by Jeff Shelby
“Because I'm hungry and we are here.”
She frowned. “What if we get poisoned?”
“We won't get poisoned.”
“This is weird,” she said, her eyes darting around the restaurant.
It was weird. It was weird sitting in an empty restaurant. It was weird that not a single person in Moose River would be hungry for something in the middle of the afternoon. And it was still weird to be surrounded by dead animals staring at me.
“Get over it,” I told her. “I'm not in the mood. Decide what you're having.”
She made one of those professional teenager sighs and glanced down at the laminated sheet. “I already know.”
I smiled at her. “Good. Me, too.”
Bjorn returned with two glasses of water and set them on the table. He wiped his hands on his apron. “Do you know what you'd like?”
“Can I just have the grilled chicken salad?” Emily asked.
He nodded and looked at me.
“I'll have the Big Mama combo,” I told him. “All rice, no beans.”
He smiled, nodded, and headed back to the kitchen.
“That's what the police officer ate when he almost died,” Emily whispered, leaning across the table. Her eyes were huge.
“I know,” I whispered back to her. “I like to live on the edge.”
She rolled her eyes, whipped out her phone, and decided I was invisible.
After a minute, she cocked her head to the side. “I have to go use the bathroom. My hair isn't falling right.”
“And going to the bathroom will fix that?”
She stood. “It has a bigger mirror. I'll be back.”
Bjorn came out just as she disappeared in the back. “It'll be just a few minutes.”
“No problem,” I said.
“And thank you for having lunch,” he said. His smile was grim. “I am not blind to what you are doing.”
“We're hungry. We haven't had lunch. And you had a free table,” I said.
He ran a hand over the top of his head. “I have lots of free tables, I'm afraid. It is not looking good, Daisy.”
I shrugged. “Just have to hang in there, like you said.”
He looked around the empty restaurant. “I suppose. But many more days like this and that will be all she wrote.”
“I heard you were looking for a buyer,” I said. “Is there any chance you could take on—”?
“You heard what?” he interrupted. “Where did you hear this?”
I thought for a moment. “I think it was on the community message boards. It was my son who told me. He said that people were talking about the fact that you were looking to sell the restaurant. And I was just going to ask if you could take on a partner or something? Maybe rebrand the restaurant into something else?”
He stared at me for a long moment. “Who is saying that I am selling?”
“I don't know exactly.” I was suddenly uncomfortable. “Will said he saw people talking about it on the community message boards.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I haven't talked to anyone about selling my restaurant. No one. I am not there at this point. Closing is one thing. But selling is another, and I've said nothing about that to anyone.”
His anger was genuine and I wasn't sure what to say to him.
“Before I would ever sell, I would try other things,” he continued. “Maybe a new restaurant, as you said. Maybe sell equipment. I don't know. But this building is the most important thing I own, and even if my restaurant has to close, it does not mean that I will give it up without a fight.”
Clearly, the folks on the bulletin boards hadn't talked to Bjorn himself. And even clearer, the gossip hounds of Moose River were in full effect.
“I'm sorry,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I guess I should've kept those rumors to myself. For some reason, I assumed you'd put it out there and were looking for a buyer. I apologize.”
He started to say something, then stopped himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I am sorry, Daisy. I am not angry with you. I am angry with the situation. And thank you for sharing with me that people are spreading those rumors. I was unaware of them and, as you can probably tell, it's upsetting to hear. But please forgive my reaction.”
“Don't apologize,” I told him. “You have every right to be upset if people are saying things that aren't true.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Some days, I feel like people don't want me here anymore.” He closed his eyes. “When I hear things like this, I feel like people want me to close.”
My heart ached a little for him. I knew exactly how he felt. People could say things that weren’t intended to be mean, but the insinuation could still sting.
“I can't speak for everyone else, but I'd like you to stay open,” I said, smiling.
His eyes opened and he returned the smile. It was a small one, another grim one, but at least it was there. “Thank you,” he said. “I will go check on your food now.”
He turned and walked quickly to the kitchen.
Emily reemerged from the back of the restaurant and took her seat. Her hair looked exactly the same as it had when she left. “Our food should be ready soon,” she told me with authority. “It doesn't take that long. The lettuce is already shredded and the chicken usually just needs to be thrown on the grill for a quick warm-up. The rice and beans are made at the start of the day, as is the meat. It pretty much just needs to be assembled.”
“Good to know,” I said. I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table. “Hey, your brother was saying he read something about Bjorn wanting to sell the restaurant. Do you know anything about that?”
She shook her head. “No. I don't hang out in those places. Will likes all of that gossip stuff and he's always posting and telling people they are dumb. I mean, they are dumb, but I don't see why he has to tell them that.”
“So you haven't seen anything on the community boards?”
“I don't even know what those are, and I'd never go there,” she said. “Ever. Lame.”
Bjorn appeared with our food and slid the plates in front of us. “Enjoy,” he said, then went back to the kitchen.
As I picked up my first taco, the shell warm in my hand, I wondered who was telling people that Bjorn was ready to sell his restaurant.
