Bearly Departed

by Meg Macy

  Plans that might already be in the works.

  Chapter 20

  I stood on the corner of Kermit Street and Main, watching the parade. Scores of Scout troops, both girls and boys, walked by and waved to parents and siblings. A group of veterans slowly marched past, followed by a group of volunteers leading dogs on leashes; two carried a sign for Wags and Whiskers, the pet rescue located on the village’s edge. Three cars rolled past, all decorated to showcase small businesses. The Legal Eagles had a large stuffed bird atop the hood. One had garlands stretched over the hood, roof, and trunk with a banner for Mary’s Flowers. The Quick Mix factory float, trimmed with paper streamers, carried huge boxes of their products.

  Debbie Davison walked by and waved, so I waved back. She pulled a large wagon packed with crates and a large teddy bear on top, holding a yellow plastic jar. I knew the crates held real jars of honey nestled in straw to keep them from breaking.

  A few siren blasts from the village fire truck sounded far down the street. I finally caught sight of my uncle’s blue and white Thunderbird. Maddie had made the sign that mounted on the hood, with glittery letters spelling out “Silver Bear Shop & Factory.” Our largest teddy bears hung out the side windows, and more bears filled the backseat to the roof. Uncle Ross didn’t wave, however; the rattling tin cans only half drowned out the oohs and aahs of the children admiring the car—or the bears. I was never sure. But then I caught sight of someone passing out fliers—I almost shouted in protest. Teddy Hartman? What was he doing? He forced parents and kids alike to take the papers while he trailed after my uncle’s car. Teddy Hartman, of Bears of the Heart.

  Fists clenched, I sprinted into the street. Two skateboarders almost ran into me and yelled an obscenity. I ignored them. Thank goodness I’d left Rosie home due to the noise and all the people. I raced to catch up with Hartman.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Hartman glanced at me in surprise. Short, pudgy, he reminded me of Billy Crystal with his receding hairline and boyish face, but he wore a cheap plaid suit and scuffed wing tip shoes. A large button with a bear holding a string of hearts was pinned to one coat lapel.

  “What? It’s a free country.”

  “What are you passing out?” I snatched a flier and scanned it. “This is advertising for your Bears of the Heart company. You can’t do that!”

  “And why not?”

  “You’re following the Silver Bear Shop and Factory float—”

  “So? A little competition never hurt anyone.”

  “But this isn’t the time or the place.”

  “What do you know about promotion?” Hartman tore half the flier out of my hands. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Sasha Silverman. My parents own the business and I manage it. And my uncle who’s driving our float has no idea you’re undermining us!”

  “I don’t give a fig what Ross Silverman thinks.”

  Stunned momentarily, I tried grabbing the rest of the stack from him. He dropped half, and the papers whirled away in the stiff breeze. “You idiot! Look what you’ve done. I’ll report you to the cops.”

  “Fine, go ahead. They want to talk to you anyway.”

  Hartman snorted in disgust. “What for? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I’m sure you’re one of the suspects in Will Taylor’s murder,” I said.

  He stopped walking. “What? Taylor’s dead?” His skin paled to a pasty hue.

  “Yeah, murdered.”

  “When was this?” Hartman barked that at me, but I only shrugged. “I just saw him the other day. How could he be dead?”

  I gauged his tone. He didn’t look as surprised as I’d expected. “Where were you last Thursday night? We know you met with him for lunch.”

  The businessman flushed red and then turned pale again. “I didn’t kill him. Why would I?” Hartman’s small eyes darted past me. “We only talked business, for a few hours. At that pub over there.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Trade shows, the usual stuff.”

  “Like our bear pattern?”

  “What pattern?” He shrugged. “What do I need a pattern for?”

  I didn’t believe that for a minute. “Will Taylor offered to sell you the Silver Bear pattern, didn’t he? Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m missing half the parade—oh, forget it.” He started walking fast down a side street, although I hustled to overtake him.

  “What were you two discussing? Negotiations of some kind?” I asked, persisting.

  Hartman stopped so fast I stumbled into him and knocked the rest of the fliers out of his hands. Right in front of Cissy Davison’s Time Turner shop, which wouldn’t please her. Many of them scuttled toward the alley.

