I lowered my eyelids. “I certainly do. I use those words on a daily basis when I’m teaching.”
“Oh, but of course,” my aunt replied. “Someone in education would, wouldn’t they?”
With this particular discourse ended, my aunt picked up her fork and pressed down hard on her serving of lasagna causing the flavorful tomato sauce, mixed with cheeses, noodles, and meat to ooze out so fast I thought it was going to spill off the plate and on to her lap. Lucky for her it didn’t occur. Her jogging suit couldn’t afford any more color added to it.
Once Aunt Zoe’s fork held enough for her to eat, she looked up from her plate and directed the conversation my way again. “Mary, you haven’t offered any details on how your day went yet. Did you get to use the stun gun?”
At the mention of a stun gun Margaret’s fork slipped through her delicate hand and fell to the plate in front of her. “A stun gun? Whatever possessed you two to purchase such an item?” she nervously inquired. “I’ve seen police demonstrate those on TV. They’re dangerous.”
Not wanting to discuss the stun gun or the pickle plant until I had more food in my stomach, I shoveled it in as fast as I could.
Margaret wagged a bent finger at me, reminding me of Sister Luigi, a nun who stood watch over me and my elementary classmates during the lunch hour. “Better slow down, Mary, or you’ll need Tums.” At least she didn’t tell me I’d choke to death. That’s what Sister Luigi said.
I looked at the food on my plate, only an eighth of a cup of peas remained. Holy cow! Slowing down wasn’t going to help. I needed a break. I laid the fork across the plate, took a couple sips of milk from my glass to counteract any indigestion that might be brewing, and finally followed through on telling my dining companions what they were dying to hear.
“Margaret, I’m sorry I ignored your inquiry about the stun gun, but there isn’t much to tell. I only found out about the purchase this morning when Aunt Zoe put it in my hands and insisted I take it with me for protection.”
“Mary’s stun gun looks exactly like a camera,” Aunt Zoe boasted. “She’ll have to show it to you before you go home.”
“I don’t need to see it,” Margaret insisted, quickly shifting her focus from my aunt to me. “Please tell me you didn’t take the stun gun into the building with you.”
“Ah... it wasn’t that simple. Believe me, I waved the pros and cons. One minute I thought I should, and the next I didn’t.”
Aunt Zoe’s grayish-blue eyes lit up. “Knowing you, the pros won out, am I right?
I threw my head back. “Yup. I tossed it in my purse.”
Margaret’s thin eyebrows inched upward, making her eyes appear much larger. “Weren’t you afraid it might fall out of your purse?”
“I gave that careful consideration...”
“And?” she prodded me on.
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “Well, since employees have to put their belongings in lockers, which are easy to break into, I figured the safest place to hide the stun gun was on me.”
Margaret shook her head in disbelief. “Dear, I understand your dilemma this morning regarding the stun gun, but if you continue bringing it to the plant, the person who killed Don Hickleman could very well use it on you.”
“I’ve thought about that.” I uncrossed my arms and rested my hands on my knees. “But with no one to back me up, I have to have some sort of defense weapon. Surely you don’t want me to carry one of Matt’s hunting knives?”
Margaret’s mouth made a maddening clicking noise. “Absolutely not. A person could slice you in two in no time.”
Aunt Zoe’s hands shook. “I abhor blood and gore. Can we please drop this type of talk?” Such a strange request coming from one who finds great pleasure in describing her African hunting expeditions.
Our neighbor readily apologized and swept talk of defense tools under the rug. “Mary, I noticed you haven’t mentioned if anything came up at work that might be helpful to Butch.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I heard two interesting things today. Both made a dilly of a mess that can’t be ignored, but whether either might help Butch I can’t say. The first involves hanky-panky at the plant. The other deals with a business owner who didn’t relish suggestions from his lowly employees.”
Aunt Zoe smoothed her deep furrowed forehead. “Do you mind repeating what you said in plain English? I can’t make sense out of what I heard.”
