by Meg Macy
“Mom, watch out!”
A car barreling down Archibald Street almost hit her. Oblivious to danger, she stepped onto the curb and smoothed her auburn hair. I wished I’d caught the license plate number. The cops should have closed this area of the village to traffic, for that matter, given the groups of people standing on every corner. Everyone strolled casually back and forth across streets, too. Despite that, most cars didn’t slow down.
Dave Fox arranged the artist beside the Legal Eagle Bear and took several photos, and then motioned for Blake and Branson to stand on either side for more shots. The crowd gathered around to admire the fabulous paint job with a cartoonish bent; the bear “wore” a three-piece suit and a gold chain across the vest, plus wing-tip shoes. The light brown paint on its head simulated an Ivy League haircut with a side part. But real spectacles perched on the bear’s nose and a tan leather briefcase had been attached to one paw.
I read aloud again from the flyer’s inner page. “‘The Legal Eagle Bear by Jim Perry. A nod to fashionably suited lawyers who must uphold the rule of law, suitable or not.’ Oh, that’s good. I like this guy and his work.”
“Perry’s a jerk.” Kip O’Sullivan had startled me when he appeared at my shoulder. “So what if he’s a big-shot painter? I think Maddie’s Polka Bear is ten times better.”
“Perry teaches at Cranbrook and the Birmingham Bloomfield Art Center, plus at Center for Creative Studies near the DIA. He’s won a lot of awards.”
“He’s full of hot air. Worse than Holly Parker,” Kip added, and then flicked his nose a few times with a thumb. “Saw her a few minutes ago, brown-nosing Mayor Bloom. I heard she might be running for village council in November.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “Barbara Davison heard the same thing.”
I barely heard them, too busy admiring the Legal Eagle Bear. I didn’t care what Holly did or how jealous Kip was of Jim Perry. I liked the paint job and subtle dig at lawyers’ professional ethics. My dad had never manipulated the law like many of his colleagues, who benefited from shady deals. He’d left after a particularly stressful time, helping to uncover a decade of political corruption that ran amok at multi-county and state levels.
Dad regained his sanity and purpose after founding the Silver Bear Shop.
“Hey, thanks for coming tonight!” Maddie joined us, in a white lace sundress, sky blue cardigan, and long silver earrings that swayed with every move, her short hair sleek. “Don’t you love this bear? Jim Perry has paintings displayed in several Detroit galleries.”
“What did he say about your bear?” I asked.
“Kitschy, but I don’t mind. It’s meant to be that way.”
“You wouldn’t recognize an insult if it slapped you in the face,” Kip said, frowning.
“He didn’t insult me—”
“Sure, sure. And I’m Vincent van Gogh.”
“You should be working on your Hippie Bear,” Maddie retorted. “Every day you come up with a different excuse not to finish it. Maybe you’re doing it on purpose.”
When she flounced off, Kip raced after her. “Come on, babe. I didn’t mean it.”
Uh-oh. Sounded like trouble in paradise to my ears. I groaned aloud, since Mom stood chatting with Flynn, Mike Blake, and his pregnant wife. Lisa looked more uncomfortable than she had at the Cran-beary Tea Party last Saturday. She headed to a bench and sank down, clearly tired, and checked her cell phone.
Before I could join her, Holly Parker wove her way through the crowd and parked beside her with a thud. “I’ve been on my feet all day! I bet you’re twice as miserable.”
“I’ve got another month.” Lisa slid her phone in a pocket. “Last baby, for sure.”
“Give me running a business any day than being chauffeur, maid, and cook.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Bite your tongue,” Holly chided her. “You always wanted to be the little mother and housewife. Not me. I can’t stand the idea. My career is too important.”
I turned away and saw Dad walking toward Fresh Grounds with Gil Thompson. In my rush to overtake them, the breeze fluttered my skirt, à la Marilyn Monroe over the steam grate. I grabbed a handful and held the fabric tight against my thigh.
“I knew I should have worn jeans. Dang.”
Dad and Gil joined Maddie near her bear, still covered with a white cotton sheet. Amy Evans, petite at five foot two with her dark hair pulled into a bun, wore a navy pantsuit and a name tag spelling out EVENT COORDINATOR. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a high-pitched whistle. Once the crowd fell silent, Amy adjusted the earpiece wired to a voice amplifier stuck in her front pocket. She fiddled with a button while flashing a broad smile.