TWENTY EIGHT
“I got the results back,” Officer Ted said, glancing over his shoulder and then back to me.
It was the next morning. Emily and I had finished our lunch at Big Mama's the previous day and I had not died from anything I'd ingested at the restaurant. Will had shown me the message boards, but it hadn't really taught me anything other than residents of Moose River liked to spend a lot of time gossiping and bandying about phony conjecture. When I'd gotten into bed, Jake asked why that had been a surprise to me.
I'd burned his bacon at breakfast before I'd left for the station.
“The results?” I asked as I turned on my computer. I’d already grabbed a cup of coffee, along with a mini powdered sugar donut that had been set out as communal food. I wasn’t sure who’d brought them in. Most definitely not Priscilla. Maybe Ted. Or maybe Kevin, one of the other officers. He was rarely in the office on the mornings I worked, but I had seen him on a handful of occasions.
“From the hospital,” Ted said. He lowered his voice and glanced around again. Considering the office was virtually empty—we were a small department—I wasn’t sure who he thought might be eavesdropping. “From the poison people.”
“Oh,” I said, my eyes widening. “Oh. What was it?”
He glanced over his shoulder again, then leaned across his desk. “There was acetone in my tacos.”
“Acetone?”
He nodded again. “Acetone, yes, ma'am. And...” His voice trailed off, his face contorting with something between confusion and frustration.
“And what?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “Couple weeks ago, I had to serve Bjorn with another ticket. I went
into the restaurant and he was in the back behind the kitchen. There's a storage room back there. He had everything moved out of it.”
“And you saw a can of acetone?” I asked, having no idea what acetone came in.
He shook his head. “No, no. He had everything out of the room because he was painting the walls of the storage area.”
I vaguely recalled Emily saying something about the painting, but couldn't recall it.
“Okay,” I said.
“He had a couple of workers back there who had put tarps down. There were trays and brushes and all that,” Ted said. “He was really irritated with me when I came back there looking for him. We argued, like usual. Then I left and I didn't think anything of it. Until the hospital called me last night.”
“Okay,” I said, still not getting it. “I'm sorry. I know nothing. Is there acetone in paint?”
He shook his head again. “No. But it's the main ingredient in paint thinner.”
Paint thinner. Finally the connection. “Oh. Oh, wow.”
He nodded, probably grateful that I finally sounded like I was getting it. “I know. It was the first thing I thought of when I got off the phone last night. And you know how sometimes you can remember things afterward that you couldn't right at the time?”
“Sure.”
“I remembered something last night,” he said. “After I hung up and I was thinking about it.” He paused. “My tacos smelled funny.”
“Smelled funny?”
Ted nodded again. “Yeah. They just smelled...off. And at the time, I just didn't think much of it. I figured it was really strong peppers or new seasoning or something like that. And besides, I was sort of focused on Elsa and everything going on with us.” He paused. “But now I'm wondering if I was smelling the acetone.”
I leaned back in my chair. I couldn't believe his food had been deliberately poisoned, but I didn't think there was any other way of looking at it now. And no matter how much I wanted to believe that Bjorn was innocent, it sure seemed as if Ted was justified in his suspicions. This was more than circumstantial evidence.
Ted looked down at his desk. “I just can't believe he'd deliberately put that stuff in my food. And he had to use a lot of it, too, to make me that sick.” He shook his head. “I just can't believe that.”
“Can I say something?”
He looked up. “Sure, Daisy. You're the only one I've told about this because I just didn't know what to do.”
“I think you're absolutely right to be suspicious,” I said slowly. “I really do. And I think it's fair to think maybe he had something to do with it, given the painting and all that.” I paused. “But we still have to presume he's innocent, don’t we? Yes, it seems he had the motive and the chemical on the premises, but that doesn't mean he did it.”
Ted rubbed at his chin for a long minute. “I know what you're saying, Daisy. I really do. But this feels like a bit much. And I think I need to go have a conversation with him.”
“Now?” I asked. My voice came out sounding suspiciously like a squeak. “And you're going to do it yourself?”
He stood. His uniform shirt hung out of his pants and he tucked it back in, stretching the fabric over his gut. “Priscilla's out all morning. She had a meeting over at the county government center. And to be completely honest with you, I'm mad and I want some darn answers.”
“I know you do and you deserve some,” I said, nodding. “But I'm just not sure you're in the best frame of mind to go talk to Bjorn.”
He hitched up his belt. “Well, I want some answers and I'm tired of waiting.”
I stood up. “Let me come with you then.” I was already reaching for my purse.
“Why?”
“So I can...mediate,” I told him. “I don't want either one of you saying or doing something you can't take back.”
“I am a police officer,” he said, standing up tall. “I won’t do or say anything I might regret later.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him. “Just let me come. For support if nothing else.”
Ted chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Alright. But, Daisy? One thing.”
“What's that?” I asked.
He hitched up his belt again. “If Bjorn is the one that poisoned me, I'm going to turn him into his own personal taco.”
