Curses, Boiled Again!

by Shari Randall

  “I’m okay.” I sat back on my knees and took a deep breath to steady myself. “I’m always pale, Hayden.”

  Two volunteers joined us. My ankle throbbed as I walked to the edge of the stage and lowered myself back to the ground. I rejoined Aunt Gully and Lorel, but couldn’t stop watching Hayden and the volunteers tend to Contessa.

  Loud sobs drew my attention from the stage. Ernie Moss wrapped Megan in a bear hug, holding her close as she wept.

  “It was our lobster roll, Ernie!” She pulled back and looked wildly into his eyes. Her tears had splotched the front of his Hawaiian shirt. “It was the only one they ate. The only one.”

  “Babe, shh.” Ernie rocked her in his beefy arms.

  Aunt Gully reached out to Megan. “Oh, Megan. It couldn’t have been your lobster roll. This is just”—she groped for words—“a terrible accident.”

  A few feet away, a teenage guy stepped onto a folding chair. His black Mystic Bay Landscapers T-shirt and baggy khaki shorts hung on his angular frame. He held his cell phone high to record the scene on the stage.

  Ernie’s face reddened.

  “Stop!” Ernie let go of Megan and charged at the teen. He yanked the kid off the chair with such force that they both fell to their knees. Ernie wrapped his hands around the teen’s cell phone.

  “Hey, old man, what’s your problem?” the teen shouted.

  Ernie and the teen grappled for a few seconds, then Ernie wrested the phone away.

  With a snarl, Ernie staggered to his feet and hurled the phone into the crowd. The teen jumped to his feet and swung at Ernie’s head but connected with his shoulder. Somebody screamed. Ernie’s shining, already red face purpled. With both hands, Ernie bulldozed the teen into a row of folding chairs. Two other guys helped the teen up from the tangle of chairs, then they all rushed Ernie, whose stocky body crashed into and toppled several chairs.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I wrapped an arm around Aunt Gully and tugged Megan’s hand, pulling her out of the way just before one of the teen’s friends backed into her. Megan’s face was blank, her arms hung limp. Lorel gently slipped an arm around her.

  We all backed toward the stage, passing two ladies in black volunteer T-shirts. They spoke into walkie-talkies but didn’t move toward the fight. I didn’t blame them. Curses filled the air as bodies ricocheted from one side of the aisle to another, knocking into chairs and bystanders. Some of Ernie’s Hawaiian-shirt-clad supporters pushed through the crowd.

  “Ooh, boy, now it’s gonna get real,” one of the volunteers said.

  “Just a minute!” Aunt Gully roared. The two volunteers jumped. Aunt Gully strode toward the fight and tapped one teen on the shoulder just as he raised his arm to land a punch on Ernie. He spun.

  “Whoa!” He raised his hands. “Mrs. Fontana!”

  Aunt Gully put her hands on her hips, pulling herself up to her full five-foot-two-inch height.

  “I thought that was you, Brendan Hart. Now that man”—she pointed to Ernie, Hawaiian shirt torn, panting and sweating on the ground—“had a mighty bad shock. I want to see you apologize to him and then head on home.”

  The teenage boy, panting, blushed. He looked at the ground, then mumbled something that sounded like “Sorry.”

  One of his friends held a phone in the air. “Got your phone.”

  Brendan and his friends straightened their clothes and looked around at the disapproving crowd.

  “Let’s roll.” He jerked his head toward the exit, then looked back at Aunt Gully. “Um, bye, Mrs. Fontana.”

  Aunt Gully crossed her arms and watched them slip away through the crowd.

  Lorel smoothed her hair. “You know those juvenile delinquents?”

  “They went to Mystic Bay Elementary School.” Aunt Gully sighed as some men in Hawaiian shirts helped Ernie to his feet. “They were trouble then, too.”

  The crowd streamed out of the exits. EMTs in the tan uniform of Mystic Bay’s emergency squad fought against the tide of moving bodies. We stood with the other contestants, watching in silence as EMTs worked on the sickened judges. They carefully but quickly put the judges on stretchers. Mystic Bay police officers cleared the aisles as ambulances arrived.

  As the EMTs carried her off the stage, Contessa Wells’s arm swung limply from the side of her stretcher. Megan Moss moaned.

  “How could this happen?” Megan swayed and crumpled into a chair, shaking her head, her eyes half closed. Ernie sat next to her and wrapped her in his arms.

