by Misty Simon
Plus, she was closer to my age and could walk just as fast as me, if not faster, truth be told. Beyond those obvious reasons, from what I’d seen she could be pretty high up on the hierarchy of biddies. It would behoove (my word, what a fabulous word, and one that just isn’t used often enough) me to make friends with this woman. She could be my in. Bella was my buffer, and I loved her for it, but an in would be even better.
We walked around the side of the house and came face-to-door with the shed again. This would be my opportunity to have a good look at it, though. When Mac fell out I wasn’t interested in anything more than seeing if he was still breathing and then dealing with that ass, Rukey. This would be uninterrupted time without anyone breathing down my neck. Especially since Francesca stood back three yards and waved me forward.
Okay, then.
I checked the nooks, I checked the crannies, I even checked the niches. And I found nothing, not even dust. No way could the old lady keep it this clean and never notice a wasp nest that just happened to fall on Mac and…then what? The wasps stung him, picked up their own nest, and flew away so they wouldn’t get caught at the scene of the crime? Ridiculous.
“Find anything?” Francesca called to me.
“Nope, not a thing. I just don’t get it.”
“I don’t either, darling, but I’ll show you around the trees and things, and you’ll see for yourself that there’s no nest; therefore, it couldn’t have been wasps. That old coroner down at the funeral home must be as blind as Myrt.” She giggled, so I giggled with her. Just a little. I did not want to find out she told Myrt that I thought she was old. And she’d called me darling, which had to be a few points in my favor.
We walked the property line and then around the few trees. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I would testify Myrt didn’t have a single freaking bug in her yard, while right across the street I couldn’t even venture outside sometimes without coming back bitten up like a meal for any wandering bloodsucker.
“See? Nothing.” She spread her hands out in front of her like one of those women on The Price Is Right, and I couldn’t deny that she was right. Not a single piece of evidence that any wasps had made a home here.
This was both good and bad news. Good because it meant Myrt did not have wasps in or around her house. Bad because now I had a serious cause for doubt that this was just a random act of nature. Which ultimately led me back to the fact that I was indeed going to investigate a murder.
And I had no idea where to start.
****
“And then Prudence told me that I’ve never done anything right around here, and that’s why they don’t like me, but that could all change if I would look into this, and do at least one thing right for the first time in my existence here.” I ended my one, long, rambling sentence on a high note of indignation.
Shoving another chip loaded with guacamole into my mouth, I waited while Ben, Bella, and Jared digested what I had said.
Jared was the first one to protest. Bella and Ben both just looked thoughtful.
“There’s nothing to look into, Ivy.” Jared pointed at me. “Mac died of an allergic reaction. Yeah, it’s weird that he was in the shed, and it might have been trespassing, but no one killed him. It was those wasps.”
“But how did that many wasps get into Myrt’s shed, and why is there no evidence of a nest now? Ivy just told you she went to the shed,” Bella said.
I raised an eyebrow.
She was quick to correct herself. “Was forced to go to the shed and witness that there was no nest. The ladies would not leave her alone, and if the police aren’t going to take this seriously, then maybe we should.”
“But I am the police.” He took a swig of his beer, not looking the least bit comfortable with the conversation.
“And you can leave the room if you want to, dear, so that we can get to planning.” Bella patted his cheek.
He shrugged his shoulders, crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them to run a hand from his eyebrows to his chin. “No, I guess I’m in. There’s some strange stuff going on down at the station, and no one’s talking. If this is just another strange thing, then I guess I better figure out what I’m up against.”
“That’s my boy.” She jumped into his lap and did a little wriggle. His eyes went sultry as he made a grab for her ass.
“Get a room or go home.” Now it was me pointing my finger at the two of them.
Bella pouted at me. “But then I’ll be taking your primary source of information from you.”
I laughed. “Okay, but at least tone it down a little. I already know how it’s done, so I don’t need a tutorial.” She looked like she was going to say something smart, then she winked at me instead.
“Okay, let the war room commence. Who’s got what, and how does it tie into anything else we have?”
****
“I heard that you’re actually going to try your hand at this again, my girl. Good for you.” Dad was in the Shoppe bright and early the next morning.
Who had told him, and why?
He threw me a pleading look and clasped his hands together over his chest. “I can be of use. I know I can. I have contacts, and I can talk a bird out of a tree. Please.”
I stared him down. “What is really going on? You seem overly anxious. And what was that card you gave Detective Bartley the other day?”
He grinned. “Let’s just say I need something to do because I’m driving Martha crazy. Without my grands here, my day has a little too much unscheduled time until the studio opens in the afternoon. I guess I’m trying to take up too much of her time. She wants me busy so I stay happy.”
“What about the card?” I noticed he had skipped that part, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook.
Sheepish was the first thing that came to mind when I looked at his face.
“I’m giving select people cards for free dance lessons.”
“And you chose Bartley in the middle of a murder investigation?” My dad had his moments, but that was a weird time.
