by ACF Bookens
I raised my eyebrows. “Is there a good time?”
The sheriff smiled. “No. But with the festival, I have crowd control to do, and there’s always a need to ticket the people who think it’s okay to park in front of driveways. That stuff alone more than taxes my tiny staff of two.” He let out another hard sigh.
A tinkle of the bell above the front door drew my attention, and I looked over to see Mart bouncing in as she laughed and pointed at the dogs. “Harvey, seriously, you have to see this.”
Tuck and I stood up and headed toward the front door. There we saw a perfect circle of puppy-pillow prowess. Taco had his head on Mayhem’s back. She had her head on Mack’s back, Mack’s head was on Sasquatch, and Sasquatch closed the loop by sleeping on Taco. We could not have possibly posed them that well if we’d tried.
I cooed and took out my phone. This was the stuff of Instagram gold.
After admiring the puppies, Tuck asked if Mart had a few minutes, and she nodded. “Mind if we use the backroom, Harvey?” Tuck asked.
“Sure as long as you don’t mind me coming in and out. I need to set up the grab bags and all the supplies are in there,” I said. I was being truthful. I did need to set up, and the supplies were there. But it could have waited. My curiosity just knew no bounds.
Mart and Tuck settled around the table in the back corner, and I busied myself by filling the goodie bags on the boxes out of which I took the supplies. My nosiness made my job far harder than it would have been if I had just taken the supplies to the tables Marcus had set up by the front door, but I couldn’t bring myself to miss anything.
“Do you know where in Minnesota Tiffany was from, Mart?” Tuck asked, his pen poised over his notebook.
“Nope. But she could have told me. The only place I know in Minnesota is Minneapolis-St. Paul. Actually, that might be two places, right? If she’d named a town, I might not remember.” Mart played with her pony tail for a minute. “She did mention running on the prairies, though, said the scenery around here reminded her of the lakes and long fields she used to train in. So maybe she was from some place rural?”
Tuck nodded. “And did she tell you how she met Cagle?”
Mart shook her head. “Nope. She just said that he had coached her for the Olympics. But she didn’t tell me how she’d met him.”
“She ran in the Olympics?” Tuck was writing quickly.
“No, she came in fourth at the trials.” Mart stole a glance at me and winked while Tuck was focused on his notes.
I blushed. Of course, she would know I was eavesdropping. Chagrined, I picked up my now-full bags and headed out the door.
* * *
A few minutes later, Mart and Tuck emerged from the backroom, and he waved as he headed toward the front door. “Tuck get everything he needed?” I asked as casually as possible when Mart came to help me finish laying out the goodie bags.
“You are no end of nosy, woman,” Mart said with a chuckle and then a sigh. “But no, I don’t think I helped much at all. I just didn’t have enough specific information.” She organized the last row of bags, and we headed toward the table on the other side of the door.
As I straightened copies of our newsletter, I said, “What was he trying to find out?”
Mart lowered her voice. “Apparently, Tiffany Steinberg doesn’t have any record in Minnesota. He couldn’t even find a driver’s license or anything.”
I studied the stack of business cards in my hand. “Well, that probably makes sense, right? I mean, if she was trying to hide, she probably needed to change her name, right? It would be too easy to Google her actual name and find her, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s what I said.” Mart straightened the vase full of Elle’s flowers. “He agreed, but he did wonder if she’d given any hints about her life there.” She dropped her voice a few more decibels. “It sounds like he really thinks she might be a suspect.”
I felt a weight drop in my chest. “I was afraid of that.” I looked at Mart. “I really like her, though, you know? I hope she didn’t do this.”
“Me, too,” Mart said as she gave me a hug. “Me, too.”
* * *
Just before the fair was officially set to begin, I ducked into the bathroom and did what I could with my face and hair. “What I could” amounted to a fresh application of powder, a little lip gloss, and a twist of the blue stripe in my hair to show it off. As I gave the curl one last tug, a thought came to mind, and I grabbed my phone as I headed toward the front tables to greet the already-growing influx of customers. I had just enough time to send off a quick text before the full-on meet-and-greet began.