  Paul Pond walked past us, talking on his cell. He threw a glance toward the Mosses, and turned away. I caught the words “food poisoning.”

  Food poisoning. I thought of all the people who’d done just what Aunt Gully’s juvenile delinquents had done—recorded the ghastly scene of the judges falling ill and being taken to the hospital on stretchers. I glanced at the Mosses. The weight of what had happened was clear to them. They were crushed. I felt for them but all I could think was, What about Aunt Gully? What if some cell phone video named the wrong lobster shack? What would the fallout be for her?

  And would all those poor judges be all right? A wave of fear passed through me. How still Contessa Wells’s fragile body had been! She was in her seventies for sure. Could she recover from this?

  Chick Costa and his yellow-polo-shirted friends joined us by the stage. “Man, this is messed up,” he said. He caught sight of Megan Moss and frowned. “Is she okay? What do we do? Can we leave?”

  What did we do now?

  “I don’t see why we have to stay,” Lorel whispered. “Let’s go, Aunt Gully.”

  Aunt Gully sat next to Megan, patting her hand. Megan’s blank face frightened me.

  A tall man in a stylish tan suit and a woman in black jeans and a short leather jacket hurried over to us. He opened his arms and looked from one contestant to the other.

  “I’m Stan Wilder from the YUM Network. This is my assistant, Ashley Singh.” The young woman nodded. “I’d like all the contestants to accompany us into the church building for a few moments.”

  Chick Costa pointed at Wilder. “Listen, man, my lobster roll got nowhere near those judges—”

  “Let’s go someplace private so we can talk.” The way Stan lowered his voice when he said “private” made everyone look around. Suddenly it seemed like a very good idea to go someplace private.

  Chick Costa waved off his followers. “Be back in a few.” The Hawaiian-shirt-clad crew from Kahuna’s patted Ernie on the back and melted toward the exits. Several of Aunt Gully’s friends gave her quick hugs but her focus remained on Megan.

  We shuffled into line and followed Stan and Ashley into the building. I caught sight of Leo Rodriguez shouldering through the crowd from the other side of the green. I was glad when the heavy church door closed behind us.

  Ashley Singh wore all black, but her high-style jacket and pricey boots told me she was no volunteer or underpaid assistant. Stan Wilder exuded a similar air of expensive executive responsibility. Lorel and I exchanged glances as we trooped into a classroom in the church’s education wing.

  Stan and Ashley asked us to wait and moved into the hall, phones to their ears.

  We milled around the room, lined with wooden students’ desks that were older than I am. One desk had hearts and initials carved onto the top. I ran my fingers along the scarred wood and wondered what had happened to M.W. and J.S.

  Paul Pond and Chick Costa sat in the back of the room, Paul hunched over his phone, Chick throwing worried glances at Aunt Gully and Megan Moss.

  The classroom clock ticked away the seconds. Two volunteers brought us cups of tepid coffee and then hurried back in with Aunt Gully’s requested tea. She added a heaping spoonful of sugar to the cup and pressed it into Megan’s hands.

  My phone buzzed with texts from my friend Verity, but I stopped answering them. There was nothing new to say. I stretched to relieve the tension in my back and legs. Paul Pond moved to a seat by the window and stared out at the green. Everyone avo
ided each other’s eyes. A very slow hour passed.

  Lorel raised her eyebrows and showed me her phone. The screen displayed posts on the Mystic Bay Food Festival Facebook page.

  Don’t go to the Mystic Bay Food Festival! Seriously. You’ll get food poisoning. STAY HOME.

  Just watched the Godlobster take out four judges at the festival. Never going to Kahuna’s again.

  How did YUM and the board of selectmen allow this to happen? They can’t even get a simple lobster sandwich right? Kick ’em all out of office. Inept and corrupt!

  Due to circumstances beyond our control, this year’s Mystic Bay Food Festival has been canceled. No refunds will be given for passes.

  I’m suing. I want my money back!

  * * *

  Then I realized what this meeting was. This was damage control.

  Then Stan and Ashley returned with two police officers, and I realized it was something even worse.

  Chapter 4

  “Everyone, please take a seat.” The two officers stopped just inside the door, their thumbs hooked on belts heavy with equipment, guns, and handcuffs.

