“It didn’t stick.” I’d never been the biggest Full House fan. I wasn’t sure Zack and Cody sounded right for my little brutes either, though.
Ben collected coats and everyone was seated in the dining room—including Mia, who came downstairs and even took out her earbuds and pocketed her phone.
“What a lovely table you’ve set,” Irene said, studying the silver. “Was this my great-grandmother’s serving spoon?” She picked up the antique and held it up toward the chandelier I was surprised was still attached to the ceiling and not hanging in her own dining room.
“Don’t we have the matching meat fork at home?” Stewart asked, leaning in to examine the spoon.
“Yes, we do,” she said, and tucked it into her purse. “You understand,” she said, giving me a broad smile that could grace a poster at the dentist’s office. “You can’t break up the pair.”
“Especially not family heirlooms,” Stewart said, with a hearty laugh.
“I’ll grab another spoon from the kitchen,” Ben said shaking his head. He knew an antique serving piece wasn’t worth putting up a fight over. He always told me that everything Irene took would find its way back to Ellsworth House in the end anyway. I supposed that was true enough.
“Need help in there, Monica?” I called. She’d already put rolls and vegetables on the table.
“No, I’m bringing the roast out now.”
“I’ll take this bowl of potatoes,” I heard Ben say.
“I’ll pour the wine,” Quinn said, turning the corkscrew into the top of a bottle of Merlot.
Monica came to the doorway carrying a platter loaded with slices of steaming roast beef. It smelled so good, my mouth started watering. I couldn’t wait to get my fork into— “No! Gus, move!” Monica shouted, lurching forward and tumbling over Gus.
The roast went flying. Monica landed on top of Gus, who let out a startled bark to match her shriek, and the platter landed with a thud, upside down on Stewart’s foot.
“I just bought him those shoes!” Irene shouted. “Every time we come over here something gets ruined by those monsters of yours, Cameron!”
“My roast,” Monica mumbled, watching the dogs chow down on the beef strewn across the carpet like it was the last food they’d ever get to eat.
Quinn helped her up and Ben got wet towels and carpet cleaning spray from the kitchen. Irene dabbed a napkin in her water glass and began scrubbing meat juice from Stewart’s new shoe. Mia just shook her head and put her earbuds back in.
My eyes met Conan’s, who was sitting in the corner of the room taking it all in, like he was wondering how he ended up in this circus.
I just wanted a nice family dinner, I tried to relay to him telepathically.
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, he seemed to say back.
You’re a wise dog, Conan. A wise, wise dog.
The next morning I woke to sun shining through my window and voices outside. I stretched, fought the dogs lying on top of my quilt to let me out of bed, and shuffled to the window. Down below on the bank of the canal, a group of people were searching the ice and snow. At first I thought they were going to go ahead with the hockey game, then Roy’s words from the other night came rushing back.
They were searching for Metamora Mike.
Good gravy, had that duck really disappeared? I couldn’t imagine the town without its feathered mascot waddling around the canal.
I dressed in a rush, and on my way downstairs banged on Monica and Mia’s doors. “We need to get outside!” I shouted. “Hurry!”
Monica threw her door open. “What’s going on?” she asked, eyes wide and hair sticking out in all directions.
“Is the house on fire?” Mia yelled from her bedroom.
“No, Mike’s missing!” I shouted. “The whole town is searching for him. We have to help!”
Monica groaned. “Give me five minutes.”
Downstairs, I let the dogs out and made coffee. I was shocked when Mia found her way to the kitchen before Monica. She had boots on her feet, a hat on her head, and the dogs’ leashes in her hands. “Steph says they’ve been looking since dawn and there’s no sign of him,” she said. “Do you think he flew south?”
“Roy says he never flies south.”
“The canal never freezes over, either.”
“That’s true,” I said, pouring a mug of coffee. “If we don’t find him, I guess all we can do is wait until spring to see if he comes back.”
