by Meg Macy
Jay escorted us down Archibald Street. We had to stop several times to pose for selfies with tourists who begged us. I tried to be a good sport about all the attention until a rowdy group of teenagers jostled against my sister. They hooted with laughter.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Jay said. “You’ll wrinkle my hosen.”
“Sorry, man!” They rushed off toward the park.
I laughed. “Wrinkle your hosen, ha. I bet you didn’t expect volunteering meant serving beer in costume, or judging the dance contest tomorrow. You’re taking all this in stride.”
“It’s all in good fun.” He let out a deep sigh, though, and slipped an arm around me. “I’ve got news. I hope you’ll take it in stride, too, because in a way it’s bad timing. I couldn’t tell you until I signed the contract.”
“Contract?” Maddie’s voice rose in pitch. “Hey, congrats. For what?”
“Thanks. I’m teaching chainsaw carving starting in a few weeks,” Jay said. “November through February, east of Gaylord. That’s about three or four hours north of here. My parents will take Buster for me.”
“How wonderful.” I hugged him, but fought a wave of disappointment. “Your reputation has grown, and what a great opportunity! Maddie and I have a trip planned for Mackinac Island. Then there’s Halloween, the Bear-zaar, and the Christmas rush. I’ll be so busy, and you will be, too.”
“For sure we’ll spend the holidays together.” He kissed me soundly. “No way am I gonna miss ringing in the New Year with you.”
“It better be less murderous.”
“Listen, you two. Stop smooching and get to the beer tent,” Maddie called out, and ran ahead. “It’s almost half past five!”
“I want to see all the decorations first,” I yelled back. “Especially if we’ll be stuck serving in a tent all night.”
Banners had been draped across shop fronts, or attached to lampposts, spelling out SILVER HOLLOW’S OKTOBEAR FEST in bright orange letters. Each had Maddie’s logo of an adorable tan teddy bear in lederhosen and a hat. On the way to the beer tent, we checked out Kip’s Hippie Bear. I thought it looked fabulous with its tie-dyed shirt, peace patch, and a triple strand of beads. A long-haired wig fastened to the bear’s head streamed behind the sculpture, and a tie-dyed headband was tucked over the forehead. Below the bear’s nose, a thick mustache had been attached as well as a beard on the chin and jaws.
“I glued all that on after Kip sealed the paint,” Jay said. “He didn’t want to bother. He’s too bummed about Maddie breaking up with him. I hope he leaves her alone for a week or two. He’s patrolling the bears with a few others to avoid any more vandalism.”
“I’m glad Amy Evans is taking steps to prevent any more trouble.” I noted the strips of duct tape that held the John Lennon–style round glasses on the nose. “Abby and all the people who donated money will be thrilled if someone bids on this bear.”
“I heard the Legal Eagle Bear already found a buyer,” Jay said. “Saw the article in the Silver Hollow Herald. Hanson, Branson, and Blake made a deal with a law firm in downtown Detroit. Then they donated the money to charity.”
“I bet for a tax break, and Flynn’s idea. Anything to get out of paying the IRS.”
We threaded through crowds strolling around the sidewalk sales tables in front of the Time Turner, The Birdcage, and Mary’s Flowers. Even the salon had a display with nail polish bottles, hair products, and accessories.
“Wow, that band sounds good.” I stood on tiptoes, peering at the musicians on the steps of the courthouse. Huge speakers flanked them, booming out the lively “Flyer Song” with plenty of La La La La La’s and Schwimm, Schwimm, Schwimm’s. “Who are they?”
Jay grinned. “The Bavarian Burgermeisters. They’re playing all night. Oompah-pahs, waltzes, marches, polkas, all kinds of music. Although some people don’t think Polish polkas really fit in, but hey. Why not? ‘La Bamba’ is just as popular. I think a local band’s playing for the dance contest tomorrow night.”
The courthouse looked festive as well. A large banner on white canvas, strung on wires, waved in the light breeze between two flagpoles. Below it, a line of small teddy bears in a rainbow of colors, each clipped to a rope, stretched overhead.
“That was a nice order a couple of years ago,” I said to Jay. “One hundred and fifty bears, at a discount of course, but they’ve had to replace a few every year. They’re so cute.”
