“Not long,” my friend said. “She has eagle eyes for Hansen’s stuff. You’ll want to be on the other side of the room.”
“That bad?”
Just then there was a squeaking behind us. I had never heard Charlie make such a sound before.
“The nerve! The nosiness! I can’t even,” was all she could manage. She stood up and made a show of gathering her dignity around her, then she handed me the offending bit of the paper, marched into her room, and slammed the door behind her.
I sat down to read the very short article.
In the back of the Caedmon Chronicle, in very small print, with Hansen Gregory’s byline, was a notice that went like this:
Charlie Silver, a reporter at the Mintwood Gazette, was spotted in the woods last night. She and two of her friends left an old Beetle car tucked almost out of sight along the side of the road. A reporter will do anything for a story. This particular reporter wonders what Ms. Silver was doing out so late.
I put my head in my hands and laughed until I cried. After a while, Charlie’s door opened and she came into the room with a face so red I was afraid it would burst.
“What do you have to say for yourselves?” Charlie demanded.
“It’s not as if we wrote the article,” I said.
“Wish we had, though. That was funny,” mused Greer.
“Rude,” said Charlie.
“Let’s go to the fair?” Greer tried again.
The opening of the fair was a much anticipated event in Mintwood and beyond, even though the really exciting night was the last night, not the first. By then everyone had settled into the swing of a good time and the fair competitions were all finalized except for Greer’s, the grand finale. Winners and losers of the lesser competitions had been announced and the lucky participants would go home with the winning trophies, but most people stuck around to hear the results of the baking competition, which came as the last big happening at the fair.
At the moment we were still in the anticipation phase.
My roommates and I were spending the day at the fair, having promised to help Liam put the final touches on his tent in preparation for the opening that evening. Despite the fact that half of Mintwood was involved in getting the fair up and running, there was still a lot to do.
Charlie drove us back to the Beetle in her Volvo, and we continued on to the fair in two cars. After the bright sunshine of the morning, the day was being overtaken by dark clouds. The air was still warm and the mugginess felt oppressive.
We pulled right up to the fairgrounds to see how the setup was coming along. In a buzz of activity, groups of people were working on the tents, many with signs already out front and the side entrances thrown open. In each tent I could see an array of displays and items that would soon be viewed by the hundreds of fair visitors.
“What can we do to help you finish setting up?” I asked Liam.
We had arrived at his very own tent, where we found him with a long strip of blue ribbon sticking out of his mouth and scissors in both hands.
“People still need help putting decorations up in a lot of the tents,” he suggested, dropping one pair of scissors and winding the ribbon into a neat loop. “Oh, and at lunchtime the mayor is going to address everyone. I think it has something to do with the murders. Also, Detective Cutter was here earlier, talking to Mrs. Cook and looking around.”
“Has anyone seen Mrs. Stone?” I asked.
Of the three judges, she was the only one left. I also wondered who would be brave enough to take Mrs. Tolls’ and Mrs. Tootsie’s places once it was widely known that they had both been murdered.
“Everyone has seen her,” said Liam, now drawing out a green ribbon. “In fact, everyone is trying not to let her out of their sight.”
“It makes sense,” said Greer, who was poking through a large plastic bin filled with every color of ribbon imaginable. “She’s probably safest when everyone is keeping an eye on her.”
“I’d like to interview her for a piece in the paper tomorrow,” said Charlie.
“That won’t be too hard, I expect,” said Liam. “She’s hot to trot and wants to talk everyone and anyone. It’ll be a race to see which one of you gets to her first.”
“She isn’t upset?” Charlie was instantly suspicious.
“She’s very upset. She thinks the only way she’s going to stay alive is if she gets her story out there as quickly as possible,” said Liam.
Charlie didn’t go looking for Mrs. Stone right away; for the moment, she was intent on helping Liam. Knowing how eager she was to get the story, I admired her self-discipline.
Liam had brought a sampling of his favorite items of clothing from the Twinkle Costume Shop, some of them vintage dresses and others more modern, and Charlie was eager to see them.
I was sent on errands. I had to track down folding tables and chairs and start setting them up in any tents that still didn’t have any. This task gave me a chance to look around and see what the booths at the fair were all about.
I loved wandering around and finding wood-carving, scarf-knitting, and pottery galore, not to mention silk-screened t-shirts, handmade greeting cards, and even a tent devoted to chainsaw safety. Only in Maine, I thought with a chuckle.
One booth, off to the corner in the back, looked slightly out of place. It was a strange combination of tent and shack. It was painted with black stripes and didn’t have a sign, but the wood it was made of looked ramshackle and more or less thrown together at random. I made a mental note to come back and check it out later.
Then, as so often happened with town events, the day got away from me.
By sheer coincidence, I got back to Liam’s tent at the exact same moment when Mrs. Stone came by to look for Charlie. Though she wasn’t as obsessive about it as Mrs. Cook, Mrs. Stone had gossip in her blood.
She loved the attention and she loved anything and everything to do with the sharing of town information. I respected the woman for at least being honest about her priorities.
