by Meg Macy
I stared after him when he headed toward the courthouse. “What photo was he talking about? I don’t remember Cal Bloom carrying one.”
“Forget it, Sash. You know how Digger spouts off garbage.”
“I think it’s terrible that a local cop would diss the mayor,” Amanda said. “Poor Mr. Bloom deserves a little more respect from a city employee.”
“Digger hoped for a promotion, so he’s sore that the county is always called in to solve these murders.”
“Oh, ho,” Amanda said. “That’s because Sasha solved them before the cops did!”
“No, I only helped. And I’d rather not get involved at all.”
I meant that, too. Hopefully the mayor had succumbed to a heart attack. Seeing the news crew on Silver Hollow’s street wasn’t pleasant, and coverage would spread around the region for days if not weeks. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.
Even if bad publicity might be good for business, I preferred peace and quiet.
Chapter 5
Yawning wide, I twisted open the blinds in the upstairs rotunda loft on Friday morning. Yesterday had been a blur. Customers trooped into the Silver Bear Shop for new teddies and their accessories, plus any updates about Cal Bloom’s death—which I refused to discuss. Today would be the same, no doubt. In the dim sunlight, a dusting of snow shimmered on the sloping roof. From here, I had the best view of our new sign.
Jay Kirby had been careful asking for dimensions before starting the project, and finished it early before he left for his workshop up north. He’d even directed the installation. I adored the carved teddy bear, painted a metallic silver, that glistened in the sun and popped halfway out of the flat surface; huge navy-painted block letters spelled out the shop’s name and curved around the bear’s face. Maddie loved it, too, along with my parents and Aunt Eve.
Uncle Ross wasn’t so thrilled.
“Looks like a frou-frou bear,” he’d grumbled at the unveiling.
I had to remind him that our shop sold children’s toys, primarily marketing to kids and teddy bear collectors. Our inventory of accessories included frou-frou pink or purple dresses and other clothes with sparkles and sequins, plus sports-like jeans, plaid shirts, hats, backpacks, and sneakers. Both little girls and boys loved dressing up their teddies.
Dustcloth in hand, I descended the circular stairs to wipe each acrylic box of our Parade of Bears, which held teddies holding tiny country flags. Others contained Boyds, Steiff, Lloyd, or GUND branded bears. I climbed back upstairs to snatch a long-handled duster and managed to dispel a few cobwebs in the ceiling corners. Our cleaning crew usually tidied the shop around midnight, or in the early morning hours before we opened, but yesterday Aunt Eve fielded a frantic call about a staff emergency. Apparently, the flu was hitting hard.
Some of our own staff had come down with a stomach virus recently but had recovered. Hilda Schulte and Flora Zimmerman had both called in sick yesterday, and I hoped they didn’t end up in the hospital like Tom Richardson. He still battled pneumonia. Bad enough Cal Bloom had died two days ago at the parade. And that reminded me of how we’d found him dressed in the Santa Bear costume, with his awful blackened skin.
Had it been murder, or a simple accident?
I shunted that question away and straightened the wall photo featuring my grandfather, T. R. Silverman, that hung near our large five-foot bear. “Hey, Gramps. I’d better get Mr. Silver new stuffing before our open house. One more thing to add to the to-do list!”
Sighing, I vacuumed the room that displayed our “profession” bears, each dressed in uniforms ranging from military to police and firemen, to hospital workers, and everything imaginable. The machine’s whir soothed my frazzled nerves and sent me daydreaming about my last chat with Jay. We’d been so busy lately, but instead of commiserating, we shared memories of the past. High school events we’d attended without being aware of each other, friends we’d hung with, and plans for the future in terms of college and romance.
Jay had a much different experience, born and raised in the area. We often visited my grandparents in Silver Hollow during all the holidays. But it wasn’t the same since Grandpa T. R. died before my parents moved back in the middle of my freshman year of high school. I spent the winter and spring in a deep funk. I badly missed my Ann Arbor friends and the urban atmosphere, and resented the transition.