The next two and a half hours flew by. We had customers the entire time, many of whom were just excited to meet the dogs and a few of whom also shopped.
Galen had come back for Mack at four fifteen, but then, he’d decided to stay. Soon, it began apparent he was also a huge draw, and Marcus had gotten him a table from the café. He was now signing autographs and letting people pet Mack. Clearly, he needed to write a book. He’d be an instant hit.
By the time seven p.m. rolled around, I was pooped, and we still had the parade the next day with prep for that to finish up. As soon as we finished clean-up, Rocky and Marcus headed out for a quiet night of movies and pizza, they said, and I found myself quite jealous. Still, my friends were coming soon, and rumor had it – via Stephen – that onion rings were on their way. I could eat the crap out of a hamburger and some onion rings, I decided.
Within a few minutes, everyone was gathered on the float at the back of the store, and we were munching on some of the best greasy food I’d ever consumed. Apparently, Walter had picked it up from a little counter-service place down in Princess Anne when he was on his way home with the pièce de résistance for the float: a full-size Woodstock costume that he’d had custom-fitted for Mayhem. I could have hugged him for the outfit, but mostly I hugged him for the onion rings.
Cate’s pumpkin was perfect, and she’d brought a palette of paints to add some dimension to the coloring. Daniel was getting Mart’s help with his bald cap. Walter and Stephen had decided that they were going to join the float as Linus and his blanket and were working on exactly how to drape Stephen in a blue blanket that would make it look like Walter was holding him. Just watching them try to figure that out was a huge boost to my energy. Then, when I saw Tiffany appear at the end of the alley in a giant yellow wig that made her look exactly like Sally, I knew the float was going to be perfect. Ridiculous but perfect, too.
We were almost done with our float work when I saw Scott come down the alley with people who I assumed were his family – a gorgeous woman in a long skirt and high boots and two children with amazing haircuts. “Oh, I’m so glad you could make it,” I said as I walked over to shake his hand. Scott introduced me to his family, and the kids moved instantly toward Taco and Mayhem.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what I was in store for when your text said, ‘Meet us in the alley at eight,’ but a chance for a little adventure sounded pretty perfect,” Scott said.
It had occurred to me that one way we could figure out more about Tiffany was to introduce her to another person with Minnesota roots. Plus, I was still trying to figure out what exactly was nagging me about Scott. “So glad you guys could come. Let me introduce you around.”
We made our way through the group with me telling everyone that Scott was the genius behind my new haircut, and everyone complimenting him and then saying they’d be in touch to get their own haircuts soon. When we reached Tiffany, I said, “You guys have something in common, actually. You are both from Minnesota.”
Tiffany scowled for a second, but then, she put on a smile and reached out to shake Scott’s hand. “Nice to meet you. You’re the hair genius?”
Scott grinned. “I wouldn’t go that far. But yes, I’m a stylist.”
“I’ll have to stop in.” She tugged on her long, straight hair. “Clearly, I could use a cut.”
“Here’s my card. Just
give me a call, “ Scott said.
“Where in Minnesota did you say you’re from, Scott?” I asked, trying to get to the information Tuck wanted.
“I lived most of time just outside St. Paul. Little town no one has ever heard of called Hastings,” he said as he waved to his daughter who was infatuated with Taco’s ears.
I looked over in time to see Tiffany blanch and then grab the float. “You’re from Hastings?” she stammered.
“Yep, born and raised. You?”
“Um, from close to there. Nice to meet you.” She looked at me, and her eyes were huge. “See you in the morning, Harvey.” She tossed her wig up onto the float and almost ran down the alley.
Scott looked after her and then at me. “She okay?”
“Oh yeah, I think so. Been a long week, I think.”
Scott furrowed his brow as he watched Tiffany’s back recede down the alley. “Yeah, I guess so.”
9
The next morning, I was at the shop at seven a.m. Daniel was due at seven fifteen with his friend who had a big enough truck to pull the trailer with all of us on it. That was something I hadn’t thought of, so I was glad Daniel was on top of all things mechanical. If I had been left to my own devices, we would have been pushing the float down Main Street.