“Look at the line already.” He held open the beer tent’s back flap. When I ducked inside, someone handed me a stiff white apron. “Hey, how come I don’t get an apron?”
I snapped it at Jay’s backside and then tied it around my waist. “Get busy, Herr Kirby. Thirsty people are impatient people.”
“Ja wohl, Fraulein.”
We spent the next three hours filling beer steins. Despite the growing dark, the crowds swelled to a huge number of people. I couldn’t tell what was happening out on the streets. The pavilion’s flaps blocked much of our view, and we couldn’t see the Red Wings game either. Too bad we hadn’t volunteered to man the food tent—delicious smells of sausage, sauerkraut, and baking pretzels made my stomach grumble. Tall stacked lights that stood on almost every corner of the downtown streets helped illuminate the Village Green.
Wendy Clark, Mary Kate’s assistant at Fresh Grounds, appeared in a dirndl and apron to pass out free samples of cinnamon apple scones, fried donuts, and muffins from a tray. “I’ve got coupons, too, good for tonight and tomorrow.”
“I wish I could grab one of those. I’m starving.” Jay groaned. “Maybe we should have stopped by Fresh Grounds before we started working in here.”
“Half an hour until our shift ends.” I handed a full stein to a customer. “Try to hang in there and then we’ll indulge.”
“Fill ’er up,” another man said.
“No token, no beer,” I said cheerfully. “Only three drinks per night allowed.”
“How about I give you thirty bucks, and you fill it up anyway?” he suggested.
Jay stepped over with a frown. “Rules are rules. We don’t want anyone driving home intoxicated, sir. The local cops are on the lookout, too. Fair warning.”
Thankfully, the guy shrugged and tried his spiel on someone else. Didn’t work, either. At last Jay and I finished. Once I turned my apron back in, we raced each other to snag grilled bratwursts in plump hoagie rolls, slathered on mustard and spiced cabbage, and then carried them over to his Jack Pine Bear. Some kids straddled the log like a pony; they whooped and hollered in fun. We stood to eat, since all the picnic tables on the Village Green were occupied. People sang along to the Bavarian Burgermeisters’ rendition of “Born in the USA,” followed by “We Are the Champions” and “Sweet Caroline.”
They started playing “The Donkey Song” next, which I loved, about a donkey who refuses to go home and waits to see his sweetheart. But I froze at the sight of Holly Parker on the other side of the Village Green. She passed out flyers, smiling to those who took them. Beneath a pair of unauthentic suspenders, her white blouse showed off way too much cleavage; her bosom nearly popped out when she bent over. On purpose, since a horde of guys ogled her layered petticoats. Her frilly red embroidered dirndl resembled a miniskirt.
Talk about tacky and tasteless.
“Oh, Sasha! You’d better take one of these.” Holly flashed a sickly sweet smile and then shoved a flyer into my hands. “I’m running for mayor this November.”
“Mayor?” I stared at her huge glossy photo and campaign slogan—Mayor Holly Parker for Progress. “You can’t run against Cal Bloom.”
“Shows how little you know. People have been so supportive since Gina’s death, and they’ve all promised to vote for me.”
“You filed back on August eighth, the deadline at the county clerk’s office?” Jay looked incensed. “So you waited to promote running against the mayor until after he became a suspect in Gina’s murder.”
Holly narrowed her eyes. “Are you accusing me of a
rranging it?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “How could you get your name on the ballot without enough signatures on a nominating petition?”
“I paid the fee instead.” Smug, she leaned close and lowered her voice. “And after I’m mayor, you’re gonna be sorry, Sasha Silverman. Your shop will suffer, too.”
I stepped backward and ran into Jay’s chest. “Think again, Holly Parker. This is the third time you’ve threatened me and my family.”
“What a load of crap! I never threatened you.”
“Maddie’s bear was smashed, my dog was poisoned—oh, don’t act so innocent! A chunk of bromadiolone happened to be on my lawn, right before you walked by. And now this. Jay’s a witness. I filed for a personal protection order against you, and one of the lawyers from the Legal Eagles is handling it. Expect to receive notice any day.”
