by Jeff Shelby
All of that jibed with what I'd learned about both men so far. Their friendship had clearly gone south at some point. The question for me was had it gone far enough south for Arnold to attempt to sabotage Bjorn's business?
I wasn't sure of the answer.
Priscilla waddled back toward the cutting station, her hair now plastered down to her head. It reminded me a bit of an otter's head when it was wet, if an otter had white hair. Maybe an albino otter. Her stylist was shuffling behind her.
Priscilla sat down in the chair and held out her hand.
I handed her the paper and the pen I'd brought with me.
She scrawled across the bottom of the paper and held both back out to me. “Alright, all done.”
“Thanks,” I said without enthusiasm.
“Maybe now you can go back to the station and be productive,” she growled. “For a change.”
I looked at her stylist, a young woman in her late twenties. She was holding a pair of sharp, thin scissors, and I wondered if she was going to use those along with the clippers Wilma had left at her station. “Are you good with your scissors?”
The woman looked down at the scissors in her hand, then back at me, confused. “Uh, I think so.”
I looked at Priscilla. “That's a darn shame.”
TWENTY TWO
I walked out of the salon and took a deep breath. Dealing with Priscilla Hanborn led to a lot of stopping and taking deep breaths. But I'd managed to keep my calm and never let her get to me.
So far.
I headed back toward the station and stopped in front of the window at Big Mama's. Bjorn was at the counter, leaning on his elbows, reading over some papers. He looked up, then motioned for me to come in.
I pushed through the door. “I was just walking back to the police station and saw you. How are you?”
“I am...I am not good, I'm afraid, Daisy,” he said, shaking his head. “Things are...not good.”
“Emily told me it wasn't too busy last night when she stopped by,” I said.
“It hasn't been busy since...well, you know,” he said. He gestured down at the paper on the counter. “Our receipts for the last two days are down by about seventy percent. That is a staggering amount.”
“Maybe you just need to give people some time,” I said. “Time for it to die down and for the story to settle down.”
He made a face. “You are kind, Daisy, but I am aware of what people are saying. They are saying that I did this on purpose to Officer Ted. That I put something in his food to make him sick.” He threw up his hands. “That is ludicrous! I would never in my life do something like that! Why would I do that?”
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “All of it is really hard to explain. I'm sorry.”
He put his head in his hands. “Is it true that Ted and I have had our disagreements? Yes. I think many people know this. But to think that I would try to hurt him? In my own restaurant?” He shook his head. “I am a stubborn man, but I am not stupid.”
This was exactly my impression of him. I saw him as a guy who owned his own restaurant, who was hurt when an employee left to start a rival business, and who was used to doing things his own way and didn't like having to change those ways. Which, in my mind, explained the dumb parking tickets. It wasn't that he didn't know it was wrong; he just didn't want to be told what to do. He wanted to unload his truck the way he wanted to do it.
Silly, but not malevolent.
“You told me the other day that you thought Arnold was a traitor,” I said.
His expression took on the countenance of someone who'd swallowed a lemon. “I do not think he is,” he said darkly. “I know he is.”
“Okay. Do you think he would do something to hurt your restaurant?”
His furry brows came together. “Are you suggesting he might've done this to harm me? To harm my restaurant?” His voice rose an octave on the last few words.
“I'm trying to figure out what happened, Bjorn. That's all.”
He thought hard for a moment, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Is it possible? I suppose anything is possible. But I cannot believe even that traitor would do something like that.”
“Then how else could it have happened?”
He shook his head. “Believe me, Daisy, this is the thing I have been thinking about ever since it happened. I know what goes on in my kitchen. Everything, I see it all. And it is spotless in there. It was the first thing I learned about the restaurant business. Clean everything every day and it will save you headaches in the long run.” He rubbed his temples. “So I can say with total certainty that it did not happen in my kitchen. It would've had to have been me that did something to his food, and I swear to you on all that is holy, I did not do anything to Officer Ted's food.”
I believed him. I believed him before that day, but hearing how sincere he was in his words, I was as sure as I could be that he had nothing to do with Ted's poisoning.
Which just raised more questions.
He pushed the pieces of paper together in a neat stack. “As much as I enjoy having your daughter here, you should encourage her to look for other work. I will give her an excellent reference.”
“She came home last night upset at that idea,” I told him. “That she might have to go work somewhere else. She really likes working here.”
A sad smile crossed his face. “She is a good worker. She will do fine wherever she goes. I am sure of it.”
I hated hearing him say that. Not that she was a good worker, but that he was truly thinking the situation was that dire.
“You're that sure you'll have to close?”
He looked down at the papers, then back at me, the sad smile gone. “If things continue going the way they are going, Big Mama's Tacos will be closed by the end of the month.”
TWENTY THREE
I finished my day at work, then drove back to pick up Will at his football camp. He was sitting on the curb, studying his phone, his face red from exertion and his hair plastered with sweat. He looked up when he heard the car, not bothering to hide his annoyance when he got in the passenger seat.
