Death of the Pickle King

by Marlene Chabot

  “Yup. I’ve already checked every spot I can think of.”

  “Hmm? My aunt rubbed her lightly-grooved forehead. “Oh, oh. You know what? I bet I left it in the dryer by mistake. Ten minutes before the dryer was supposed to go off, I checked the clothes to see if they needed to continue drying. The only damp garment in the bunch was your sweatshirt, so I let it go the full length. Of course, a few residents came and went during that time, even Sally Fuse. And you know how she can yak up a storm when she has something juicy to share about another Foley resident.”

  Leave it to her not to stay on track.

  Aunt Zoe could probably tell from my facial expression I wasn’t a happy camper. She pushed her chair back and stood. “Look, I know how short you are on time. Why don’t you pack your lunch, Mary, and I’ll go down and see if I can find your sweatshirt. I’m sure who ever found it set it aside.”

  “Stay put,” I calmly stated. “I’ll check out the laundry room.” But I didn’t leave immediately. I was too private a person to proceed there while still wearing a flannel pajama top, especially one covered in cartoon characters. What if I should run into one of the guys who lived in the building like Mr. Edward’s the caretaker or Rod Thompson? Not wanting to chance any scenario like that, I rushed to the bedroom and threw on the first tee shirt I could find. It happened to be an old one from college days emblazoned with what I thought at the time was a nifty quote, “Everything happens for a reason.” But after my parents’ used those exact words on me when I got laid off, the saying didn’t impress me anymore. Believe me, if I could’ve afforded to gag, I would’ve.

  Once I got down to the laundry room, I checked the insides of all four dryers and the space between them. Unfortunately I came up with nada. While I remained glued to the spot I was in, wondering where I should look next, who should grace my presence, but Gertie Nash loaded down with a basket of dirty clothes. Crap. Knowing her, she’ll probably grill me about what’s getting done concerning Butch, and I have nada to report.

  The second Gertie saw me her eyebrows shot up so high I thought they were preparing to blast off. “What’s Foley’s famous sleuth doing down here?” she asked as she set her basket of laundry on top of the nearest wash machine. “Shouldn’t you be at work already?”

  I braced my hands on my hips. “I’m leaving in about five minutes. Hey, Gertie, you didn’t find a red sweatshirt down here over the weekend, did you? My aunt washed it on Saturday and thinks she forgot to bring it up with the rest of our wash.”

  “Talk about perfect timing. I didn’t find anything down here then, but when I finally got around to folding the clothes last night I discovered an item that didn’t belong to us. That’s why I’m down here so early, to return the sweatshirt in case someone’s been looking for it.”

  Gertie shoved her hand to the bottom of the laundry basket, pulled out the red sweatshirt, and handed it to me. “Here you go. I don’t think it’s had enough time to absorb the body odor from our clothes yet.”

  “Thanks. Say, what’s this nonsense about ‘famous sleuth’ you mentioned?” I sure hope it’s nothing to do with my being arrested.

  Gertie dropped her soiled clothes in a wash machine and then measured out the amount of Gain laundry detergent needed for her wash load. “Why, don’t be so modest, Mary. Everyone around here is talking about the way you single-handedly captured that eyeglass thief.”

  The second Gerite finished her patter, she closed the wash machine lid with such determination I thought she’d damaged the machine’s internal mechanisms. But when she pushed the START button, the machine roared to life.

  I flapped my hand. “Oh, that.” I glanced at my wristwatch. According to the position of the hands on it, I had only a few precious minutes left to return to the apartment, put on a different top, and gather up my purse and lunch before heading to work. I twirled towards the door to leave, but Gertie was determined to keep me captive.

  “I sure hope you can find out who killed Don Hickleman soon. Butch is climbing the walls.”

  He’s not the only one.

  After I shut the door behind me, I held the sweatshirt to my nose and took a whiff. I’m not too keen on wearing clothing that will cause people at the pickle plant to back away from me. No, no. If I’m going to find out the secrets floating around that place, I have to smell so good they’ll want to share their personal space with me. Good news, the sweatshirt passed the stringent test taught me as a tot. It still smelled like Tide.