  Lorel and I exchanged glances as we sank into our undersized wooden chairs. My ankle throbbed, payback for that jump onto the stage. I propped my foot on a chair.

  Aunt Gully remained next to Megan, patting her arm, urging her to sip her tea.

  I recognized both of the officers, Murdoch and Petrie. The Lazy Mermaid was just down Pearl Street from the volunteer fire station and public safety complex. Locals called it the Plex. Aunt Gully always gave the firefighters and police officers free coffee.

  “Ah, yeah.” Murdoch took a deep breath and blew it out. “The judges were transported to Mystic Bay Hospital. All went into intensive care.”

  Paul Pond stood. “But they’re going to be okay, right? It’s just food poisoning, isn’t it?”

  Ernie Moss stiffened.

  “Unfortunately.” Murdoch shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “One of the judges died at the hospital.”

  I froze.

  Stan and Ashley looked at the floor.

  “No,” Megan whispered.

  Aunt Gully pressed her hand to her chest.

  “Who was it?” Chick Costa demanded.

  “Contessa Wells.” Murdoch cleared his throat again. “And the others aren’t out of the woods yet.”

  Chapter 5

  Dead. I recalled Contessa’s bloodless face, her slack jaw, the awful white foam seeping from her glossy red lips.

  Paul Pond sank into his seat.

  “You can’t tell me my food had anything to do with it.” Chick leaped from his small student desk, the chair ricocheting with a loud bang against the wall. He held up a hand. “I’m sorry about Miss Wells, and the judges, but my food wasn’t even onstage.”

  “Mine, either,” Paul Pond added. “Maybe there was something in the lobster roll she ate”—Megan Moss moaned—“but not mine. It was still in the church building.”

  Megan slumped against Ernie. The two police officers rushed to her and eased her limp body to the floor. Murdoch spoke into his shoulder mic.

  Ernie cradled Megan’s head while Aunt Gully knelt next to her, murmuring soothing words. Lorel and I moved behind Aunt Gully. Ernie’s ruddy face paled and I wondered if he would faint next.

  While everyone hovered around Megan, Ashley Singh ended a call on her phone and whispered with Stan. Heavy footfalls and chatter grew louder in the hall. Stan opened the door to two EMTs with a stretcher, then leaned into the hall to speak with a thin man wearing a gray suit.

  Lawyer. Figures. The YUM Network would protect themselves. Lorel, Paul, Chick, and I pushed back chairs and desks as the EMTs maneuvered next to Megan. As Ernie hovered, the EMTs helped Megan onto a stretcher and wheeled it from the classroom.

  I wrapped my arm around Aunt Gully. If you were to catch Aunt Gully on a good day, which is pretty much every day for her, you’d see a cheerful woman with a quick smile and an often naughty wit. Sparkling, that was Aunt Gully. Now she looked washed out, her bright clothes and pink apron contrasting with her colorless face, her inner light extinguished by worry.

  “I’m taking my aunt home,” I said. Lorel and I flanked Aunt Gully and we started toward the door.

  “Of course.” Stan ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “Please, before you go, the police have asked for everyone to leave their contact information.”

  “Why?” Chick countered. “There’s no crime here, right? What’s going to happen with the contest, Stan? Huh?”

  “We’re on it,” Ashley said.

  Lorel and I exchanged glances at Ashley’s nonanswer.

  Officer Murdoch returned to the room. “Folks, Stan’s right. Let us know where you’re staying, please.”

  “I’m heading back to Maine,” Paul Pond said.

  “Plan to stay at least until tomorrow.” Murdoch’s expression said he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “You’re at the Harbor Inn, right?”

  Stan Wilder stepped forward. “We’re sure that everything will be okay. Perhaps just a case of food poisoning. Unfortunately, Miss Wells was of advanced age and perhaps not in the best of health. Perhaps she had an undiagnosed heart problem.”

  Funny, she’d looked absolutely vibrant as she’d taken the stage. But he was right, maybe she did have some undiagnosed problem. Plenty of older people did.

  Then it dawned on me. Stan was giving us the network’s spin: older lady, advanced age, weak heart. You know how these things go.

  Lorel handed Officer Murdoch one of Aunt Gully’s Lazy Mermaid business cards, but he waved it off. “I know where to find your aunt. You girls take good care of her now.”

  We hurried down the church steps.

  “Let’s get home,” Lorel said.

  “My mermaidabilia, I can’t leave it,” Aunt Gully said.

