Matt continued to cut through the tape. “Don’t fret. Everything is under control. The cops are on their way. They’ll get her to talk.”
Now that my hands were free, I helped Matt tear away the tape from the lower half of my body. “I can’t believe you’re here. How did you know where to find me?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“Uh-huh. What’s so wrong with saying you had a premonition?”
“Stop talking,” he ordered, “or I’ll end up slicing you.”
~58~
A few minutes after Matt had freed my body from its sticky prison, the police arrived on the scene anxious to bombard me with questions. Unfortunately, my behavior and the words I expressed didn’t impress the men in blue.
Here I am, this crazy-looking broad, who can barely stand on two feet, rubbing off what appears to be imaginary substance from her clothing while blubbering on about Hickleman’s HR Director who is slumped in a chair. If I’d been the main interrogation guy, I’d have escorted me to the nearest padded cell for a long rest. Thankfully Matt added excerpts along the way, which cut the questions down considerably, and I was finally told I could go home.
Frazzled from the events that took place within this past hour, I grabbed my brother’s hand for support. “Get me out of here, Matt. I never want to step foot in this plant again as long as I live.”
“I hear you, sis.” He threw his arm around my shoulder and quickly steered me out of the distribution area and into the hallway near a window that overlooked the parking lot. “The wind is still whipping the snow around out there. You’re going to need a jacket. Tell me where it’s stashed and I’ll get it.”
My knees buckled. Matt caught me before I hit the floor. “That won’t work,” I said. “My purse and coat are up in Sharon’s office with her belongings. It’ll take too much time to describe them.”
“Then I’m going with you. You’re not too steady on your feet yet.”
“If you insist.” When I lifted an arm to point out the stairs to Matt, I noticed something different about him. “What’s with the thin band of hair above your upper lip? Did you forget to shave?”
“No.” He rubbed his mustache. “Don’t’ you like it?”
I walked into Sharon’s office. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’ll grow on me.”
It’s funny how one can miss certain things when you’re focused on the conversation at hand, like my not noticing Matt’s mustache right off the bat. The few times I’d been in Sharon’s office I’d never noticed a small framed photo of Don Hickleman resting on a large oak bookcase that covered one whole wall. But I did now as I collected the stun gun off the floor and shoved it in my purse.
“What are you staring at?” Matt asked.
“That picture on the third shelf over there.” I strolled over to the bookcase and picked it up.
“Do you recognize the photo?”
I nodded. “It’s Don Hickleman, one of the men Sharon killed. He owned the plant.” I studied the photo for a few more seconds, and then set it down. “How could I have missed it?”
He ran a hand through his red hair. “Missed what?”
“A piece of the puzzle has been sitting out in the open all this time. ‘The eyes are the window to your soul,’ according to Shakespeare, but in the case of Don Hickleman, they merely lead me to his illegitimate son.”
Matt led me out of Sharon’s office. “Then I’d say you hit the jackpot. That tidbit alone should be worth plenty, don’t you think?”
“Not if he’s who I’m thinking of.”
By the time we returned to the main floor, my body felt a bit stronger, but the itching had increased due to the antihistamines Sharon had added to the pickles on her desk. A drug she learned I was allergic to. At least I knew I hadn’t ingested poison and there was an immediate solution to my problem.
With all that happened, I hadn’t given any regard to how my brother got out here until we were ready to walk out of the plant. “Who lent you their car, Matt?”
“No one. Rod Thompson happened to be home and offered to drive me. I told him to watch for the cops and tell them which door I’d gone in.”
I zipped up my ski jacket and threw the hood over my head. I wasn’t ready to face Rod Thompson. He’d have too much to say and I didn’t want to hear it. “Matt, do you think you could convince Rod that I don’t feel up to conversing with anyone on the way home?”
“Sure, leave it to me, sis.”