Maddie had adjusted well, since she easily made friends. I was lucky that Elle and Mary Kate had taken me under their wings during that stressful time, and became my best friends. But I wished we’d returned sooner. Grandpa T. R. was a dear, and I so enjoyed listening to his stories and adages. One of his mottos for Christmas was “presence” being more important than presents, and I still missed his beaming smile.
I’d joyfully returned to Ann Arbor to attend college and earn my master’s degree . . . met and then married a wonderful man—or so I thought—with hopes of starting a family. But things quickly fell apart.
“And here I am, back in Silver Hollow,” I said aloud. “Not that I regret divorcing Flynn. And I hope Grandpa T. R. would be proud of this shop, too. Dad worked so hard to establish it, and I’ll keep it going as long as I can manage the job.”
Many school friends had moved to different areas of Michigan or out of state to find work, so I was grateful. A few lived in their parents’ basements, in fact, working two or three part-time jobs. Things had to improve for the economy soon.
Quickly, I moved on to tidy up the playroom. We designed it to occupy kids while parents shopped, one of the best ideas I’d had since taking over as manager. Especially during the busier holiday season. Which meant I had to dash upstairs morning and afternoon to tidy the room. Kids often left a mess when suddenly called away by their parents. Oh, well, I didn’t mind. I’d mind lower sales, so the trade-off was worth it.
A Red Hat Society tour was scheduled for one o’clock, plus I had a Bear-zaar meeting at the church, and needed to set up the bake-off contest table. Maddie would arrange the Magic of Christmas Beary Potter Keepsake display tomorrow before the event opened. This week was turning out to be a real bear, indeed. That reminded me of Cal Bloom’s last words, which didn’t help improve my mood.
I stuffed the duster in a closet along with the vacuum and returned to my bedroom suite. Before coffee and breakfast, I had to coax Rosie outside.
“Come on,” I sighed when she burrowed deeper into the nest of covers on my bed. “What a lazy bum! You’re only four, younger than me in dog years. Worse than me in the morning.”
“Hey, Sasha. Hurry up, I’ve got to get to the studio,” my sister yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Move it!”
Rosie whimpered when I shoved the blanket aside and gathered her up in my arms. “Oof. You’re almost twenty pounds, and that means too many treats,” I muttered. “I’m coming!”
Setting my sweet dog on the floor, I brushed my hair out and twisted it into a ponytail. Checked my silver cable-knit sweater, added some lip gloss and bronzer, then headed for the door. I turned to see Rosie stretched out on the floor.
“Girl! You are not helping. Santa Paws might not leave you anything in your stocking if you keep this up.” She still wouldn’t budge, so I had to carry her all the way to the back door. “Out you go, and no complaining.”
Rosie loped across the porch, claws clicking down the steps, and sniffed the frozen grass. I shivered in the chilly air and returned inside, refilled my coffee and snapped on the lid, choked down a hard-boiled egg sprinkled with salt and pepper, fed Rosie, and changed her water dish. Onyx had stretched out on the sunny window seat, so I scratched behind her silky ears.
“I guess Maddie already took care of your litter box and food dish. See you both later. Be good, and no fighting over the view.”
Rosie curled up near the heater vent with a sigh. I collected the fliers for the Bear-zaar and bake-off contest. Aunt Eve waved to me when I passed through the office.
“Morning, Sasha! Take a gander at this,” she sang an
d pulled the lid off a large circular box. “I ordered a new hat for today’s tour. What do you think?”
I waited for her to slip on the red wool cloche with its sassy swirl of purple feathers, and watched her tuck a few stray blond curls under the brim. “You look elegant, as always,” I said and meant it. “You’ll be the best dressed Red Hat Society lady today.”
“Why, thank you, but Shea Miller will outshine me. She usually does.”
My aunt, who had divorced Uncle Ross years ago and planned to remarry him over the holidays, had a certain flair for ’50s-style fashion. Today was no exception. Eve Silverman wore a slim wool hound’s-tooth skirt with a few pleats on one side; her jacket, nipped at the waist, had a single row of buttons, and a mouton-fur collar dyed red to match her hat. She wore black flats, too, instead of her usual spike heels.