By eight, we had the float attached to the trailer, and Daniel had even convinced his friend to tie a stuffed Snoopy plush to his truck like a hood ornament. The parade began at nine, and so now all we had to do was wait and eat cinnamon rolls. I could do that easily, especially when Rocky handed me a huge latte sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar crystals.
“Oh man, this is gorgeous.” I looked over. “Is that Woodstock in my foam?”
“Yep. I’ve been practicing. Peanuts-themed lattes all day. I can do Charlie Brown and Snoopy, too.” Rocky was practically beaming. “I figured it might bring people in.”
“Definitely. Now I want two more, one Charlie and one Snoopy please.” I laughed. “That’s such a good idea. Maybe you can teach me your foam tricks sometime?”
Rocky squinted at me. “A magician does not reveal her secrets.
* * *
I rolled my eyes. “So noted,” I said with a laugh. “But seriously, I do need two more, one for Mart and one for Tiffany.” I pointed toward the door at the two women who were just coming in. “Look at these,” I waved them over.
“Holy cow! That’s amazing,” Mart said.
“It is,” Tiffany added just before she took a sip. “But no foam Snoopy is keeping me from my caffeine.”
“Alright, I guess we need to go get our costumes on,” Mart said as she held up a tote. “Mind if we use the backroom?”
“Make yourselves at home. I can’t wait to see.”
Tiffany pointed from my head to my toes. “When are you going to put on your outfit?” She grinned at me.
“Fortunately, Peppermint Patty’s outfit and mine are pretty similar. I’m all set.” I looked down at my bright green T-shirt, black shorts, and sandals. “I just hope it doesn’t get much colder or I’ll need to put socks on under these puppies.” I held one foot in the air to show my Birkenstock sandal. “That won’t be pretty.”
Rocky laughed. “You’re right about that.” She grabbed a piece of poster board with sketches of Snoopy, Charlie Brown, and Woodstock and held it out to me. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all. See you in a bit, Lucy and Sally.” I grabbed the tape off the register as I passed and hung up the poster in the window. The top read, “Celebrate the Great Pumpkin with a latte.” I had just attached the last piece of tape when Bear and Henri came in.
“Two lattes please,” Henri said as she turned back to me. “Thought you might appreciate some more float-riders.”
“Really? Yes, please. The more the merrier.”
“Good,” Bear said as he held up a child’s piano. “I really hope you don’t have a Schroeder yet.” The big man looked so excited.
“We do not, and we definitely need one. You can ride at the front and play us along.” I laughed as Bear grimaced. “I don’t mean that you really have to play. We have a recording.”
“Whew,” Bear said as he plunked down his piano and headed toward the café. “You had me worried.”
“Who are you going to be?” I asked Henri.
“Well, do you have a Marcie yet?” she asked.
Behind her Rocky let out a cackle. “I love it. The artist with dreadlocks plays the bookish girl with thick glasses.”
Henri laughed. “At least I’m not doing white face, right?”
She put on a huge set of glasses, like the ones clowns wear and tucked her dreads up under themselves. With her orange tunic, she did a very fine Marcie. “You’re hired.”
“Does that mean my latte is free?” Henri said as she took her cup from her husband.
“Definitely.” I smiled at Rocky. “Keep a tally of drinks for the parade assistants. I’ll settle up with you later.”
Rocky held up a pad of paper. “You got it.” I knew Rocky was saving for grad school now that she’d finished her undergrad degree at Salisbury U, and I didn’t want her worrying that she’d have to foot the bill for lots of free drinks. Our revenue-sharing plan served us both, but not if I gave everything away.
Henri, Bear, and I headed out to Main Street with our lattes and took a seat on the bench in front of the store. All along the sidewalk, other stores were putting out tables with sale items or giveaways. Next door, the man who owned the garden center was setting out a bazillion tiny pots filled with succulents. I walked over to take a look and ended up buying five on the spot. At a dollar a piece, they were a steal, and I knew just the place in our side yard that I wanted them.