I wasn't sure what that meant, but I didn't have time to figure it out, as Ted was already striding for the door and I was scrambling to catch up to him.
TWENTY NINE
Ted shoved opened the front door of Big Mama's. “Bjorn! Are you in here?”
We'd marched down the street to the restaurant and I was taking two steps for every one of Ted's. I'd never seen him this worked up over anything and for the first time since I'd met him, I thought he might actually be capable of hurting someone.
Bjorn walked slowly out of the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hands. He looked at both of us, confused. “I'm here. Why are you yelling?” His expression clouded. “There’s no delivery truck parked outside. I have nothing to deliver anymore.”
“Why did you poison me?” Ted asked, pointing a finger at him. His voice shook a little with the accusation and a fine sheen of sweat was sprouting on his forehead.
“Ted,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. “You need to calm down.”
Bjorn wadded up the towel and threw it down forcefully on the counter top. He flashed angry eyes at both of us. “I did no such thing! Ever!”
“I don't believe you!” Ted countered. His finger was now shaking as much as his voice. “You tried to poison me!”
So much for giving Bjorn the benefit of the doubt. And so much for Ted keeping his cool.
“You are a fool!” Bjorn yelled back at him. “I have never in my life tried to poison anyone! And why would I do this? So I could ruin my own business? If this is what you think, then you are truly a big, dumb elephant!”
“Acetone!” Ted yelled. “You put acetone in my tacos!”
“I put what in your tacos?” Bjorn asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I don't even know what that is.”
Ted took a step toward him. His whole body was shaking now. “I saw you painting back there. I saw you.”
Bjorn looked confused for a moment, then turned toward the kitchen. “Yes, we painted the storage room. The walls were cracked and we were worried about mold. They needed to be covered.” He turned back to Ted. “So what? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The acetone! You put it in my tacos!”
I put my hand on Ted's elbow and pulled him back. “You need to calm down.”
He didn’t shake me off, but he was still heaving, still shaking.
“The only thing I ever put in my tacos is meat and cheese and fresh produce,” Bjorn shot back. “Sometimes guacamole! But I never did anything to taint those tacos or hurt you, and you are out of your mind if you think I did!”
Ted finally wrenched himself free from my grasp. “Then how did it happen? Huh? How did it happen?”
“Maybe you forgot to wash your hands,” Bjorn said, throwing up his own hands in frustration. “Or maybe there is acetone on all those tickets you write me? Maybe you poisoned yourself?”
Ted's face was turning redder by the moment. It was clearly a bad idea to have come over to Big Mama's. Ted was upset and now Bjorn was upset and I was in the middle with no clue how to handle either of them.
Ted balled his hands into meaty fists. “Maybe I should call the health inspector to come on down and take a look at your kitchen. Maybe you didn't do it on purpose, but maybe you're just so sloppy back there that you don't know what you're doing.”
Bjorn swept his arm toward the kitchen. “Be my guest! You will not find a cleaner kitchen in all of Moose River! The health inspector knows me and he knows my kitchen! But you call him and bring him on down so I can prove that you are a liar!”
“Gentlemen!” I yelled.
Both men startled, finally remembering that I was there.
I cleared my throat. “
You both need to calm down. No one is calling anyone a liar. No one.” I looked at Bjorn. “Ted was informed last night as to exactly what made him ill. He's upset. He's confused.” I looked at Ted. “My daughter works in that kitchen and I promise you that if there was anything dirty about it, she'd never set foot in it. So I believe Bjorn when he tells us that his kitchen is clean and appropriately organized.” I took a deep breath. “So I'm not sure what happened here, but you both need to calm down and stop pointing the finger at one another so we might have a better chance of figuring it out. You don't have to be friends, but you do need to be civil.”
Ted shuffled his feet but kept his mouth shut. I was glad I’d gotten through to him. I turned and looked at Bjorn.
He said, “Speaking of civil, that reminds me that I think I want to file a civil suit against the Moose River Police Department for harassing me with too many parking tickets.”
Ted threw his hands up in the air. “Now you just wait a cotton pickin' minute, Bjorn! You know that those tickets were deserved and you were warned multiple times! You go right ahead and sue. I'll sue you right back for trying to kill me!”
Both men started yelling at one another again, each screaming over the other.
So much for civility.
THIRTY
The door to Big Mama's opened behind me and I turned around.
Arnold Eck was standing there with a greasy box of tacos.
He frowned when he saw Officer Ted and Bjorn yelling at one another, then looked at me. “What is going on here?”
I shrugged and gestured at the two arguing men. “Testosterone.”
Bjorn finally took notice that Arnold was standing there. This only served to further fuel his anger. “Oh, this is terrific. The two men who hate me the most in this town, both in the same place. What a wonderful day this is turning out to be. Who is next? The devil himself?”
Ted rolled his eyes and Arnold stood there, looking around the restaurant. I wondered if he was looking for a hidden camera, thinking he was on some kind of practical joke show. I was sort of thinking the same thing.