“This hat is vintage nineteen twenties,” Aunt Eve explained. “Are you sure it looks all right? The girls might think it doesn’t go with the suit.”
“I think it’s fine, and I love the pattern of your suit. I’m so grateful you’re bringing the group in today. Did we order extra red hats and feather boas for the teddy bears? The last Red Hat group cleaned us out.”
“I made sure we got a double order.”
“Good. It’s almost ten, I’d better unlock the door.”
“Oh, I ordered little angel bears for the Holiday Open House.” Once my aunt set her hat back in its box, she walked me to the shop’s front counter. “Mr. Bloom’s death at the parade was terrible. It might put a damper on the whole season.”
“I’m hoping that’s not the case.” I flipped the window sign from CLOSED to OPEN. No customers waited on the porch, which I’d expected due to the cold December weather. “I haven’t heard the latest gossip, though.”
“I figured you’d tell me.” Aunt Eve glanced behind her and then froze. “Uh-oh.”
“What is it?” I peered over her shoulder and then wilted, seeing my mother storming through the shop. “Looks like she’s on the warpath—”
My aunt stepped in front of me with a broad smile. “Judith, how good to see you so early this morning! What brings you in today?”
Mom’s face looked flushed and her usually immaculate auburn hair was windblown. “It’s criminal! They dragged Alison Bloom to the police station last night, without giving her a chance to get dressed. She had to throw a coat over her pajamas.”
I’d forgotten to ask before now. “How did Mrs. Bloom take the news Wednesday?”
“She’s been crying her eyes out ever since I told her what happened, Sasha. The poor woman! Her husband is dead, but do the police care? They have no compassion.”
“Why are they questioning her?” Aunt Eve looked puzzled. “He had a heart attack.”
“Yes. Brought on by touching a live wire, or so they believe,” Mom said. “It’s true that Alison has been so focused on her mother, she hasn’t paid much attention to Cal lately. She feels so bad. But it can’t possibly be murder. I mean, really. That’s ridiculous.”
“But the police always suspect the wife or husband—”
“No matter what anyone believes, she’s innocent! Alison would never hurt anyone. I’ve known her for years, longer than you, Eve. Goodness, we went to the same college. She owned her own boutique in Plymouth, and married Cal after his divorce.”
“Maybe they only wanted her to confirm whatever they’ve learned about the mayor’s interactions with people, or his medications,” I said. “She may not be a suspect.”
“At eleven o’clock at night, they show up at her door?” Mom shook her head. “Why else would they do that if they didn’t suspect her. Your father called in Mark Branson to represent her, since Flynn’s so busy. They could have asked Alison to come in the morning to answer questions, but no. They insisted right then. Kristen, too. It’s all that Digger Sykes’s fault.”
Aunt Eve looked skeptical. “Oh? What did he do?”
“He’s got some bee up his backside. Alison told me that Cal didn’t support Digger for a promotion with Chief Russell. So now he’s telling everyone that the mayor was a drunk, since we found that flask near the body. I could kick myself for not checking it—”
Mom continued her rant while my aunt and I exchanged worried glances. She always had a strong loyalty for her friends. It was no surprise that she supported Alison and Kristen Bloom, but her outrage seemed overdone. Then again, Mom never did things halfway.
All or nothing, that was her standard MO.
“And one more thing.” Mom turned to me and stabbed a finger toward my face. “You’ve been successful in the past clearing up these things. This time it won’t be hard to figure out, so be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Clearly, I hadn’t had enough coffee yet, although I noticed customers walking to the shop’s door. “Can we talk about this another time?”
“No. Come with me, let Eve handle things for a few minutes.” She dragged me back to the office, ignoring my reluctance. “I want you to prove that Alison is innocent. Keep close tabs on the police. Ask questions around the village, find out whatever you can about Cal and anyone else who may have had a beef with him.”
“But—”
“Talk to that detective, the one from the county, who’s helping Chief Russell.”
“Okay, but first explain what you said the other day.” I closed the office door behind me to prevent eavesdropping. “When you apologized about Flynn, and how Dad gave you a second chance. What did all that mean?”