A couple of doors down, the men who ran the hardware store had set up a mini-workshop where kids could build their own toolboxes. And down the other way, at Elle’s place, I saw she had buckets of flower stems on a table. At Chez Cuisine, I saw Symeon out front with a portable griddle, and I couldn’t resist seeing what he was making.
As I sauntered over, I kept an eye out for Max since I was not yet caffeinated enough to tactfully fend him off, but the smell of whatever Symeon was making distracted me. Just as I reached the griddle, I was assaulted from behind by breath on the back of my neck and a voice saying, “Bonjour, Belle” at my ear.
I cringed and spun with my hand out to keep Max from getting closer. “Good Morning, Max.” I turned quickly to Symeon. “What are you making?”
“Omelettes, of course.” He pointed to the light circle of egg in front of him. “Want one?”
My stomach growled my response. “Yes, please.” I looked at the containers of fillings he had on ice beside him. “Mushrooms and cheddar, please.”
Max groaned beside me. “You would prefer swiss, would you not? Symeon, please.”
Symeon looked at me and winked. “The lady knows what the lady wants,” he said as he sprinkled cheddar on my omelette and dropped a few mushrooms onto the griddle before adding them to the eggs and cheese and folding everything over.
“Yes, she does.” A voice said beside me as a hand slipped around my waist. Daniel.
“I do, indeed.” I leaned over and kissed my boyfriend on the cheek then looked pointedly at Max.
He harrumphed and walked away, and I could feel Daniel smiling beside me.
“Make one for you?” Symeon asked Daniel.
“Oh yes. Ham and cheddar, please.”
In a few moments, Symeon had made two perfect omelettes and served them onto paper plates with compostable silverware. He pointed us to a small table beside his cook station, and Daniel and I sat down to savor our surprise breakfast. It was still early, so Symeon turned down the gas on the griddle and gestured to a stool beside the table, “Do you mind?”
Daniel smiled. “Please. Least we can do to share someone else’s table with the person who made us breakfast.”
Symeon perched on the stool. “Thanks.” A yawn stretched his face. “Whew, I am not used to daytime hour
s.”
“I expect not. Restaurant hours are brutal,” I said as I stifled a yawn myself. “Seems like you love what you do, though?”
“I do. A lot.” He looked over my shoulder and frowned. “Mostly, anyway.”
I glanced behind me and saw Tuck headed our way. I looked back at Symeon. “You okay?”
A long sigh slid through Symeon’s lips. “Yeah. Just spent a lot of time talking with the sheriff last night. Seems like he might be considering me as a suspect in my uncle’s murder.”
I shot Daniel a quick glance, and he was studying a tiny piece of ham on his place. “Oh, well, that must be disconcerting.” I felt like disconcerting might not even begin to describe what he was feeling, but it was the best I could do if I was, indeed, chatting with an omelette-making murderer. “Any idea why he thinks that?”
Daniel kicked me under the table in the universal symbol for “Stop being nosy,” but I chose to ignore him and glanced back to see that Tuck had stopped to chat with the agents from the real estate office a couple of doors up.
Symeon shrugged. “It’s no secret that my uncle and I didn’t get along. But I guess the sheriff just discovered that we’d had a fight last weekend.” A flush of color crept up from under Symeon’s beard. “A big fight.”
“Oh,” I said and kind of wished I’d paid attention to Daniel’s kick. I didn’t want to think another of my new friends might be a murderer. Still, I found myself talking before I could stop myself. “Fight about what?”
“About what a total and complete misogynist he is.” Symeon cracked his knuckles. “I didn’t punch him or anything, but I threatened to if he hurt any more women.”
“Did you know any of the women he, um, harassed?” I didn’t know if it was wise to let Symeon know about his uncle’s more violent behaviors if he was a suspect.
“I did. And it wasn’t just harassment, as bad as that was—”
“Well, hello Harvey. Daniel,” Tuck’s greeting was friendly but crisp. “Symeon. Good to see you this morning.”