There’s always one in the crowd that doesn’t understand. “Sure. I have two hot items for you to chew on. First, a certain woman truck driver has been fooling around with men at the plant for years, including one Don Hickleman. And second, the woman training me in complained about Don Hickleman’s not listening to employees’ suggestions.”
Margaret lifted her cup of tea. “My, my, Mary, it sounds like your first day of sleuthing at the plant went splendidly. Don’t you agree, Zoe?”
Zoe supported her chin with her hand. “I guess so. But I still wish I was working with her.”
Not me, I thought as I finished the peas, and went for round two of lasagna.
~23~
Day 10
Matt’s clock radio went off at 6 a.m. on the dot, signaling me to get out of bed, but my achy body refused to budge. Knowing I couldn’t possibly solve the murder of the Pickle King from a supine position, even if I wanted to, I flicked the alarm off and tried convincing myself there was a plateful of blueberry pancakes warming in the oven, waiting to be devoured. Unfortunately, my head wasn’t in the mood for playing games, not even the pinky toe itched to get up, so I continued to lay on my backside.
Not too long after choosing to stay put, a faint rustling noise came from the other side of the bedroom door, and then the door knob jiggled. Expecting the door to crack open any second, I slowly counted to three, and it did. “Just checking to see if you’re awake, Mary,” Aunt Zoe said in her cheery, early-riser tone, “and to let you know I’ve already used the bathroom so you can spend as much time in there as you wish.”
I lifted my head off the pillow and turned a smidgen in her direction. “I appreciate your checking on me,” I croaked, “but as you can see I’m awake. It’s my body that has a problem.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, flinging the door wide open. “Are you still sore from what you did yesterday?”
Begging for as much sympathy as I could milk, I said, “Ah huh,” and then pressed my elbows into the overly-firm mattress, forcing the upper body up a tad.
Without waiting for an invite from me, Aunt Zoe marched over to the edge of the bed and settled her warm pudgy hands on my shoulders. “What you need is a massage and a good soak in a hot tub. Sit up tall,” she ordered, “and let my fingers work their magic.”
My aunt does lots of crazy stuff, but one thing she’s terribly good at is giving massages and I wasn’t about to let her offer go to waste. I drew up my hunched shoulders and stretched the neck.
“Much better,” she said and then threw herself into her work.
“Ooo. My muscles are relaxing already. Why didn’t I ask you for a massage last night? After you get those kinks out, can you please rub the middle of my back too?”
“Yes, but I can’t stand here all morning otherwise you won’t be able to soak in the tub.” She lifted her hands off my shoulders and gently laid them near the center of my back now.
“By the way, I appreciate your leaving the bathroom open for me.”
“Well, I thought it might be nice to give you a few extra minutes to pretty yourself up before going to work.” She pressed her thumbs into my skin, slowly rotating over a single knot until it disappeared, and then moved on to another location.
“What for?” I asked, taking a deep breath when she hit an extremely touchy area. “No one at the pickle plant cares how I look.”
“Ah, but that charming policeman friend of yours from Duluth might want you looking special for him. And you can’t very well put makeup on when you get back here tonight. Th
ere won’t be time. Trevor’s picking you up for dinner the instant you walk through the door. At least that’s what you told me last night.”
“Trevor? Yikes! I forgot about our date?” I jumped out of bed, totally forgetting about my sore, over-worked body and glanced at the person staring back at me from the mirror on the dresser. “What am I going to do with my hair? It already looks like it’s taken off for Jupiter. Wearing a dumb hairnet for eight hours is only going to make it worse. Too bad I don’t have a cute hat to cover this hair. I would’ve had one by now if I didn’t keep convincing myself I can make it through winter without one.”
Aunt Zoe chuckled. “I should’ve mentioned Trevor sooner. Relax. I’ll think of something while you’re at work.” She strolled to the door and rested her fingers on the handle for a second. “Say, I bet Gertie would lend you a hat. She has oodles of them. I’ll check with her later.”
I’d rather be six feet under than wear one of her wild creations.