  “RIGHT ON TIME, MARY,” Anita said as she finished fastening the last button on her lab coat. “That’s what I like about you, you’re consistent, girl.”

  “That’s me, consistent Mary,” I said tongue in cheek, “I’ve never had the chance to find out what it’s like not to be.” I hung my jacket and purse in the locker and then donned the required uniform: lab coat, goggles, and hairnet. “So what department am I experiencing today?”

  Anita yawned. “I thought we’d by-pass pickle packing and go straight to the pasteurization and labeling area. That’s the final stage before we box up the products and ship them off to our customers. Everyone likes working there. You’re not as exhausted by the end of the day.”

  “Sounds like the perfect place to be. I’ve been falling asleep as soon as I get home at night.”

  Since I began working here, Anita and I have gotten into the habit of chit chatting on the way to wherever she wants me to be and today was no exception. The minute we strolled out of the employee locker room and headed to my new task at the far end of the building, I inquired whether she had a memorable weekend.

  Anita’s lips parted considerably as she shared a broad grin. “I sure did. I won a hundred bucks playing the slot machines at Mystic Lake Casino. Can you believe it? It’ll come in handy for Christmas shopping. Oh, my!” Her hands suddenly flew out in front of her. Her smile evaporated.

  Could she be having a heart attack?

  “Are you okay?”

  She gripped my arm. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. But I just remembered you haven’t heard the latest company news. It occurred over the weekend.”

  “What happened?”

  “Chip got injured Saturday night.”

  “Oh? Was he involved in a car accident?”

  Anita shook her head. “No, honey. Apparently he received a call late Saturday night that there was a problem with one of the vats so he came out to check on it. According to what I heard he slipped on the platform and fell down the steps.”

  “Whoa. There must’ve been a hunk of ice on the platform. I imagine he broke a few bones taking a tumble like that.”

  “Yup, we won’t be seeing him around here for a while. I just wonder who’s going to have something happen to them next.” Anita pulled a wadded up hairnet out from a pocket attached to her lab coat and attempted to tuck her cornrow braids inside it, but her hands shook so badly it didn’t look like she’d ever complete the small task. “All this stuff going on here has got me scared silly. I come from a long line of people who believe in curses, Mary, and I’m not afraid to say someone’s put a big hex on this plant.”

  Well, well. Another golden opportunity concerning crimes comes knocking at your door, Mary. You might as well take advantage of it. “Anita, are you saying you don’t think Chip’s fall was an accident?”

  “Girl, if that’s the only thing that had happened around here lately, I might’ve swallowed his story, but you and I both know it ain’t.”

  Did I dare share the thoughts that had been rambling around in my head lately? I chose to chance it. Speaking softly I said, “I’ve been thinking, Anita, about the cucumbers that were lodged in Don Hickleman’s throat and Paul’s. Is there any way a person could find out what country they came from or at least the grade?” If she said ‘yes,’ I might be able to narrow the suspects down.

  She leaned towards me. “What’ve you got up your sleeve?” she asked, keeping her voice to a minimum like mine.

  Since I didn’t dare let her know I was tryin
g to solve Don’s and Paul’s death in case she was involved somehow, even though I thought it unlikely, I said, “I was thinking if the police knew where the cucumbers came from or the grade, they might be able to narrow down their list of suspects.”

  Anita’s thick hand slapped me on the back. “I like your line of thinking. Those cops aren’t getting anywhere, Why not help them? But how would we go about it?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve, but let’s chat after work in the parking lot.”

  “All right. It’s safer to speak of things we shouldn’t outside the building than in. Too many people can eavesdrop in this confined area.”

  I jiggled my head up and down. “I agree.”