  “Listen, we just talked. Simple business chitchat, nothing set in stone.”

  “You’d better explain. Especially now that he’s dead.”

  He kicked the scattered fliers with a curse. “Nothing important. I swear on my father’s grave! Who would want to kill Taylor?”

  “A county detective is trying to figure that out, but don’t change the subject,” I said. “So what exactly was this lunch discussion about?”

  “Taylor bragged that he was taking over your shop,” Hartman said reluctantly.

  “Really?” I couldn’t help sounding sour. “What else?”

  “Once he forced Ross to retire, Taylor was planning to send production overseas. Our production is half and half right now and I’ve seen a bigger profit.” Hartman puffed out his chest. “Best decision I ever made.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “I suppose you two discussed a possible merger in the future? To benefit you both.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. So I had no reason to kill Taylor. Not when we planned to do business together.”

  “So why did you return to Silver Hollow Thursday evening?” That was a guess on my part, and his pasty face burned red again.

  “I didn’t. I met him for lunch, and we split afterward. Then I went fishing with my friends.” He turned whiny. “Listen, I’ve been on vacation the past few weeks. I only met Taylor because he called me! I didn’t care what he was doing here at your company. I’m heading back to New England. Tomorrow morning.”

  “I’d drop in and make a statement to the police, then, before you leave. Or they might get the idea you’re leaving town to avoid the detective working the case.”

  Hartman wiped his hands on his cheap suit jacket, clearly nervous. “I didn’t kill Will Taylor. I can prove I was out fishing Thursday with my friends.”

  “Like I said, you’d better call on Detective Mason. Need his number?” I fished out the card. “Write this down.”

  He scrounged for a pen and then grabbed a flier before it blew away. “Okay, what is it?”

  I rattled off the number, triumphant. “So Will Taylor really did want to sell you our bear pattern? How much did he want for it?”

  “Too much, but I didn’t need it.” Hartman grinned. “He was smart, but not that smart. Sure, I was interested to see if he could pry Ross out of that factory, especially since Alex is retired now. Business is business, after all. Cutthroat, too.”

  “It’s our business. Not Taylor’s—”

  “I didn’t hold my breath about his chances, Ms. Silverman. Figured Taylor would blow it at some point. Guess someone blew it for him if he’s dead.”

  Hartman stalked down the street. I ignored his callous remark, wondering if he was lying about going fishing after lunch on Thursday. I didn’t care what he and Will Taylor talked about any longer, because our Silver Bear Shop & Factory was safe from both of them. I breathed a sigh of relief and rushed back to Main Street. The parade was almost over, the shrill blasts of the fire truck echoing between the village buildings. Digger Sykes waved at me from the patrol car, which followed the fire truck, blue and red lights flashing. He hit the siren as well, and then leaned out the window after the noise died.

  “Hey, Sasha! Tell Mads I’ll c
all her, okay?”

  I gave him a thumbs-up, wondering what that was about. They’d dated back in high school, from what little I recalled, but I doubted she’d agreed to rekindle any romance. Friends, yes. But Maddie hadn’t been forthcoming about a lot lately. Hmm.

  As for Teddy Hartman and his fishing trip, Mason would have to figure out whether his alibi held water.

  Chapter 21

  Ben slapped his chest and eyed the bright blue sky. “What a great day for a picnic!”

  I glanced over at him, less enamored. “Try doing these events every summer, sometimes twice, for five years straight. You might come to think differently.”

  “Aw, come on. We’re here. The lemonade’s ready. The water bottles and juice are in tubs of ice—where did your uncle go? He ought to park his car in the lot. It looked great in the parade stuffed to the gills with teddy bears.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The first thing he does is dump the bears back into the shop. I’m still not sure how Dad talked him into being in the parade in the first place. That car is more precious to my uncle than anything. It’s the biggest reason his wife divorced him, in fact,” I said airily. “Aunt Eve lives in Chicago. Do you remember her? Always wore fifties dresses, the poufy ones with the crinolines, those shiny patent-leather handbags, and stiletto heels.”