Before I could tell Aunt Zoe to skip her quest for a hat, especially from one of my least favorite people, she slipped out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind her. Oh, well. It’s easy enough to fib my way out of using one of Gertie’s Goodwill finds. I’ll tell her it doesn’t fit right. Since I started sleuthing, I’ve become quite proficient at telling little white lies beyond my home turf.
Wondering how much time I’d left to work with, I glanced at the clock radio. The hour was dwindling rapidly. Thirty minutes had already elapsed and I still had a ton do before returning to the pickle plant and sleuthing again.
I paraded over to the open closet and gave my thoughts over today’s work wardrobe. Even though the plant job didn’t require anything other than casual clothing I wanted to pull out all the stops for Trevor this evening. A nice pair of black jeans and the black sweatshirt with an embroidered cardinal on it that I got from Mom last birthday ought to fill the bill.
After grabbing what I needed, including black dress shoes I’d set by the entrance door to conveniently slip into the moment I got home, I opened the bedroom door and walked the few steps to the bathroom.
Aunt Zoe had suggested a soak in the tub, but plucking eyebrows and putting on layers of makeup required a considerable amount of time which would cut into this gal’s breakfast nourishment for the hard day ahead, so I opted for the shower instead.
~24~
Finally ready to go, I slid my black, thermal-sock-covered-feet into the only pair of tennis shoes sitting by the door, tied them, and stood. Then I zipped up my ski jacket, put on a pair of wool gloves, and loudly proclaimed, “I’m leaving, Aunt Zoe,” hoping my message carried all the way to the kitchen.
An unexpected reply came as my hand hit the door knob. “Wait, I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.” I turned my back to the door and leaned against it, wondering what Aunt Zoe wanted to speak to me about that couldn’t wait till tonight.
Despite the fact my aunt bent over to catch her breath the second she reached the entryway, I managed to understand her somehow. “Mary, you must be extremely careful today. I don’t want a policeman showing up at our door to tell me you’re in the hospital or worse.”
She didn’t have to explain to me what she meant by worse. All one had to do was see the beautifully carved wooden bowl on the coffee table that still held a small amount of Uncle Edward’s cremation remains. “I promise. And if you run any errands today, make sure you’re back here by four. I don’t want Trevor showing up early and no one here to greet him.”
“Don’t fret. I should be here all day.”
“Good. I’ll see you tonight, then,” I said, in a state of calmness. But when I walked out the door, fear gripped my chest cavity. Aunt Zoe wasn’t to blame. Not knowing what to expect the first few weeks of a new job is known to cause anxiety for a worker bee, including me. Some seasonal positions I’ve worked promised fourteen days of training, in reality it boiled down to one.
The minute my tennis shoes settled on the carpet shared by the other residents of the fourth floor hallway a familiar male voice hailed me from behind. “Hey, Mary, hold up. We can ride the elevator together.”
Leave it to Rod to catch me off guard. Well, I’m not about to share an elevator with him. I’ll take the stairs.
“What are you doing up so early? Trying to get the apartment cleaned before big brother gets back home and boots you out?”
I spun around, forgetting about my highly made up face, and stared at the well-groomed FBI agent. Even though I wasn’t interested in Rod, I couldn’t deny he looked mighty handsome dressed to the nines like James Bond in his charcoal colored Brooks Brothers’ suit. “No. I’m going to work.”
He grinned. “Looks more like you’re getting off work to me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“Did you take a close look at yourself in the mirror this morning?”
Why did he have to draw attention to my hair? I patted the top of my short cropped do where static usually makes loose strands stand up like toothpicks. “Of course I did. I know my hair looks frightful, but I didn’t expect to run into anyone on the way out.”
“I’m not referring to your hairdo, although I have to agree with you it does look scary.” He touched his face. “I’m talking about this. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be wearing so much greasepaint?”
Slow on the uptake, it suddenly dawned on me what Rod meant when he mentioned coming off of work. “Whoa! Hold on a minute, buster. Let’s back up a little, shall we?”