~59~
Rod parked his car in his slot at the Foley, opened the back door, and stuck his head in, forcing me to remain seated. “Mary,” he whispered, “there is something you should know before we go up to Matt’s apartment—”
“Come on you two,” Matt interrupted, “Aunt Zoe promised to have a delicious supper waiting for us and I haven’t had a decent meal since early this morning.”
I looked at Rod. “Should I warn him about her cooking?”
“Nah, let him be surprised.”
As it turned out, I was the one surprised when we got to Matt’s apartment, not only by the cooking but other developments as well.
Knowing how frantic Aunt Zoe must’ve been not hearing a peep out of me since I left for work, I expected her to throw herself at me the second we walked through the door. Instead, it was Gracie who flew at us at lightning speed in the narrow entryway, almost bowling the three of us over. “Wuff, wuff. Wuff, wuff.”
I glanced at Rod standing behind me. He winked. So that’s what he wanted to tell me. Gracie was back. I stooped down, rubbed her noggin, and hugged her. “I missed you too, but I bet you’re even more excited to see your master.” I couldn’t get over how good the mutt looked considering she’d been missing for eighteen days. Someone had to have been feeding her. Even though I was dying to hear where she’d been found, I’d have to wait till I got Margaret or Aunt Zoe alone.
Gracie drew up alongside Matt and wagged her tail.
Eager to meet my brother’s fiancée, I hung up our coats and then stepped into the living room. “What the heck?”
“Is something wrong?” Matt asked, coming up from behind.
I cleared my throat. “Ah, no.” The living room was immaculate. The Vegas look had vanished. Margaret, Aunt Zoe, and Deirdre, Matt’s fiancée, were sitting on the plain black sleeper couch. “I had ah, asked Aunt Zoe to dust and vacuum and I see she got it done. The room looks great, Auntie.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I, ah, yeah I am.”
Matt went over by Deirdre and plopped his 190-pound frame on the arm of the couch. “I can’t remember when the living room looked this good.”
Funny, I don’t either.
Aunt Zoe stood. “Well, I tried to remember to put everything back the way we found it. As one grows older the brain cells tend to get foggier.”
Not Margaret’s.
Not wanting to hear any more about old age this evening, I quickly introduced myself to Deirdre, whose Caribbean-blue eyes looked straight into my soul. Perhaps she had a wee bit of gypsy in her. I hope she couldn’t see much. “Congratulations, Deirdre. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Mary, Matt’s baby sister. Sorry I delayed supper so long. We had no idea you two would be arriving today. And wouldn’t you know it when I finished work I discovered my car had two flat tires and my cell phone battery was dead.” It had been a strenuous evening for everyone involved, and so that’s where I left my tale for now. Besides, there were plenty of days ahead to share my close encounter with death.
Deirdre’s appearance surprised me. I thought Matt would be steered towards a woman that reminded him of his ex-girlfriend Rita Sinclair, who was around five-four in height, had curves in all the right places, long curly dark hair, and emerald–green eyes. But Deirdre had short bobbed red hair that set her face on fire. She was much taller than Rita, thin as a stick, and flat chested. Her skinniness reminded me of Twiggy, a British model from the 1960s.
Margaret pushed herself o
ff the couch. “Well, shall we go into dinner everyone?”
Rod begged off. “I really should get going,” he said. “I’ve got a ton of paperwork sitting on my desk,” and then he headed to the door.
“You’re not going anywhere, young man,” Margaret said. “You’re included in this dinner as well. We’re celebrating Matt’s return with Shepherd pie and chocolate mint eclairs. Deirdre helped us with the preparations”
“And I’ve got good news to talk about too,” Aunt Zoe shared. “Reed Griffin finally popped the question.”
“What? When?” I said. “That means I’ll be on my own?”
“Don’t worry, sis. You can stay here. Mom and Dad said Deirdre and I could live with them until we find a house of our own.”
“Hmm?” Rod looked at me and grinned. “This is turning out to be a very interesting evening? I guess I could forgo my dinner of Lutefisk. Come on, Gracie. I bet they’ve got a bowl of food for you too.”
“Wuff, wuff.