“Our second-to-last reveal tonight is Madeline Silverman’s Polka Bear. Please do not touch the musical instrument on this bear, or any other sculpture’s props,” she said. “Thank you for your cooperation. All right, is everyone ready?”
Kip and Maddie must have resolved their spat. He slowly drew aside the cotton fabric to reveal Maddie’s bear on the sidewalk between The Cat’s Cradle and Fresh Grounds. The colorful polka dots glistened in the sun. My sister beamed at the crowd’s enthusiastic clapping. Once Dave Fox arranged a photo for his Silver Hollow Herald, Mom rushed over. She hugged Maddie and praised the paint job and accordion. Dad squeezed her hand.
“So proud of you, Mad-a-lean, my little Jumping Bean.”
“Aw, thanks.”
“It’s wonderful, Mads.” I crushed my sister in a big hug.
“Family photo op,” Dave Fox called. He snapped a picture of us gathered on either side of Maddie and shooed my sister away. “Go talk to your fans.”
She gave a nervous laugh and walked over to the knot of people with questions. After a few minutes, I plucked the sleeve of Dad’s white golf shirt and beckoned him away. We had to retreat past the beauty salon before we could hear each other. Dad’s gaze darted around the crowd, so I waited several minutes until he focused his attention on me.
“What’s up, Alley Bear?”
I felt like a kid, repeating my mother’s words last night, but I’d been fretting all day. Hearing Dad’s pet name for me didn’t help, either. “I thought it sounded odd. Maybe she didn’t mean to let it slip—”
“Sasha, stop.” He clapped his large hands on my shoulders. “You ought to know me better than that. Jay’s a decent guy. Your mother and I never discussed Jay or even Kip, for that matter. You girls have to decide for yourselves, and I trust your judgment. As for your mother, I’ve given up trying to figure out why she says or does certain things.”
“I wish she’d give up on Flynn.”
“Tell me about it.” Dad let go and nodded to several villagers passing by before he spoke again. “Judith complained all summer about his cheating ways, and how unfair that was to you. But now she’s done a three-sixty and acts like his biggest fan.”
I laughed, my relief washing all my self-doubt and vulnerability away. “Maybe Mom is dying to take part in those ‘Flynn Wins’ TV commercials.”
“Are you kidding? Good Lord.” He rubbed his face with one hand. “That could be why she’s looking to buy a house near his. Anything else bothering you?”
“Gina’s murder, for one thing.”
Dad nodded. “Yeah, Cal Bloom told me all about the detective questioning him about where he was Saturday night, over and over.”
“So is the mayor a suspect?” I asked, but he shook his head.
“Linda and Cal had invited another couple over to play cards. They all stayed up till long past midnight, so that seemed to satisfy Mason. Good thing, too.”
“Why is that? Because he didn’t pay her what she wanted?”
“That’s only part of it,” Dad said. “Cal admitted threatening her, and his staff overheard him. Not the kind of thing you want on record, but he lost his temper. Said he’d never give her a red cent, and she deserved to rot in hell for being so greedy. Or something like that.”
“W
ow. That does sound ominous.”
“Remember, there’s no such thing as privacy. Someone’s always listening.”
No wonder Mason put the mayor on the hot seat. I folded my arms over my chest. “I do remember when Mom’s Minky Bear was stolen from the house, and how the police couldn’t find any evidence of a break-in. Or fingerprints on the shelves or anything. But Mason found Minky in a box, stored in the back of Holly’s new toy and bookstore.”
“Really? I can tell you one thing. If it has anything to do with this murder, Detective Mason will figure it out. He’s sharp. Now come on, let’s get back to the Polka Bear.”
We walked arm in arm toward Fresh Grounds. Maddie stood with Kip, Mary Kate and Garrett Thompson, plus a few other friends. Jay waved at me, looking pleased, in his usual casual jeans and dusty T-shirt.
“—twice the number of people coming in today than yesterday,” Mary Kate was saying, “and I bet more people will come by to see it all week. We’re proud of you, Maddie, and happy the Bears on Parade committee chose this spot near our shop.”