“Hey, I’m all about opportunity. Plus, if I can’t get the studio to pick up soon, I might have to choose another profession. Like maybe being a life coach. Or I could get my PI license and work with Ben.” He grinned.
I should have grinned, too. Instead I cringed behind a fake smile. Lord, save me. “Or you could get yourself a hobby.”
“This one is as good as any for right now.”
“Armchair detective?”
“Amateur detective, since I’m not exactly staying home in my armchair. Now, give me something interesting to do or research, and let’s get this taken care of. It’s like old times!”
“Not that old.”
“Six years, and it was exhilarating to catch Jackie. Admit it.”
Yeah, because he wasn’t the one who almost had a heart attack when she came gunning for me like the mad woman she was.
I sighed. “Go see if you can find out where Jameson is. I know he’s not connected to the death, but I almost feel like his disappearance is related to all this at the station somehow. If we can get hold of him, maybe we can figure out what all they’re keeping quiet.”
He saluted me like I’d given him his marching orders, and I laughed. He was a cornball, but he was my dad. Though I’d bitched about him moving here when he first decided to make his home where I was, I couldn’t deny there were many times I loved having him around.
A few hours later, I made a lunch run to the fabulous deli down the street, leaving Charlie in charge but out of the loop on this investigating-the-murder thing. It was one thing to drag Jared in. However, it was something entirely different to shake the bed that Charlie slept in if it would get him in trouble with Debbie.
Ten yards from the deli entrance, a man was staked out on the bench next to the door, talking to all passersby about something having to do with pickles and thrusting flyers into people’s hands. I hated (loathed, which is a better word and I felt the need for a good word right now) people thrust
ing their stuff on me. Okay, that was phrased wrong, since there was one person whose thrusting I loved, but really, don’t come at me aggressively with your cause. I’m open to listening but not to being bullied so that you can prove you’re right or that whatever you want is more important than any other cause out there.
Besides, what were we doing? Saving the pickles?
I tried to sneak in around him while he was accosting someone else, but I was a step too late and got a face full of neon-green paper as I tried to open the door to Dixie’s Deli.
“The Pickle Extravaganza should have a home here in Martha’s Point. Help me get this worthy cause off the ground and into people’s hearts.”
His voice reminded me of those used car commercials with the dancing bear and the guy with the big cowboy hat. No way did I want to support his pickle anything. And he wasn’t even using alliteration in a town that allowed only alliteration in the names of all its businesses and events except the Harvest Festival. Even that I heard was being renamed the Harvest Hoedown. I was another exception, with the Masked Shoppe, but since Great-Aunt Gertie had named it years ago, I had a feeling I was okay.
“No, thank you,” I said in a small voice designed to just walk past him and pick up my order from Dixie. All that meat and cheese and lettuce, tomato, and mayo was calling my name.
“What?” he demanded, getting into my space. “You have to take the flyer. I’m giving it to you, and I told you it was a worthy cause. Surely, you’ll back me in this.”
I took a good look at him. My impression did not get any better. He had slicked-back hair, and his teeth were really big. Normally, I tried not to judge people by their appearances because they could be so much more than what they looked like, but this guy had the creep factor down to a science. His teeth were ultra white, his skin a little pasty, and his eyes had an unholy light that I had only ever seen in movies with villains who gave you nightmares. I considered just taking the flyer so I could get into the deli, but something told me if I took it he would hunt me down and demand I truly support him.
“I said, no, thanks. Now please move so I can get my lunch.”
“I’m not moving until you take my flyer. I know who your people are, and you support the Tasty Tomato Tournament, the most ridiculous thing out there. Pickles are worthy, not tomatoes, and I will prove it to people. I want your support in this.”
He grabbed my shoulder, and my knee came up before I could tell it that perhaps that was not the best of ideas.
However, it did get me past him and into the deli as he writhed on the ground calling me vicious names and telling me I was a bitch.
“Good work out there, Ivy.” Dixie smiled at me and handed over my bag. The smell was enough to make me swoon. But I didn’t want to damage the goods by falling on it.
“What on earth is with that guy? I would think if you wanted support you wouldn’t be so smarmy.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t start getting this pushy until after Mac died. I don’t know what the connection is, but he was talking to a few people in here yesterday about how he was going to get this thing off the ground even if his big supporter had crapped out on him.”
Well, it wasn’t like Mac had meant to leave this earth in a shed, stung by wasps. Jeez.
“You really think Mac would have supported that?” I asked. “He was all about the tomatoes and super proud of being one of the longest-standing judges.”
“Ha. He also wasn’t above dragging someone along so they thought they would get what they wanted—until it was time to pony up, and then he wouldn’t come through.”
Little bit of anger there that I so wanted to explore, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Pickle Guy get up off the ground, and I needed a quick getaway. “Can I go out the back?”
“Absolutely. See you next time.” And she was off to serve the next lunch. But what she said to me stayed in my brain for the next several hours. Had Mac promised something to this fanatic and then not been able to deliver? Would the Pickle Guy have killed for his festival? It seemed like that should be farfetched, but in Martha’s Point I was ready to believe just about anything was possible.