I hooked the dogs up to their leashes, filled a travel mug with coffee for Monica, and met her at the bottom of the stairs. “Isobel doesn’t want to go with us,” she said, kneeling down and nuzzling the grumpy German Shepherd. “She hates the cold. She has arthritis.”
“And Liam’s too little,” Mia said, kissing her five-pound white ball of fur on the nose. “He’ll stay here with Isobel.”
In the end, Monica and Mia each took one of the twins, and I wrangled Gus out the door. “All right, Gus,” I said, “find Mike.”
To my surprise, Ben stood across the road on the bank with Brutus. He looked just as astonished to see us out. “I didn’t think you’d get up so early to look for a duck,” he said.
I shook my head. “It’s not just any duck, Ben.”
Admittedly, a year ago I would’ve never had anything to do with looking for a dumb duck that the town people—for reasons unknown—had taken as one of their own. But somehow I’d become integrated with these people and this place, and I felt invested in finding Mike as much as anyone else did.
I didn’t miss the sly smile on Ben’s face as he put an arm around Mia and kissed her on top of her head. “I was just about to take a team to the other end of the canal. Why don’t you guys come with me?”
Gus and Brutus were busy sniffing and jostling each other in greeting while the twins played at biting each other. “The twins are questionable, but I think these two can find him,” I said. “Let’s get going.”
The dogs sniffed the wet, slushy ground being thawed by the rising temperature and shining sun. Soapy and Theresa waved from the opposite side of the canal. I spotted Johnna riding her power scooter across the bridge. We caught up with her on the other side.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
She patted a few items in the basket on front of her scooter, tucking the ends of a grocery bag closed around a loaf of bread. “Just taking a couple things over to Roy. That drunkard can’t take care of himself.” She snorted in derision, pursing her lips.
“That’s nice of you,” I said.
Who was I kidding? Nice or not, it was the very last thing I expected from Johnna. She and Roy were constantly at each other’s throats. But I found myself at a lack for words.
“Better get going,” she said, buzzing her scooter around us. “Gotta get back home to my Charlie.” One of the twin terriers nipped at her back tire and barked as she rode off. He pulled at his leash, urging Monica to follow Johnna.
“We’re not going that way,” Monica said, tugging back.
We trotted on, scouring the bank, the gazebo, and around the tree growing sideways along the ground. It was an enormous tree that had bent over sideways and continued to grow, making yet another oddity for Metamora. A grounded, horizontal tree. The kids loved to play on it, and it was a nice spot for seniors to sit in the shade.
I felt someone watching me, and turned to look behind me. In the distance, Jason Banks stood with Ginger, the Chow Chow. Her blue tongue lolled out of her mouth as she stood panting with her breath turning white in the air. As soon as we made eye contact, he glanced away.
“I think he and I need to have words,” Ben said, watching.
“It’s fine,” I said, shaking off the eerie feeling. “He’s grieving and misplacing his anger.”
“Exactly, and he’s not going to get away with making my wife feel threat
ened.”
Before I could respond, he stormed off toward the bridge to confront Jason. I couldn’t help but wonder what their relationship was like in high school. Ben seemed to have no love for Jason, and I was sure the feeling was mutual.
“That duck is gone,” Monica said, leading the twin formerly known as Cody toward me.
Mia was busy texting on her phone. “Can I go to the Soda Pop Shop to meet Steph?” she asked.
“Go ahead.” I took the other twin terrier from her, holding my arms wide to keep him and Gus from tangling their leads.
“How do you feel about getting a muffin or something from Soapy Savant?” Monica asked. “My stomach’s growling.”
“We might as well. Let’s drop the dogs off at home.”
As we headed back toward Ellsworth House, the terrier she was walking pulled on his leash, wanting to turn down the road where Johnna had gone toward Roy’s. He parked it and tugged, digging his back feet into the frozen ground.