“I bribed Amy, that’s why,” Maddie said with a laugh. “Since there’s no music store in the village, she agreed polka music might fit with a quirky coffee shop.”
“We’ve been playing polka tunes off and on all day, piped through the speakers,” Garrett said. “I thought people would figure out why after they read the flyer. But no, we’ve had to explain the reason multiple times.”
“Elle is sorry she couldn’t be here,” Mary Kate explained. “It’s Meet the Teacher Night at Cara’s school, and Matt’s covering the shop for her.”
Amy Evans gave another shrill whistle. “Let’s go on to the next bear, which will be unveiled in”—she glanced at her wrist watch—“ten minutes. Over by Quinn’s Pub. The Fish Bear, by an artist from Plymouth, with a fisherman in a boat painted on the bear’s back. Follow me if you want to see the unveiling!”
She race-walked down the street. Most of the crowd trailed after her, although a few stragglers remained behind. Mary Kate, jiggling her restless toddler in her arms, stepped closer to the Polka Bear and pointed out the dots.
“See, Julia? Look at the pretty colors. Red, blue, green, orange. I love the accordion, Maddie,” she said. “Is it true you found it at a resale shop, Kip?”
“A Salvation Army store, actually.” He drew Maddie close. “I told you it would look terrific, babe! Taping the straps worked.”
“One edge is already loose,” she said, and pointed it out.
“You can have that toxic stuff I used for my bear’s boots,” Jay said. “Wear a mask, or even a scuba diver’s oxygen tank. Lethal, I tell you.”
“I don’t think it’s gonna come off.” Kip sounded stubborn, but he must have noticed my sister’s unhappiness. “Okay, I’ll do it if you really want me to, but I’ve got classes tomorrow and Friday. It can wait until after that.”
Maddie shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”
She exchanged a meaningful glance with Jay. I knew that look. Maddie had no intention of waiting for Kip, and she also broke free of his possessive hold around her waist. That was another certain sign of trouble. What was going on? I’d have to ask her later.
“You really should get back to your bear,” Maddie said to Kip. “I’ll come later to help once things wind down here.”
“First I’m going to see the Fish Bear. I parked down by Quinn’s,” Kip added. “Catch you later, Jay. Congrats, babe, because yours is the best sculpture today.”
He planted a kiss on her and then strolled off, hands in the pockets of his ratty jeans. Jay avoided my questioning look. And Maddie was busy greeting Abby Pozniak, who arrived to admire the Polka Bear. My curiosity would have to wait.
“Way cool, Mads,” Abby gushed. “I love that accordion.”
“A bear with polka dots. How—quaint.” Holly Parker appeared behind Jay and eyed the tall sculpture. She pushed hard against the accordion’s bellows. The instrument wheezed. “Oh, too bad it’s off-key.”
“People aren’t supposed to touch the sculptures,” I said.
“I didn’t. Just the accordion.” Holly’s sly smile aggravated me, and she fixed her gaze on Jay. “I hear you’re one of the artists in the Bears on Parade tonight.”
“Actually, not till next Wednesday.” He sounded aloof.
“And you’ll be at Richardson’s Farms, Sasha,” she said next, swiveling to stare at me. “A teddy bear giveaway, or something like that.”
“Good luck with the face painting.” I turned to Jay. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
He led the way down Main Street to the corner. Before we crossed at the light, we heard a prolonged wail from the Polka Bear’s accordion. I twisted around, but Holly had vanished. The instrument now dangled by one strap.
“What the—”
“I’ve got it, Sasha!” Mary Kate had rushed out of the coffee shop and waved to us. “I’ll have Garrett wire it back into place until Maddie can fix it.”
“I am so tempted to pull Holly’s arm out of her socket,” I muttered.
“Temper, temper.” Jay laughed. “I don’t blame you, though. I’d pull her other one out, and break her nose for good measure. But my parents taught me girls were off-limits.”
“Oh?” I flashed a teasing smile. “In that case—”
“Ha. Not that way.” He drew me into a tight hug, right in front of the tiny Mexican diner, and brushed his lips against mine. “There. I didn’t get a chance to thank you last night. I owe you a lot more than that, too.”
I’d felt a spark at his kiss, despite its short duration. “All this success is going to your head, Jay Kirby. Is your new Oktobear Fest sign ready?”