Epilogue
Day 22
The Hoop and Holler Tavern in Spring Lake Park, where Matt and I chose to have a late lunch, was extremely busy for a Monday. It probably had something to do with people being cooped up in their homes all weekend due to the heavy snowstorm that cut a wide path across Minnesota.
After a twenty minute wait on barstools, in the dimly lit tavern with darkly- stained tongue and grove oak walls and no windows to speak of, the two of us were finally ensconced in the perfect spot, a booth near the back of the building, a good distance from the busyness of the bar area and much quieter; a place where one could actually have a decent conversation without shouting.
“I really appreciate Deirdre letting you spend time with me, Matt, especially since the police wanted to go over what happened one more time.”
“Ah, that’s what I love about her, sis. She’s so laid back nothing gets to her. Besides, Mom offered to take her to the mall so she could buy a few Christmas presents.”
“I hope you’ve got Deirdre’s gift already. I know how you love to put off shopping till the last minute.”
“Don’t worry; I’ve got it taken care of. It’s even wrapped.”
“Whoa, Ireland has definitely changed you.” I picked up my glass of Guinness the waitress just delivered and sampled it. “Not too bad. But I think I like 2 Gingers Irish Whiskey better.”
Matt clinked his beer glass against mine. “Sláinte,” he said and then took a couple sips of his drink before biting into a mustard-coated pretzel. “Did the folks ever tell you they thought about owning a bar like this?”
“Nope. I never heard that story. I wonder why they didn’t go through with it.”
“They probably thought they couldn’t afford it with a third kid on the way.”
I nibbled on a pretzel. “I’ve never liked being the fourth in line, but it does have its merits. At least I can’t be blamed for Mom and Dad not taking on a business venture.”
“Speaking of business, what on earth were you thinking of taking on a case at a pickle plant? You could’ve been seriously maimed or killed.”
“But I’m still here,” I said, brushing pretzel crumbs into the center of the table, “thanks to you.”
“By the way, you never did tell me how the heck you got involved in the murder of Don Hickleman in the first place. Was it something you heard via the media?”
I held up a finger. “Just a minute. I want to flag the waitress down while she’s looking our way.”
The gal picked up the clue. She immediately rushed to our booth, bent her head slightly, and inquired what we needed. “Would you like another round of Guiness, Miss?”
“Not right now. However, I would like an order of Chicken Quesadilla please and an extra plate. Thanks.”
“Got it,” and she hustled off to the kitchen.
The minute our waitress was out of hearing range, I gave Matt a short explanation on how I wound up at Hickleman’s Pickle Plant. “My taking on a case at the pickle plant had nothing to do with a news reports. Gertie Nash, at the Foley, had been bugging me since summer to help clear her Cousin Butch of a crime he supposedly hadn’t committed, namely the theft of pickle recipes. Every time she approached me about his problem I refused to get involved. But then Butch got arrested towards the end of November for the murder of Don Hickleman and I knew I had to do something.”
Matt pushed his fists into his cheeks. “That’s when you got the idea to work undercover, right?” I nodded. “Nice idea, sis, but stupid move.”
“Considering what almost happened to me I agree with you. I don’t know why I thought I could handle this type of work. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of going back to college to get another degree.”
“It might be a good idea, but don’t make any hasty decisions,” he said. “Those cops you spoke with in the interrogation room today must’ve appreciated your input, Mary. They kept you long enough. Obviously, you told them more than you’d shared with me that day at the plant. Care to spill your guts now that we’re alone?”
“Well—”
“Mary, there you are,” Aunt Zoe said, squinting at us. “It’s so dark in here I didn’t think we’d find you.” She set a package on the table. “Thanks for telling your dad where you two were stopping off for a bite to eat otherwise I’d still be sitting at the apartment.”
“Matt must’ve texted him,” I said, leaning sideways to see who stood behind her. I’d assumed she would be with Reed. She wasn’t. “Trevor, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you were coming down till the twenty-third.”