“Stop!” Monica shouted, pulling him back with all of her might. “He’s so strong,” she said. “Give me a hand.”
Already having two dogs, I was hardly able to help her. “Heel!” I yelled. “Hey—you—this way!”
“You need to name these dogs!” Monica said, slipping and sliding, trying to get the dog back on the right path home. “They don’t respond to hey you.”
A sharp whistle sounded close to us, distracting the dogs. We all turned to see Quinn coming our direction. “Thank the heavens, the dog trainer’s here,” Monica said.
“We need to get these boys behaved,” he said, taking the leash from Monica. In two seconds he had the dog back by his side and sitting.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said.
“He’s the alpha,” Monica gushed, grinning like a girl with her first crush.
“I’ve always had a way with animals,” Quinn said.
“We were on our way to the Soapy Savant after we take the dogs home if you’d like to join us,” I said.
“Absolutely. I could do with a cup of hot tea. No luck with the duck hunt?”
“No.”
“He’ll show up. I’m sure he’s lived through winters this cold before.”
“Everyone’s been leaving stale bread out for him in case he’s around,” Monica said.
“I’d not be lured back by stale bread, would you?” Quinn asked. “Maybe you should put out some of your dog treats. They’re grain based, but have a good flavor. He might be tempted to show up for one.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “I think the new blueberry ones might be good.”
“Do ducks like blueberries?” I wondered out loud.
“That duck probably likes most human food,” Quinn said. “He’s more domestic duck than wild.”
“True.” I shrugged. We’d see if Mike liked dog treats enough to show himself if he really was around.
We let the dogs inside, Monica grabbed some treats, and we trudged through the slush and ice across the bridge. At the edge of the canal, Monica tossed her treats along the bank, scattering them around in various spots. Then we made our way to the Soapy Savant.
The coffee shop was packed. Most of the members of the search party had ended up inside getting warm with a hot beverage. We found a table along the back wall and sat down.
“Okay, dog names,” Monica said. “We’re not leaving here until you decide on something.”
“Right now?” I’d been so indecisive about names for the two twin dogs, I couldn’t even fathom picking something and sticking with it.
“Right now,” Monica said, and Quinn nodded in agreement.
“You can’t begin to train them until they know their names,” he said. “They need individual identities.”
“I’ve been trying to think of names,” I said. “Twins from TV and movies. Nicky and Alex, Zack and Cody, Fred and George … ”
“We’ll help.” Monica began to list famous duos. “Abbott and Costello? Archie and Jughead? Cheech and Chong?”
“Bo and Luke?” Quinn asked, getting in on the act.
“How do you know early-eighties American TV?” Monica asked him.
“Sometimes I can’t sleep and watch late-night TV.”
“Bo and Luke … ” I pondered. “I don’t think that’s it. Definitely not Abbott and Costello.”
“Bert and Ernie!” Monica said.
“What are we talking about?” Soapy asked, coming up to the table. “Sesame Street?”
“We’re trying to name my dogs,” I told him.
“About time. What can I get you folks?”
We ordered and Soapy chimed in with his own suggestion. “Kirk and Spock.”
“Nothing sounds like them. They have their own personalities. Maybe that’s the problem. They don’t act like Kirk and Spock or Ernie and Bert.”
“Jekyll and Hyde,” Soapy offered, with a snicker. “I’ll get your drinks.”
At the next table over, Old Dan and his son Frank had overheard our discussion and offered a few suggestions. “Fred and Barney,” Frank said.
“Laurel and Hardy,” Old Dan suggested.
“My mind is on overload,” I said. “So many names.”
“Just pick one. Well, two,” Monica said. “It’s not that hard.”
“It is hard. I don’t want to stick them with names that don’t fit them. The problem is they’re unique. They need their own names, so all these famous pairs just won’t work.”
“We’re not leaving until you name them,” Monica repeated.
“Good gravy, we’ll be here all day.”