“You can’t prove anything.” Holly stalked toward a group of revelers with a pasted-on smile. “Having a good time? Great! How about making sure Silver Hollow doesn’t go stagnant? Mayor Bloom is a murder suspect—you haven’t heard? Let me tell you all about it.”
Jay shook his head in disbelief and muttered a curse under his breath. “Now, now, no name-calling,” I said, and shook a finger. “Don’t descend to her level.”
“So Flynn came in handy after all, helping you with a PPO.”
“Mike Blake, actually. He filed one for Lisa, too.”
“Why did she need one?”
I explained how Holly had sent Lisa text messages, dozens of them, plus badgered her with phone calls and voice mails. “That’s stalking, non-domestic. It takes two incidents in order to file for a PPO. Mike doesn’t want Holly visiting the hospital when Lisa delivers, too.”
Jay hugged me close and kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad you took action. I won’t worry so much while I’m gone up north.”
Proof or not, the less I saw of her, the better. I was satisfied, puncturing Holly’s self-satisfaction. And ego.
Chapter 24
Early Saturday morning, since Mary Kate and Wendy were swamped at Fresh Grounds, I baked a double batch of muffins. Popped them into the oven and then brewed coffee for the family. Set the table, poured orange juice, and started cracking eggs into a bowl while bacon sizzled in a skillet.
I’d slept better after several restless nights of worry over Rosie. She acted like herself again, tail wagging, with more energy and agility jumping from the bed or onto the window seat. I would have been a total wreck if my dog hadn’t survived. But the thought of Holly Parker presiding as mayor at every village council meeting gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not that it was a given. The election wasn’t until early November, but I hadn’t made any progress proving Cal Bloom’s innocence.
Then again, I didn’t have time to worry about that now.
Once I plopped the cinnamon apple muffins into a towel-covered basket, I called at the bottom of the stairs, “Breakfast, everyone!”
Uncle Ross and Aunt Eve breezed through the back door. “Just in time, I see,” my uncle said. “I’m surprised Alex and Judith aren’t up yet.”
“We are,” Mom said, snapping the last button of her housecoat when she entered the kitchen. “How nice of you, Sasha. You even used the good china and linen napkins.”
Dad sat at his usual spot. “Thanks, Alley Bear. Smells great.”
Maddie rushed down in sweats. “I’m the unlucky one. Someone spilled beer on me last night,” she said, “and I wasn’t even near the pavilion! I sponged my skirt clean, but I need to iron it. I hope I’m not late for my noon shift.”
I set the platter of bacon and the crock of scrambled eggs on the table. While we ate, we discussed today’s dance contest, the extra police brought in from neighboring towns to handle the crowd, and how the new microbrewery owner had set up a tasting booth. Eric Dyer was young, a go-getter according to Mayor Bloom, and planned to offer hard cider and a variety of brews for all the local restaurants after production began.
“Dyer needed the committee’s approval first, of course,” Dad said, “but Cal Bloom managed to convince them.”
“By the way, is there anything new to report?” Mom asked me. “You promised to prove the mayor is innocent in this murder business.”
“I didn’t promise anything,” I said. “You assumed that.”
“Did you hear that Holly Parker is running against him in the election?” My sister pushed her plate away. “I saw a flyer she was passing out last night.”
“What do you mean? How can she run for mayor?” Mom set her coffee cup down so hard, it clanked on the saucer. “She just moved back. There must be some rule that you have to be a resident for the past few years, or something like that.”
Uncle Ross plucked another muffin from the basket with a derisive snort. “I saw those flyers, too. Heard what she was telling people about the mayor.”
“And wearing a scandalous costume,” Aunt Eve said.
I didn’t say anything, since I’d seen my aunt in several family photos wearing hot pants, a miniskirt, or a bikini. How soon people forgot their own fashion choices. I didn’t care what Holly wore, as long as she stayed far away from me, my dog, and our shop.
“She grew up in Silver Hollow,” Dad said mildly, “so I suppose Holly Parker has as good a chance as Tony Crocker. He’s never attended council meetings, that’s what Cal said. Crocker’s more of a farmer than a politician. At least she owns a business.”
I snitched another crispy slice of bacon, wishing I could forget Holly and all the trouble she’d caused. “I’ve got to get to the village. See you all later.”