  Ben nodded with a wide grin. “Yeah. Hard to miss her.”

  “Uncle Ross is covering the shop until my sister can take over. She got in late last night from New Jersey. Dad’s doing great. They’ll release him today and head home.”

  “With a bag of drugs, I hope. Planes are notorious breeding grounds.”

  “Maddie didn’t tell me much last night.” I surveyed the picnic tables we’d reserved early that morning to set up our supplies. The dense grove on the park’s edge would help keep us cooler than closer to the blacktop lot. “Thanks for choosing this spot. We would have ended up in the sun all afternoon like last year.”

  “Shade should start within the hour.”

  Ben sounded cheerful, which I needed right now given all the work we’d done. What a great sport. A light breeze drifted our way. The grassy lawn spread toward the bank of the narrow Huron River, which bordered the village, and ended at the line of tall, thick evergreens. A wire fence beyond that kept people from trudging into a cornfield.

  “See that group of picnic tables?” Ben pointed to where several families had laid out cloths, baskets, and bottles of pop on the sturdy wooden structures. “Your cousin Matt built them as his Eagle Scout project. Our troop helped him.”

  “I remember. My sister and I collected bottles and cans to help pay for materials.” I swiped my damp forehead. “I’m surprised they’re still in good shape.”

  “Annual coat of varnish, that’s why. Okay, what’s next? The plastic cloths are on the tables. We’ve taped them down—”

  “Time to decorate.” I handed him the honeybee stickers. “Put them wherever, in rows, or scattered all over. Be creative. I’ve got lemons to slice.”

  I wished now I’d done that before the parade instead of cooking a huge breakfast for my sister. Eggs, bacon, and a batch of banana nut muffins. I must have gained a few pounds inhaling all those wonderful smells, plus chowing down half the eggs, several muffins, and the blacker bacon strips. Despite my multiple calls from the bottom of the stairs, Maddie slept through. I heard her shower running after Ben arrived at half past noon; the two of us lugged everything to the SUV and rushed to the park. So much for talking to my sister about Mom and Dad, the Silver Bear Shop & Factory’s future, and Maddie’s dreams of owning a boutique. All that would have to wait.

  I checked my watch. Time to get the games started. I grabbed a blue spray paint can and then marked off space for Toddlers to Kindergarteners. Ben took the red paint and crossed the field to the opposite corner. The two teen girls I’d hired—okay, bribed with a decent gift certificate from our shop—helped control the crowd. Megan checked off names against the list of attendees, while Bridgette wrote name tags and stuck them on the kids’ shirts.

  The two sisters, granddaughters of Gil Thompson, had plenty of babysitting experience. I spotted Elle with Matt and their kids. “Hey, over here!”

  “Sash, how’s it going?” Matt gave me a quick squeeze. “Sorry about what happened at the factory. Been so busy at work. Need anything?”

  “Yeah.” I handed him a roll of twine. “Stretch this across the grass. That will keep the older kids away from the younger ones.”

  Not quite six foot, with a stocky build and rugged looks, my cousin tied one end of the twine to a sapling and then headed across the field. Matt took out his jackknife after measuring off enough to fasten the other end around a birch bole. Elle led the kids toward Megan, who gathered the under-six crowd together. They had a blast playing Duck, Duck, Goose, a beanbag toss, and a race where moms pulled their kids and teddy bears on blankets across the field to the finish line. Older children tired themselves out with a far more competitive gunnysack race—holding their teddy bears in one hand, the sacks in the other—and then a balloon stomp.

  Uncle Ross had inflated all the balloons last night and tied strings on them, then brought them in huge bags. Megan and Bridgette played referee, making sure no one ended up with bruised ankles, cuts, or scrapes while the kids stomped hard to break the balloons. Then the children trooped back to their families to eat.

  “Fun, huh?” I grinned at Elle, who held her youngest. Matt chased after their son, who bumped into another boy. Both burst into tears. “Uh-oh.”

  “You sure you want kids, Sash?” Matt winked and set the boys back on their feet. “You’re all right. Come on, let’s get a teddy bear cookie.”