“That was the plan,” he said, “but then I caught the news that police arrested an employee from Hickleman’s for the murder of Don Hickleman and Paul Mason so I decided to come to the cities a day early to help you celebrate.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”
I would’ve told Trevor how much those few words meant to me, but with Matt having witnessed first-hand that I almost died I didn’t dare express what I felt. “Matt, this is my friend Trevor Fitzwell. He works the beat for the Duluth Police.”
“Yes,” Aunt Zoe proudly exclaimed, acting as if she was Trevor’s relative, “and his K9 partner Duke is out in the car.”
Matt’s hand shot out. “Nice to meet you, Trevor.”
Trevor smiled and shook his hand. “You too. Your sister talks about you and your dog Gracie all the time.”
Matt gave me a dirty look before scooting over to make room for Trevor on his bench.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “It’s all good stuff,” and then I slid over and Aunt Zoe sat next to me. What’s in the package, Auntie? Been out Christmas shopping?”
She tapped her nails on the table. “Nope, but it’s a gift to be revealed at the proper time.”
“Good thing the chef cut your order into pie-shaped pieces,” our waitress said as she set the quesadilla in the middle of the table. “Looks like you need two more plates.”
“Yes,” I replied, “and we could use a couple beverages as well: a Guiness and a Pinot Grigio.”
“Coming right up,” she said and went off to the bar.
“Zoe filled me in a bit on what happened at the plant on the way here,” Trevor explained while keeping his gray-heavy-set eyes on me. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it from your lips, Mary, if you don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mind. Matt had just asked me the same thing right before you arrived. Taking a job at a place like the pickle plant offered plenty of opportunities for someone like me to pick up the latest gossip. Something I couldn’t have done working the case from the outside. One rumor for instance led me to believe shift supervisor Paul Mason might have stolen company recipes years ago and possibly killed Don Hickleman to cover it up.
“Strange how things work out,” I continued. “The morning of December sixth, Paul had asked me to meet him in the lunch room at noon. I didn’t know why and thought perhaps he’d figured out what I was actually doing there. Unfortunately, I found Pau
l’s body in the walk-in shortly before noon. While I waited for the cops to arrive, I searched his pockets for clues.”
“Did you find anything,” Matt asked.
“There was a note. Someone requested Paul meet up with them. I figured a woman. Roseanne Harsh, a trucker, came to mind. She had been delivering cucumbers to the plant for years and had a reputation with the men, including Don Hickleman.”
I took a break, ate a slice of quesadilla, washed it down with the beer, and then continued. “Roseanne knew her way around the plant and could’ve easily stuffed cucumbers down Don and Paul’s throat. Heck, maybe she’d killed other people using that same signature. But what motive did she have? If Roseanne stole the recipes and sold them, why was she still trucking all over the place?”
Aunt Zoe broke in. “Then someone attacked Chip O’Leary, the vat manager and Mary thought of Roseanne again.”
“Yes. I’d witnessed her and Chip having a tiff over some secret they’d been keeping under wraps. So when she heard news of Chip being in the hospital, I didn’t know how to read her reaction. Was Roseanne genuinely surprised or did she try to knock Chip off and fail?”
Trevor ran a hand through his thick hair. “I remember you telling me about that incident when I spoke with you on the eighth. However, you forgot to keep your promise you made to me.”
I feigned forgetfulness. “What was that?”
“To keep me in the loop.”
“Ah, well, nothing of significance came to light until Aunt Zoe and I attended Paul Mason’s funeral on the twelfth.”
Matt slipped his hands around his glass. “What was it, sis?”
“When Aunt Zoe mentioned what an expensive winter coat Sharon Sylvester had on, I immediately asked myself where she’d gotten the money to purchase it. That’s when it dawned on me. Sharon had to have stolen the company’s pickle recipes from the vault and sold them to a competitor. Mystery of recipe theft solved. But who killed Don and Paul? Had Roseanne played me like a fiddle?
Death of the Pickle King Page 27