“I'm not going back,” he said as he pulled the door closed.
“To the football camp? Why not?” I asked.
“Because the other kids were like professionals!” he exclaimed. “They had positions and stuff. You told me it was just a recreational thing for anyone. Those guys play for their high schools!”
I'd found the camp in a local Park and Rec guide and the free camp had been advertised for any boy looking to improve his football skills. Will liked playing football with his friends so I thought it would be a good fit.
Apparently, though, this camp was a bit more serious.
“I almost got sick,” he said, leaning his head against the headrest and closing his eyes.
“Sick? How?”
“Well, after we ran like seventeen miles in the heat and did all of these drills, which I, of course, had no idea how to do, I started feeling all light-headed,” he explained. “So I asked one of the coaches, who was the size of a building, if I could go get a drink. He looked at me and started asking about what I ate for breakfast. I told him I had half a piece of cold pizza and a Mountain Dew. And then he started yelling at me and telling me I had to eat a better breakfast if I was gonna run with the ‘big dogs’.” His voice had gone up an octave as he finished telling the story. “Well, guess what? I don't wanna run with the big dogs. I don’t wanna run with any dogs. I don’t wanna run, period!”
I was laughing by the time he finished his story. I felt badly that the camp had turned out to be something different than what I thought it was, but I couldn't help laugh at how out of his element he'd been.
“Maybe it'll be better tomorrow,” I suggested, pulling out of the lot.
“Tomorrow?” He gave me a horrified look. “I'm not going back tomorrow! They said we're going to be hitting tomorrow!”
“Hitting?”
“With pads? The same big co
ach was telling me I better eat a bigger breakfast tomorrow because we were gonna line it up and start hitting. Mom, those guys will kill me. It won't matter what I eat. They play for their schools. I just mess around in the yard.” He shook his head. “I'm not going back because I don't wanna die.”
“You're starting to sound like your sister,” I told him. “With the exaggeration.”
“Yeah, but the difference is that she makes stuff up and I literally could die if one of those kids makes a run at me. They're like twice my size. I'm not going back.”
“If you're not going back, then you've got to find something else to do this summer,” I told him. “You can't sleep all day and play computer games all night.”
“I know that,” he said. “But I can't go back. I don't wanna die. And I don't wanna eat some big breakfast. I’m not a breakfast person. Or a morning person. Or a person who wants to get hit at football camp.” He paused. “What if I got a job?”
I glanced at him. “Seriously?” Apparently he hadn’t been just blowing smoke when he’d mentioned it earlier.
“I'm old enough for the state of Minnesota,” he said. “I looked it up. I just need to find a place that will hire someone my age. I really was thinking I could go over to Big Mama's. I don't care what Emily says.”
“I'm not opposed to you finding a job, but I'm not sure Big Mama's is the place to start.”
He took a drink from his water bottle. “Yeah, maybe. I was reading the boards before you picked me up. Everyone is saying he's going to close. There are rumors that he's already trying to sell the building.”
“Really?” My heart sank at the news.
“Well, think about it,” Will said. He started rattling off reasons. “It's right in the middle of Main Street. It's a pretty sweet location. I don't think he'd have any trouble selling it. People were already suggesting businesses that could go in there.”
It was a terrific location and Will was probably right. If Bjorn wanted to sell, he most likely wouldn't have an issue doing so. I wasn't so sure he'd already made that decision, though.
“He should try and stick it out,” Will said. “Tiny Papa's is on the other side of town. They can both survive.”
I agreed. Moose River might not be a big city, but there was one thing people like to do, regardless of where they lived: eat out. And each restaurant had something unique going for them. For Big Mama’s, it was all about nostalgia and location. It was an established part of downtown and Moose Riverans were nothing but loyal to the businesses that had been in their backyard for a while. As for Tiny Papa’s, well, Jake and I could both attest to the fact that the food was enough to draw even the most reluctant visitor in.
“People need to start going back to Big Mama's,” I said to Will. “But it doesn't sound like they are.” I thought about what Bjorn had said about the previous nights’ sales.
He shrugged. “Maybe.” He clearly wasn’t as concerned as I was about it. And then, as if to drive that point home, he added, “Well maybe something cool will go in there. He should hold out for a good offer. That's prime real estate.”
“Not sure if he'll be able to do that,” I told him.
“Well, whatever,” he said dismissively. He was done talking about it. “Anyway, I'm not going back to that camp. I'll go look for a job or do yard work or anything else. I'm not gonna go back and get my face kicked in.”
“Maybe it'll be different if you eat a big breakfast,” I suggested, fighting to keep both my expression and tone neutral.
He shot a glare in my direction. “I could eat all of the food in the world tomorrow morning and I'd still get killed.”
“I could make eggs and pancakes and—”
“I'm not listening to you anymore,” he said, holding his hands over his ears. “Making me go would be child abuse.”
“Jake could take you out in the yard tonight. You guys could put pillows on your shoulders and go at it. Practice…what did the coach call it? Hitting?”