“Oh.” Mom tucked a stray auburn lock behind her ear with a guilty look. “Well, that was a long time ago. Your dad was so busy working. You kids were in school, and involved with Girl Scouts and friends. Dad encouraged me to work part-time at an art gallery in Plymouth. I—I met someone, and things just spiraled from there.”
“You had an affair?”
At my shocked tone, she quickly waved a hand. “No, no! Nothing happened. Beyond meeting this artist for lunch or dinner, that kind of thing. He wanted more, of course, like any man would. At least I think he did. I refused. I liked our conversations. We could talk about anything, and he acted like a gentleman for the most part. But Alex found out.”
Mom sounded bitter. I was more surprised that my mother had been tempted to stray. She did crave attention, though, much like Flynn. Maybe not at the same level, but my mother had a deep need to feel appreciated beyond mother-and-wife duties. I supposed most women probably did, or so I’d read. Who was I to judge? And what did I really know about my parents’ marriage? Not much, clearly. They both had suffered stress over the years. I also knew Dad would have forgiven her, even if she had taken it too far.
He loved her that much.
My mother was certainly attractive, back then and now, curvaceous yet trim, makeup and hair stylish, keeping up with the latest fashions for her age. Intelligent, and fun as well, Mom had always drawn people to share enthusiasm for whatever project she spearheaded.
“Is that why Dad quit the prosecutor’s office? And moved here?”
“Not at first. He promised to spend less time at the office, but that never worked out. We both realized it would be better for us to make a change, before it was too late. So we left Ann Arbor. It got me away from Plymouth, although I missed the gallery. I loved that job.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry if it disrupted your life. I know it wasn’t easy for you, changing to a small town high school. And I helped Dad at first, along with Aunt Eve, setting up the shop and factory, but it wasn’t what I really wanted to do with my free time.”
I squeezed back. “That’s why you wanted to move to Florida. Right?”
“I hoped to find a gallery there, yes, to work in, but your dad never could adjust. He’s not a golfer, and he hates to fish. We rarely saw you girls. Alex missed his friends here,” Mom said, “and so did I. I even missed the weather and the forests. Palm trees are lovely, but not the same as the oaks, the elms, and birches. The lakes, the lighthouses, Mackinac Island. We agreed that
spending a month or two renting a condo would be better than living year-round in Florida.”
“You’ll miss the tropical flowers, though.”
She sighed. “I do love flowers and wish I’d become a floral designer. I’m too old now, and still searching for a better fit when it comes to spending my free time. I want to make a big difference in people’s lives, and the community.”
I had a sudden inspiration. “Mom, what about serving on the village council? You could even run for mayor. You pulled off handling the parade at the last minute, and I bet you’d get more work done with the council than anyone else. Even Mayor Bloom.”
“I’m not so sure,” Mom said, “although, I did get results when people balked at paying their fees for the parade floats. But most people want your dad to run for mayor.”
“You’re younger and healthier.”
“Alex doesn’t need that kind of stress, you’re right.” She heaved a deep sigh. “What does matter is proving Alison Bloom’s innocence. See what you can find out, okay?”
“I will, but I can’t promise much. Oh, and don’t forget to pick up Rosie—”
“Your dad said he would. I’m going to visit Alison and boost her spirits.”
Aunt Eve knocked on the door behind me, so I opened it. “You two okay?”
“Yeah.” I watched Mom head out the door to the parking lot. “We’re good.”
“Customers, Sasha. Get your mojo on.”
I nodded, wishing I could ask Detective Mason about the mayor’s autopsy results. He and Chief Russell often warned me that amateurs needed to leave investigating to the police. I knew it was dangerous, and really didn’t want to risk my neck a third time, but I had no choice. I had to help Mom’s friend. My gut instinct told me it was no accident. Whether or not Alison Bloom had been involved, I’d try my best to find out.
“Welcome to the Silver Bear Shop,” I said, pasting a smile on my face when I greeted the family browsing the shelves. I recognized the mother, Amy Monroe, whose husband owned the local movie theater. “What can I help you find today?”