“Wish us luck in the dance contest,” Aunt Eve said. “But be fair—”
“I’m sure Amy Evans will want different judges when your turn comes up,” I said. “That way it avoids any bias.”
Upstairs, Maddie handed me my dirndl on a hanger. “Don’t forget, you have to fill out a grading sheet for every dance group you’re assigned to judge.”
“A grading sheet? Wow, that sounds complicated.”
“It isn’t. Write down the group name, what type of dance, and then rate them from one to five. Be honest. I mean, cute is all well and good, but someone’s gotta win. On technique, of course. And costumes. Oh, and how the audience reacted.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” I said. “I can’t even do a line dance without getting all confused. And every dancer looks good to me.”
“Pretty sure you and Jay are judging with Isabel French and Lacey Gordon, who works for an insurance company somewhere around here.”
“Hey, did you notice something different about Aunt Eve?” I asked. Maddie finished ironing her skirt and unplugged the cord. “I couldn’t figure it out.”
“Oh! Oh, I might know—”
She raced out of the bedroom. I followed, too curious to stay behind, and heard Maddie’s whoops of joy before I reached the kitchen. Uncle Ross stood beside Aunt Eve, who flashed a large diamond ring on her left hand.
“You’re getting remarried?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I think it’s marvelous,” Mom said. “I can’t wait to plan the wedding.”
Dad shook his brother’s hand. “I never thought you two would patch things up.”
“Nothing has been decided yet,” Aunt Eve said. “Ross proposed last night, in the most romantic way possible. He’d rented Time After Time, the movie we both love. About H. G. Wells following Jack the Ripper from London to modern San Francisco, and falling in love.”
My uncle didn’t say anything, but his face turned scarlet. Maddie and I exchanged wide grins. I had little trouble envisioning Ross Silverman wooing Eve, a year younger, back in the mod seventies-style clothing. She seemed to regress over the years, though, wearing a bouffant sixties hairdo for their wedding, and favoring the vintage fifties crinoline skirts, white blouses, and knit cardigans now. Even Uncle Ross had cleaned up lately, shaving every day, but he hadn’t given up his sailing cap and deck shoes.
“
Come on, Ross. We’ve got to practice before getting into our costumes.” Aunt Eve shook out her napkin. “Sorry I can’t help with the dishes, Judith.”
Once they departed, I took Rosie outside on her leash. Maddie and Mom had already cleared the table before I fed the cat and changed the water in the dog’s crate. Rosie curled up with her teddy bear, content.
Onyx lay full length on the sunny window seat. “You’d better not chew on my sandals again,” I scolded. “I found teeth marks on the straps last night!”
“You shouldn’t have left them out, Sasha.” Mom held up a rose-hued, full-skirted dirndl on a hanger, with a white blouse and striped green apron. “How do you like my costume? I’ve got a flower crown, too. But your dad refused to wear lederhosen.”
“Bring a shawl. It’s going to be colder tonight.” Her dress had a tiny rose pattern on the fabric, but with buttons up the front instead of hooks or lacing. “Hope you have a petticoat to go underneath. Time to get ready!”
After an invigorating shower, I French-braided my wet hair and then added silk flowers where I’d pinned the ends at the base of my neck. I’d gotten used to the dirndl, although I still wished Maddie had brought me a full-length blouse. After tying the silk ribbon around my waist and slipping my feet into flats, I hurried downstairs. Mom fussed over Dad, who looked smart in a forest green brass-buttoned wool blazer, long trousers, and a feathered hat.
“Does it look real?” He tugged at a fake handlebar mustache under his nose. “We’re on crowd control duty tonight. And checking out each bear sculpture, too.”
“We’ll wait for Eve and Ross,” Mom said. “You two go on ahead.”
I walked out to the car with Maddie, fluffing my skirts again once we parked in the bank lot. My sister checked her hair extensions in the side mirror, retied one ribbon, and then shooed me across the street toward the courthouse.
“Have you heard anything from Kip?” I’d been afraid to mention his name, and couldn’t gauge her mood today. She only shrugged.
“He’s called a few times. Left messages. I did text him back, since he said he’s meeting with someone who wants to lease his bear.”