  As we swept her mermaidabilia from the booth, friends and neighbors swamped Aunt Gully, giving her hugs and, of course, angling for news.

  Finella Faraday sidled up. “I was at my shop and missed what happened.” Her eyes glittered. “Was it your lobster roll that made everyone sick? Did Contessa die right onstage?”

  Aunt Gully’s face paled. “No.”

  “Honestly, Finella,” one of Aunt Gully’s friends cut in.

  I’d never liked Mrs. Farraday, ever since I heard her call Aunt Gully’s restaurant “that cafeteria food shack.” Her insensitive snooping pushed me over the edge.

  “Gotta go, bye.” I slung a tote bag over my shoulder, not caring that it almost hit her. Lorel and I hefted boxes and herded Aunt Gully toward the parking lot.

  A news truck with a satellite dish pulled in front of the church. Stan and Ashley hurried from the door, Leo Rodriguez right behind them. Stan waved Leo off and he and Ashley got into the back of a black SUV. Leo’s head swiveled. His gaze settled on us.

  “Oh, no, not the right time for an interview,” Lorel said.

  “Let’s move,” I said. “Before Leo corners us.”

  We pushed through the crowd. I felt a hand on my arm.

  “No comment!”

  “Hey, it’s me!” My friend Verity Brooks gave me a quick hug, then reached out to hug Aunt Gully.

  I set down the box of mermaidabilia and quickly adjusted the tote bag on my shoulder. “Thank goodness it’s you. We’ve got a reporter on our tail.”

  Verity spun around to see, her colorful patchwork skirt swirling, then ran with us. “Ooh, that hunk Leo Rodriguez? No worries, I’ve got your backs. But what happened?” She held my arm and we dropped back. “People came into my shop and said four people died eating the lobster rolls,” she whispered. Verity owned Verity’s Vintage, a vintage clothing shop right across the town green from the church.

  “No, four people became ill.” I hefted the box. “Just poor Contessa Wells died.”

  “Oh, no! I loved her in Gypsy’s Daughter!” We hurried to catch up with Lorel and Aunt Gully, the mermaid tchotchkes clinking in the box as I ran. V
erity’s eyes went wide. “It wasn’t—”

  “No, it wasn’t Aunt Gully’s lobster roll.”

  “Thank God,” Lorel muttered.

  “Whose was it?” Verity panted.

  “The Godlob—”

  “Mrs. Fontana!” Leo Rodriguez jogged down the path behind us. “Mrs. Fontana!”

  Behind him a heavyset man with a shoulder-mounted camera fast-walked, his face red and sweating.

  “Oh, it’s that nice Leo Rodriguez from the television.” Aunt Gully turned and waved.

  “Aunt Gully, we don’t need a reporter now,” Lorel said.

  “No time! Maybe later, Aunt Gully,” I said, shifting the box to one arm and taking Aunt Gully’s arm with the other.

  “I got this,” Verity said. “Get Aunt Gully home and call me.”

  Verity ducked behind the large weathered wooden MYSTIC BAY CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH sign as we ran toward the van.

  I hurled my box of mermaidabilia into the passenger side and we all jumped into the van. As Aunt Gully slid the van door closed, I looked back. Just as Leo Rodriguez passed the sign, Verity shot out from behind it. She pretended to stumble, then executed an expert martial arts leg sweep. Leo’s legs scissored out from under him and he thudded to the ground. His cameraman cried out as he tumbled over Leo and dropped the camera. Verity did a SWAT roll and flashed me a thumbs-up.

  “Your friends are so weird,” Lorel muttered as she floored it out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 6

  “Lorel, you drove past the turn for the Mermaid,” Aunt Gully said.

  “We’re going home. Trust me, Aunt Gully, you don’t want to be easy to find.” Lorel’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

  “But people will think I’m hiding. I have nothing to hide, young lady.” Aunt Gully’s voice resumed its feisty tone.

  “You don’t want to be associated with this mess. If people see you on television now, they’ll think you’re involved,” Lorel said. “We’ll let it blow over.”

  Lorel’s death grip on the wheel told me she didn’t really believe this would blow over. I’d checked my phone. The Mystic Bay Food Festival site was filled with ridiculous rumors. Food poisoning. YUM Network tricks to boost ratings. A plot to murder the mayor. Lorel was right. Best to go home.