Monica sighed. “We can’t be here all day. I have dog treats to make. My Colby Jack Puppy Snacks are running low.”
“Colby Jack,” I said, letting the name of a tasty cheese mull in my brain. “Colby and Jack.” A zing of knowing shot through me. “That’s it! Those are the names. Colby and Jack!”
“You’re naming your dogs after cheese?” Quinn asked.
“I guess I am.” I couldn’t stop smiling. The names seemed to be perfect. “Colby and Jack, leaders of the pack.”
“Isobel might have something to say about that,” Monica said, laughing.
“And Gus,” Quinn added.
“Goofballs of the pack maybe,” I said. “But still, those are their names. I’m going to go home and tell them the news.”
“I’ll double my batch of Colby Jack treats so they can have some to celebrate.”
“I’ll help,” I said.
We got our drinks to go so we could get back to Ellsworth House and start baking. On our way out the door Ben and Sheriff Reins were coming in. Reins was holding his handcuffs.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Go home, Cam,” Ben said. “We’re making an arrest.”
“What? Who? Why?”
Without answering he brushed by me and the two officers headed directly for the table where Old Dan and Frank Gardner sat.
“Dan Gardner,” Sheriff Reins said, “Frank Gardner, you’re under arrest for the murder of Clayton Banks.”
My mouth dropped open and I could barely hear Reins read them their rights over the buzzing in my brain. This couldn’t be. Old Dan and his son wouldn’t murder anyone.
• Seven •
Logan practically burst with cockiness. “I told you the wheat was probably poisoned,” he said. “Those told timers ground up that wheat and poisoned Clayton Banks with it.”
“They did no such thing,” Johnna said, slapping the tabletop and making Colby bark. “They’re innocent as the day is long.”
The Action Agency had all found their way to my house as soon as the word got out about the arrests.
“Ben said the autopsy shows poisoning by Lolium temulentum.” Logan spun his laptop around to show us the screen. “Pois
on darnel is the common name. It looks like wheat and used to get mixed in with wheat and accidentally poisoned people until modern machinery was invented that sifts it out.”
“That still doesn’t mean that Old Dan and Frank are responsible,” I said. “And the autopsy wasn’t conclusive.”
“Conclusive enough to make an arrest,” Logan said.
“So you think Old Dan offed him then?” Roy asked Logan. “Easy as that? Case closed? You hardly even know him or his son, and what does any of this have to do with Dixon? You want to tell me it was a coincidence that he took an ice pick to the head?”
“I’m just going by the facts,” Logan said.
Roy and Logan had contacted all the contestants at the ice sculpting contest and they all were in possession of their tools. None had gone missing.
“Facts ain’t nothing without context,” Roy said. He’d been in a somber mood ever since finding out about the arrest this morning. “If Old Dan killed that man, I’ll never drink another drop.”
“That’s committing to your beliefs,” Quinn said from behind the kitchen counter where he and Monica were finishing up the last batch of Colby Jack Puppy Snacks.
“I hope Ben can find out if any more of that wheat was consumed,” Monica said.
“He’s gone to talk to Jason Banks to see if there’s any in the house, or if he knows where his dad would’ve gotten it.” I couldn’t stop pacing the kitchen. “It’s obviously from Starnes.”
“So why wasn’t Starnes arrested?” Johnna asked.
“Maybe he will be,” I said. “We don’t know.”
“They can’t keep them locked up,” Roy said. “There ain’t enough evidence that they done anything wrong.”
“They took money for a service and provided a tainted product,” I said. “If that product led to Clayton’s death, they’ll be held responsible. Starnes will too if it comes out that he provided that wheat mixed with the darnel.”
“It ain’t right,” Roy said, shaking his head.
Johnna reached across the table and patted his hand. “You know as well as I do they won’t hold them long. Just think back to John Bridgemaker and Paul Foxtracker during the last murder investigation in this town. They even locked up Andy for a while.”
Fatal Festival Days Page 7