  That ended their tears. Once Megan and Bridgette passed out the cookie packages, everyone admired Mary Kate’s design. Ben plugged in an extension cord at the public restroom and dragged the line to the boom box. Maddie suddenly tapped my shoulder.

  “Hey. I didn’t expect so many people here, that’s great.” Dark circles showed under her eyes, but she looked cool and stylish in white shorts and a lacy mint top with spaghetti straps. I was sweating in my capris and had forgotten my hat. She slid on a pair of dark sunglasses and tipped her straw fedora back on her head. “How long will the picnic last?”

  “You ought to know without me telling you.”

  “Geez, Sash. Bite my head off—”

  “Four or five o’clock, depending on whether we run out of lemonade and water. Check out the cookies Mary Kate redesigned, too. Why aren’t you at the shop? I had to ask Uncle Ross to cover for you until you were ready.”

  “Oh yeah.” My sister sounded dazed. “I’m a basket case. You ought to know how crazy stressful it’s been dealing with Mom and Dad.”

  “I do know. But go relieve Uncle Ross at the shop before he has a fit. I have no idea if Lois showed up to help out. Did you check?”

  “No. I didn’t think of it.”

  Maddie wandered toward the parking lot. I couldn’t worry about her now, with so much yet to do. Several women asked about the cookies and complimented them. I was surprised when Wendy Clark popped out of the crowd. Her spiked hair was now tinged with pink, teal, and pale blue hues; the colors stood out in contrast to her white crochet and linen romper. She smiled when a group of moms praised the adorable icing outline and sunglasses piped on each bear.

  “Yes, the cookies are from Fresh Grounds,” Wendy said. “I was only following Sasha’s directions. Gave them a little more ‘oomph’ in the decoration. I hope to make cookies for the Cran-beary Tea Party. Isn’t that what you’re calling it, Sasha?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Wendy and Mary Kate are so talented.”

  “What a wonderful idea. You girls might like a tea party with your teddy bears,” one woman said to her daughters. “We’ll be sure to sign up.”

  When she herded the kids back to their blanket, I turned to Wendy. “Thanks so much for coming. I thought you had to work at Pretty in Pink.”

  �
�Vivian got mad because we weren’t getting any customers. She wanted me to stand outside with a plate of broken cookies, but I refused. I quit before she could fire me.” Wendy laughed. “I was tired of her drama queen antics.”

  “I heard a lot about that from Mary Kate.”

  “She quit, too, a few years ago. Tradition! Vivian had hired another decorator two weeks ago, and we didn’t get along. I showed her up, so it’s been nasty to work there.” She shaded her eyes. “Where’s Ben?”

  “Over there handing out lemonade.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go help him.”

  Wendy meandered over to the table where a steady stream of parents and grandparents accepted water bottles, cups, or juice boxes for their kids. When I whistled for everyone’s attention, girls and boys clutched their teddy bears in excitement and lined up around the picnic area.

  “Is everyone ready for the parade?” Once a chorus of cheers erupted, my finger hit the button. No music sounded. “Oops. We’ll check on the power. Hang tight!”

  Ben rushed off to fix it, so Wendy took over filling cups with lemonade. I noted our sewing ladies—Flora Zimmerman with her young granddaughter, and Harriet Amato, who tried in vain to control three little boys batting one another with their teddy bears and shrieking with laughter. Despite her scolding, they didn’t stop. Joan Kendall had taken over handing out the last of the juice boxes to the waiting kids.

  “Yoo-hoo! Sasha,” Mary Kate called out. She held her toddler daughter by one hand. “Sorry I’m late, but someone napped too long. How were the cookies?”

  “Fabulous. Everyone loved them.” I squinted at Ben, hoping he’d fixed the power problem. The kids’ restlessness increased. “We need to get the parade going, and then we’re done after cleanup. I am so ready to go home.”

  “I stopped at the shop before we came here,” Mary Kate said in a low voice. “Boy, did I hear major fireworks between your uncle and Lois Nichols. She was taking forever at the cash register.”

  “Oh, great.” I turned to Joan, who’d emptied the last large tub of water bottles. “What do you know about Lois’s past work experience?”