“Done. Listening.”
I cackled.
What fun was it having kids if you couldn't mess with them once in a while?
TWENTY FOUR
“Do they know what kind it was?” I asked Officer Ted.
It was the next morning. I'd gotten Will home and shockingly had still been resistant to the idea of going out in the yard with Jake. After telling Jake about his experience, he took pity on him and sent him downstairs for a night of gaming, no questions asked.
So we'd had a fairly quiet night at home and I'd fallen asleep with a book on my chest. Jake was home with the kids in the morning, so I grabbed a muffin and headed to the station. Ted was at his desk, and he said he was feeling much better and I was feeling nosey so I asked him about the poison.
He shook his head. “No, not yet. I guess they’re still running tests on it to find out exactly what it was.”
I wasn’t well versed in how long it would take to run toxicology screenings, but it seemed to me that it was taking an awfully long time. “You'd think they'd be able to tell what it was right away.”
He shrugged. “Can't say I'm a poison expert.”
That made two of us.
Ted didn't seem to be bothered by that, which was good. I, on the other hand, was dying of curiosity.
“I heard Bjorn is having some trouble at the restaurant,” Ted said, frowning. He had a file open on his desk, right next to a mug of coffee and a vanilla frosted donut. Even from where I was, I could smell the fried dough and sweet frosting. “I wasn't happy to hear that.”
“Yeah, it doesn't sound very good,” I told him. “I spoke to him yesterday and he wasn’t sounding optimistic about the whole thing.”
Ted shook his head and to me, he looked genuinely troubled by the news. There was no glee, no covert enthusiasm at the potential demise of Big Mama's. He seemed to be bothered by the fact that he might have played a part in the closing of the eatery.
“I don't know if there's anything I can do, but maybe I'll go talk to him today,” Ted said.
I wondered how that might go over. Bjorn wasn’t happy about Ted’s tickets, but he was also hurting, and I didn’t think that kind words from anyone would go unappreciated. Well, unless they were from Arnold.
“He really might appreciate that.”
He started to say something else, but the door to the station opened and Elsa Ahlberg strode in, a none too happy expression all over her face.
She glanced at me first, then at Ted. “This has to stop.”
“Good morning, Elsa,” he said, noticeably stiffening. “Uh, what has to stop?”
“The things you're saying about me,” she said. She was clutching her purse to her side, and her knuckles were practically white from the death grip she was holding it in. “They have to stop.”
His brow furrowed. “What have I been saying about you exactly?”
“Don't play dumb with me,” she said. “I've heard everything.”
“I'm not playing dumb.” Ted stared at her with a genuine look of confusion. “What exactly have I supposedly said about you?”
“That I was the one that…that poisoned you. That I wanted you to die.” She let out a breath. “All sorts of terrible things.”
Ted's face reddened. “What are you talking about, Elsa?”
“You know what I'm talking about!”
“I've said nothing of the sort. To anyone.”
“Then why am I hearing it?”
“I have no idea! But you know me better than that!”
“I don't feel like I know you at all anymore,” she said, loosening her grip from her purse strap and folding her arms across her chest. “You've turned into a completely different person.”
Ted started to say something, then closed his mouth. His shoulders sagged and he looked completely flummoxed.
I decided it was time to intervene. I hated seeing Ted look so helpless, and I was pretty sure Elsa was going to explode with anger or tears at any moment. She could go either way, ju
dging by her constantly changing expression.
“If it's any help, the only thing Ted has said to me is that he was sure you didn't do anything,” I offered. “We've discussed it and he was certain that you had nothing to do with it.”
She moved her eyes slowly in my direction, then let them settle on me for a long moment. “Is that right?”
I nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“And why exactly were you discussing me?” Her lips flat-lined, as if she was waiting for me to deal a blow.
“Well,” I said, trying to be tactful in how I said things, “Ted was just expressing his…frustration at what happened and the aftermath. He knows that people in town are talking and he is just as frustrated by it as you seem to be.”
Elsa slowly shifted her gaze back to Ted. “Let me guess. This is the reason.”
He sighed. “What is the reason?”
She pointed a finger in my direction. “Her.”
He looked more confused than ever. “Her what, Elsa? You aren't making sense.”
“Oh, I think I am making perfect sense, Theodore,” she said. We were still teetering between anger and hysteria. She jabbed the finger in my direction again. “She is the reason you broke up with me, isn't she?”
My mouth dropped open.
Ted's face turned a shade of red I'd never seen on him, somewhere between blood and a very ripe tomato. “What? No! You are being ridiculous!”
Her eyes narrowed to small slits. “We started having trouble about the time she started working here. That's when you started telling me you were having doubts about our future.”
He shook his head. “No, that's just when you finally started listening to me.”
She turned in my direction. “Are you sleeping with my Ted?”
I didn’t think it was possible for my mouth to drop any further, but I was pretty sure my jaw was now almost hitting the floor. I was also convinced my face was now just as red as Ted’s.
