get canned before you start.”