  ~42~

  When we reached the section where filled jars of pickles arrive via conveyor belt to receive lids, be vacuumed sealed, pasteurized, and then labeled, we found there were too many hands on deck already in a department that mostly required automation. So Anita suggested we help with something else I hadn’t done yet, like unpacking new jars which would be stuffed with cucumbers destined to be dill or bread and butter pickles.

  “It’s kind of a boring job, Mary, but once we take our morning break, I’ll try to convince a couple old-timers to trade off with us so I can train you in on their job, otherwise we’ll have to put that section off until tomorrow.”

  I shrugged. “No big deal. Today or tomorrow doesn’t matter to me as long as I don’t have to stand around all day twiddling my thumbs.”

  Anita chuckled. “Believe me, you won’t be. As soon as we empty out all the unopened boxes of jars already sitting near the conveyor belt and do what needs to be done with them, we’ll be retrieving more of the same from the packaging department.”

  Great. Memories of finding Paul lying dead in the walk-in fridge made me apprehensive about chasing for any supplies again. Who knew what might turn up next. I swallowed hard. I’d have to make the best of it. “Sounds like a good workout plan, Anita. I indulged in way too many donuts at breakfast.”

  “Well, I didn’t have any donuts,” she complained, “but I sure hope I don’t regret the ton of coffee I drank.”

  It turned out Anita’s prediction that I wouldn’t be standing around waiting for a job was right. When a person works in this area, they don’t have time to stare at chipped fingernails or think about their flattened out hair. Their mind is too focused on staying awake. Once we sliced open a box, we had to check that the jars removed from it remained in the upside down position and were securely positioned on the conveyor belt. After that we focused our attention on the jars whizzing past the metal detector, keeping track of the rejected ones and making certain the accepted ones went on to be sterilized.

  Two hours later when I heard the magic words, “break time,” flow from Anita’s thick purple painted lips, I was thrilled. Quite honestly I don’t know how many more days I can keep up with the charade of being a devoted employee of Pickledom. Working in a plant like this is hard work, not child’s play.

  Since Anita had mentioned earlier that she’d be schmoozing with old-timers from the capping, pasteurization, and labeling department when she took this ten minute break, I decided to do some schmoozing of my own with various employees, asking a question here and there that wouldn’t create any suspicion. At least I hoped not.

  The minute I strolled into the lunchroom I purchased a can of Pepsi and then joined five other gals already sitting down at a table. “Do you mind if I pull up a chair and join you?” I asked with an air of shyness.

  “Go right ahead,” Yukiko, a young Asian woman I’d worked alongside of my first week here replied for the rest of them. “We’re just hashing over what happened to Chip this past weekend. Had you met him yet?”

  I nodded and then pulled the tab on the Pepsi can. “Anita introduced me to him last Thursday. It sounds like he won’t be back for a while.” I set the metal tab on the table and then took a drink from the opened can.

  “That’s what we heard too,” a dark-skinned woman near retirement age said.

  Yukiko picked up her steaming cup of coffee and then set it back down. “It doesn’t make sense what’s been going on here. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear someone was out to destroy the plant. Fortunately none of us women have been harmed yet.”

  “Yes, thank goodness,” the rest of the women quietly agreed.

  Hmm? That’s true only men have been harmed. But what woman involved with the company had a strong enough motive to harm all three men?

  Only one name came to mind, Roseanne Harsh. It had been said the woman had scored a touchdown with Don and even possibly Paul. And I did catch her arguing with Chip on Friday. But was she capable of killing?

  Being a teacher I had to remind myself two and two don’t always add up to four. Roseanne certainly doesn’t come off as the type who would care one way or the other if she was jilted or not. Shoot, I don’t know what to think. I guess the next logical step any good crime fighter on TV would take is to confront Roseanne, ask if she’d stayed in town over the weekend, and go from there. But who knows when that opportunity will come around again.

  I’d been so deep in thought concerning the three men and their involvement with Roseanne I’d barely caught one of the gal’s reference to a funeral. “Was this a friend of yours who died?” I quizzed.