“Yeah, finished it Monday. The committee wants to install it this Saturday, too.”
“How about carving a new sign for our business? I’d love to come and watch you work on it at your studio.” I poked him in the chest. “So is dinner on the menu tonight? Too bad Ham Heaven’s closed. How about a burger?”
“Yeah, I’m starving.” Jay nodded toward the pub across Kermit Street, where the noisy crowd milled around the Fish Bear. “We’ll have to run the gauntlet, though.”
“Eyes on the prize, like Quinn’s terrific onion rings.”
We threaded our way around the surge of people still chatting with the artist, including Kip, who didn’t seem in any hurry to get home and finish his own bear. Twilight descended, which sent most of the crowd home. Jay led me to the pub; loud music blared the moment he opened the rustic door. My eyes had trouble adjusting to the dim interior. My ears throbbed, too, from the pounding rhythm. In a far corner, the rock band’s drummer and a screaming singer churned out a Bob Seger song. I recognized Emily Abbott on bass by her Goth attire.
A gum-snapping waitress led the way to a booth in another room, although we could still hear the music. Jay raised his voice. “Kinda hot. Must be from all the people.”
I laughed, since this area was almost empty. “They must have turned off the A/C.”
“Want me to come back?” the waitress asked.
“Burger with Swiss, well done. Onion rings, and—a Pilsner,” I added.
Jay waved a finger. “Same burger, fries instead, and a Midwest IPA.”
Once she departed, I watched a willowy young woman emerge from the restroom. Her slinky Hawaiian-print dress swished with every hip wiggle when she passed our table. She wore four- or five-inch designer heels, a row of silver and gold bangles on one arm, and had flowing black curls rippling down her back. She slid into a booth. The man with her straightened, his cell in hand, his blond hair unmistakable. My jaw dropped.
“Something wrong?” Jay tapped my hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not exactly. Now I know who my ex, Flynn Hanson, is dating.” I hooked a thumb in their booth’s direction. “Why does she look so familiar?”
He twisted his head for a quick look and then whistled low. “I’ve seen her on one of the local TV channels
. Isn’t she a weather forecaster?”
“You’re right! Cheryl Cummings, I think that’s her name. Maybe they’re—” I stopped, since Flynn leaned over to kiss her. “Hmm, more than friends. He must have been with her the night Gina was killed. I bet she wants to avoid getting involved in any way.”
“Yeah, it might affect her job at the station.”
I wondered what Mom thought of Cheryl, or if she even knew about her. Then again, if she didn’t, that crazy idea of resurrecting my marriage, in name only, might make sense. Had Cheryl refused to give him an alibi? Maybe Flynn was lying. What if he’d met Gina on Saturday night and argued about their breakup? Had he lost his temper? I couldn’t picture him with a knife in his hand, though. He couldn’t be that desperate.
And he’d never been violent with me. Flynn couldn’t stomach the sight of blood. But Gina would not have been happy, finding out he’d dumped her to be with Cheryl. Drop-dead gorgeous, arm-candy in style and social grace, worthy to host parties and dinners at the huge, elegant house in Ann Arbor. Gina might be talented and “great,” but Flynn had refused her demands for an engagement ring. She hadn’t been good enough to marry.
Yet Gina wouldn’t let Cal Bloom off the hook. Being her lawyer, Flynn was a party to it and knew how far she’d intended to go to make him pay. What if Gina had threatened Cheryl? Would Flynn risk everything to protect his new flame? I’d never understood the way his mind worked, and his ego ruled him in every way. Maybe my ex had taken a fateful misstep.
If so, Mason would nail him to the wall.
Chapter 15
On Saturday morning, Maddie drove east along River Street out of Silver Hollow. “At least it’s not raining,” my sister said. “It’s going to be hot, though—”
“Hey, slow down a little. I want to see something. Thanks.”
Keeping a tight grip on my Mint Mocha from Fresh Grounds, I leaned out the open window. The brick Queen Anne–style house with its front gable, etched glass windows, and a large porch came into view. I’d always wondered why Mike Blake and Mark Branson chose it as the Legal Eagles’ offices, being so far from downtown. Jay’s carved sign was off to one side so it wouldn’t detract from the architecture. But it certainly had the wow factor.