“What for?”
The guy might know how to dress to impress a woman, but he didn’t know the first thing about talking to one. At this point I didn’t care if I woke the dead at Stein’s Mortuary, two buildings down from here, or not. “For your information, mister, you insinuated I look like a call girl.”
Rod put his hand on his hip. “Don’t frame me for wording I used. I merely hinted at it. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, yeah?” Before I could throw out a quick barb, Margaret Grimshaw opened her door. She was nicely covered in a long white terrycloth bathrobe and her pink Isotoner slippers. “What in the world’s the fuss out here? Has someone stolen someone else’s newspaper?”
Rod’s face turned red as a poinsettia. “No. Mary and I are simply having a tiny misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“You call what you said ‘a tiny misunderstanding?’ Boy, you’ve got lot to learn about women.”
“Is that so?” The tall blond shoved his hand in a pocket and took out a cell phone. “Oh, look at the time. I gotta go. I was expected at work ten minutes ago. Bye.”
“Sure, leave it to him to rush out when the pressure builds,” I mumbled.
Margaret remained confused as she watched Rod beat it to the stairwell. “What happened out here?”
“I’ll fill you in later. It would take too much time and effort, and I haven’t got either this morning.”
“Of course not, you’re heading off to work like Rod.” Margaret wrung her arthritic hands like she was about to share a juicy tidbit, but the words that spilled out were anything but. “Before you go, dear, do you mind telling me who you plan to spy on today? I’m pretty sure you won’t have time this evening. If I’m not mistaken, you have a date tonight with that young cop you met in Duluth.”
Thinking of Trevor made me smile. “That’s right, Margaret. We’re going out to dinner. But in reference to the investigation, I haven’t a clue who I’ll seek out today. I’m too frazzled about the job I might get stuck with. I guess it boils down to which man is available. Cozying up to Chip O’Leary might be hard to swing since he manages the outdoor vats. However, I did notice Paul Mason, the first shift supervisor, ate lunch at the same time as I did yesterday. So, if he sticks to a routine, I could tackle him at least.”
“I see. Well, good luck, dear. And remember, whatever you do, watch your backside and try not to use that stun gun.”
“COME ON, GIRL,” ANITA Cran
e said, “Time’s a-wastin’. Those pickles aren’t going to bottle themselves.”
“I know. I know.” I kept my eyes glued on the mirror over the sink in the women’s bathroom, hoping my uncooperative do would give in. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn a stocking cap to work. My hair is so full of static I can’t control it. When I get one side situated under the hairnet the other side pops out.”
Anita snatched the hairnet from me and stuffed it under an arm. “I’ll fix that. Pay attention.” She wet her hands under the cold water faucet, wiped them off in my hair, and then set the hairnet back on my head. “See, you’re good to go.”
“I certainly am. Thanks for the help.” As much as I hated my crappy appearance this morning, I soon realized how much worse my headgear might be tonight if Aunt Zoe followed through and borrowed one of Gertie’s hats for me.
“No problem.” She held the door open. “Just get your butt out there and get to work.”
I saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Even though Anita was anxious to get where we needed to be, I stole a few seconds to don the required safety goggles I hadn’t been wearing as of yet. No need to have both of us chewed out because I hadn’t followed orders my second day on the job.
Anita grinned. “Good to see you putting those on. We can’t afford to have your eyes damaged. And remember, no schmoozing while working. We want to keep our production numbers up. Chatting can wait till break time.
Not if I run into Chip or Paul before then.
When we finally entered the production section we worked in yesterday, Anita still hadn’t said if I’d be staying with this group or not. So I boldly inquired.
Anita peered over the top of her plastic glasses. “Girl, don’t tell me you’re already bored with stuffing pickles in the jars? You’ve put in less than eight hours on that job.”
I thrust out my hand. “No. No. I just wondered how many days a new hire spends in each area of the plant before they’re assigned a specific task.”
Death of the Pickle King Page 12