  The middle-aged woman gave me a strange look. “No, I was talking about Paul Mason. I saw his name listed in the Star Tribune’s obituary section this morning. The funeral service is on Thursday morning.”

  Wow. I wonder if Anita’s heard the news yet.

  “Obviously we won’t be attending that,” Yukiko said with a sharp edge to her voice. Before continuing on she took a quick sip of coffee. “If the big shots didn’t shut down the plant for Don Hickleman’s funeral, they certainly aren’t going to do it for a shift supervisor.” After expressing her feelings on attendance at the funeral, she turned to the woman who told us about seeing Paul Mason’s name in the obituary column. “Sarah, was there any mention of a viewing the night before?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a hushed voice. “Bromley Funeral Home in Maple Grove, chapel three from six to eight.”

  Yukiko propped her tiny head on her hand. “I think we should all make an effort to go Wednesday night since we can’t take time off Thursday. I’m sure Paul’s wife would appreciate meeting people who worked with her husband, don’t you?” The other women merely nodded.

  Yeah, right, especially anyone who might have had an affair with him.

  Anita suddenly appeared at our table with a sour expression on her face. “It’s a no go, Mary. I thought I could charm them but I didn’t succeed. We might as well get back to the boxes.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on.”

  I pushed out my chair and thanked the gals for letting me sit with them.

  “Anytime,” Yukiko said.

  When we had moved far enough from the table I’d been sitting at, Anita inquired whether the gals had been talking about anything interesting.

  “Yup. At least I think so.”

  “Well, cough it up, girl. What did they have to say?”

  “Paul Mason’s name was listed in the Star Tribune’s obituary column this morning.”

  Anita stopped abruptly causing her large glasses to slide down her nose. She pushed them back up before they fell to the floor. “Did anyone say they were going to the funeral?”

  “Nope. They figured they wouldn’t be allowed the time off so they’ve decided to go to Wednesday night’s viewing instead.”

  She rubbed her thick forehead. “I suppose it would look funny if I didn’t show up since I’ve known Paul longer than most of the employees. You wouldn’t care to attend the viewing with me would you? I don’t feel like showing up by myself.”

  I was hoping she’d say that. It’ll give me a chance to see who makes an appearance and how they react when they see Paul’s body lying in a casket. “I only spoke to Paul twice, Anita, but if you really want me to go I�
��ll be there for you.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Mary. If you ever need a favor, you know where to come.”

  I sure do and believe me I won’t forget.

  ~43~

  Anita kept her word. After work, she joined me in the parking lot as planned. Unfortunately, the weather outside had changed drastically since this morning. Besides being greeted by a howling wind, the temperature had dropped almost twenty degrees and snowflakes were collecting on our shoes the size of Jacks, a game many young children play.

  My upper body didn’t like the impact the combination of the lower temperature and wind were having on it. Pulling up my jacket collar instantly cutoff any chance for the unkind weather to slip in undetected, but there was still another area that required a warm barrier: the face. So I gathered a small portion of the wool neck scarf hanging over the shoulders of my jacket and created a winter face mask.

  Having a scarf cover most of my face was awful. I felt claustrophobic. Not only that, but every time I tried to speak the wool scarf got caught in my mouth. In order for Anita and me to do any serious chatting without freezing to death we required a warm enclosure near the plant. And I had just the spot in mind. “Let’s sit in my car with the heater running,” I suggested.

  Anita stopped patting her gloved hands. “No problem. The further away we are from spying eyes the better. So where’s your car?”

  As I turned to point a little to the left of the building, I was stunned to find Butch Bailey at the end of the parking lot holding a huge sign proclaiming his innocence in the death of Don Hickleman. I couldn’t believe he’d shown up here. What a stupid move. Not only could he get hauled off by the police again, he could blow my cover. I’ve got to get him out of here pronto, but what about Anita?

  Since I’m getting to be an expert at fabricating tales, I chose to pursue that route until I realized I don’t need to worry about Anita. She wouldn’t question my motives unless she’d forgotten I’d mentioned Butch was related to a neighbor of mine.