****
That evening, Ben and I stayed in, with the tomatoes for company. Fortunately, all the gnomes had been placed outside, so I didn’t have to worry about any of them taking a gander at my butt while I was leading Ben on a merry chase around the house. We ended up on the hallway floor. I had rug burns to prove it. But it had been fun, and it had been spontaneous, and that made me happy.
It also made me think about other spontaneous things. Like how someone could get a bunch of wasps in and out of a shed without anyone seeing them or any stray wasps hanging around. In my inspection of Myrt’s shed, it was very obvious that the woman could see the minutest detail in the shed even if she couldn’t tell Ben and me apart in the setting sun.
I laid my head back against the arm of the couch and let Ben do his magic on my feet. He was almost as good a masseur as he was a tomato grower and husband and love maker and… Well, the list could go on. I won’t embarrass you, or make you too jealous, but I got a really good one.
“So this pickle guy. Do you know him?”
Ben scoffed and dug his thumb into the arch of my foot. I stifled my groan so I could hear his answer.
“I don’t know him, but he did try to get me to sign some sort of petition a year or so ago. He wanted the pickle thing to be on par with the tomato competition, but you know that’s never going to happen.”
“Right, of course.” I really didn’t know why it wouldn’t happen since I didn’t know why we even had a Tasty Tomato Tournament. As far as I knew, this area had no particular claim to tomato famousness or any particular soil that made the tomatoes here better than anyone else’s. And it wasn’t like the rest of the world knew anything about this tournament. It wasn’t a barbecue contest with participants from all over the world, or a big flower show with the rarest orchids. It was tomatoes. I had said that once to Ben. Let me tell you, I never said it again.
“He kept telling me that if I got on board, he could make it worth my while. I don’t even eat pickles. It’s not like we televise, or you would get some kind of endorsement for having a great pickle.”
Oh, the things I could say about that, the naughty, naughty things running through my head about how great Ben’s pickle was and that I’d make him an award if he really wanted one. I’d even frame it.
He gave my toes a squeeze. “I’m reading your mind right now, and you need to stop. I’m getting older, and even I need a break once in a while.”
“Yeah, yeah, me too. So pickle tournament is out, but I still think he’s suspicious. And why now? I’ve never seen him out with flyers before, and if he approached you last year, wouldn’t he have been trying to get people to participate long before now?”
“That’s a valid question that I don’t have the answer to. So he goes on the list.”
“Do we actually have a list?” I lifted my head when he didn’t answer right away.
Ben smiled and tapped his forehead. “I have one running around up here.”
“Anyone else on it?”
“Not really. Which is frustrating, since this one should be an open-and-shut case. We look for who would want Mac dead, find evidence to support it, and go from there.” He shrugged and went back to his ministrations. (Good word, and excellent feeling!)
“But it’s not open and shut because we have no idea where to even look and nowhere to start.” I flopped my head back against the couch. As much as I’d love to say that the old biddies’ opinion of me didn’t concern me one bit, I’d be lying. Ever since Bella married Jared, she’d been accepted back into the fold, especially since her former husband, and beloved townie, had turned out to be a killer, and she was deemed right to have left him in the first place.
But me? Well, I’d never managed it, even marrying the town’s number one son. And I was pretty sure my grave marker would have Not A Martha’s Pointer on
it when the time came.
I sighed. Ben rubbed harder as I tried to think of what on earth we could do next to get things rolling in the right direction. Yes, it was still suspicious that a swarm of wasps went after Mac with no evidence of a nest in the shed, but couldn’t they have all flown in there for a moment, and it had just been bad timing? Or maybe he ran in there to get away from a swarm.
I made a mental note to check outside Myrt’s property for a nest. Because they might not have lived in the shed. Maybe they lived in a tree right off her property and Mac ran from the swarm that he accidentally upset and tried to hide in the shed, but they followed him.
Actually that made a lot more sense than someone trying to kill him. I didn’t know who on earth would want to. He was one of the most beloved people in town, always lit the town tree in the square for Christmas, rode in the Halloween parade in his shiny old car, and handed out flags on Independence Day. Who could have held a grudge? And was it over with this one death, or would there be more to come?
Of course there was Dixie, who had harbored some resentment toward him having to do with not keeping promises, but she’d never kill someone. Her character was proved by the awesome sandwiches she made, and I couldn’t lose my favorite place to eat lunch besides Martha’s. However, maybe her grudge was bigger and longer than I thought.
I sighed and told Ben to put her on the list. Dammit.
****
Three days until the Tasty Tomato Tournament, and I literally did not have the first clue, not a single one, about where to go or what to do when I got there.
I stopped in at the newspaper where Ben still worked part-time, to see if he was up for some lunch with me. Charlie was handling the store, and I was determined to make the most of my vacation. Plus I’d narrowly missed being cornered by one of the old biddies, who was probably hell bent on finding out what I had accomplished so far. I didn’t want to have to admit that I was nowhere with nothing.