As a case in point, I had once heard a story about Mr. Snicks, who worked at the cemetery and wasn’t a fan of gossip. At one of our protests, at the time when we thought Jasper was going to tear down the barn, Mrs. Snicks told me that if Mrs. Stone tried to get any more information out of her husband, he was threatening to take his issue to the town board.
Mrs. Snicks had kindly pointed out to her husband that Mrs. Stone was that board’s president. All the air went out of his sails, and from that day forward he did his best to deflect Mrs. Stone if he could and just put up with her if he couldn’t.
“Good morning. How are you. No sign of the gorgeous Jasper Wolf?” she asked.
She looked around hopefully as she said it, but we were all too taken aback by her boldness to know how to answer.
Mrs. Stone was a plainly dressed woman, favoring jeans and sweaters for the most part and exchanging her sweaters for t-shirts in the summer. Her hair was cut short in a brown bob and she wore glasses. You would never suspect that she had once been a celebrated big-city chef.
She had left that career long ago, and now she taught home-ec classes out of her house. That training was what qualified her to judge pies at the yearly summer fair.
At the moment, she looked like she’d been crying. Her eyes were drooping and her cheeks were splotchy, but I nearly choked when the first words out of her mouth had to do with Jasper Wolf.
“Why would she know where Jasper is?” Liam asked, gracefully stepping out of the tent.
“I heard you were dating,” said Mrs. Stone, looking at me despite my friend’s attempt to deflect her.
“They aren’t,” said Greer quickly.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Liam asked her.
“Yes, that reporter person. I hear she’s also a friend of yours. You’re very popular,” Mrs. Stone said to Liam, who smiled again.
“That’d be me,” said Charlie, stepping forward and beaming.
Glad to step out of the spotlight, I lo
oked around at what my friends had been doing. Even though I hadn’t been gone very long, the tent had been transformed. Liam was determined to leave no glitter in the entire county left unused, and he’d nearly succeeded; there was glitter everywhere. It twinkled on the walls, on the floor, and in the seams in the tent’s fabric. If Liam had had more time, he probably would’ve gotten it onto the ceiling.
“Mrs. Stone, I’m so glad you sought me out,” said Charlie. She was juggling a huge armful of dresses, and Liam went over to help her with them.
“I hear you’re the woman to speak to. I hear you solve mysteries,” said Mrs. Stone.
“I don’t know where you heard such a thing. I’m just a reporter,” said Charlie modestly.
“You solved the murder of the resort manager, didn’t you?” Mrs. Stone asked.
“My friends and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” said Charlie. She set down the rest of the dresses she’d been holding and picked up her notebook. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d brought it, but I should have known she wouldn’t be without it.
“That’s what they all say,” said Mrs. Stone. “Anyway, everyone else talks about your articles and all the mysteries you solve. I thought it best that I speak to you directly, given what has happened to my dear friends.” Mrs. Stone’s lower lip trembled. She had been part of the judging panel for over ten years, and she looked upset in proportion.
“Yes, I have some questions for you as well,” said Charlie, trying to sound soothing.
“Good, I’ll tell you everything I know,” promised Mrs. Stone. “I’m not worried about myself. I’m just upset about my friends. Everyone keeps telling me to be careful, but hogwash is what I say to that. If the judges all disappear, three more will rise up to take our places.”
“Do you have any idea what might’ve happened?” Charlie asked.
“No, I have no idea,” said Mrs. Stone. “Tabitha had always wanted to travel, and that’s what she said she was going to do. I actually thought she had left, and I guess other people did too. She was never much of a one for goodbyes, so it wasn’t that far-fetched. We had no idea that her cat was still in the house,” Mrs. Stone sniffed. “The little critters can catch mice, and I know there was a cat door. The cat must’ve gotten in and out at her convenience.”
“And Mrs. Cook went over to check on things from time to time?” Charlie asked.
Mrs. Stone nodded. “You know Mrs. Cook. She’s very responsible. But she never went into the attic, and why would she? Like everyone else, she just thought Tabitha had gone away.”
It sounded completely plausible.
“What about a smell?” I wondered. It was morbid, but it had to be asked.
“She was just doing a quick check,” shrugged Mrs. Stone. If there was a smell, it had probably already subsided.
“And what about Mrs. Tootsie?” Charlie asked.
“I just have no idea,” said Mrs. Stone, the trembling in her lower lip getting worse. “She ran a print shop. She was hardly the type of person to make enemies. She was always the judge on our panel who wanted everyone to win. Of the three of us, she was surely the nicest. I’ve managed to offend a few people over the years; it happens. Nothing major, you understand. But I don’t recall Tootsie ever doing that. She had no enemies.”
Just then Pickle, the assistant fair director, popped her head in.
“Everyone ready for the Mayor’s speech?” she asked, glancing down at the clipboard that had melded itself to her hand. “It starts in T minus thirteen minutes and forty seven seconds.” The very fancy watch on her wrist apparently told her so.
“We’ll be there,” said Liam. He looked like he was keeping his eyes from rolling only with the greatest difficulty.
Pickle looked as if she wanted to say something more, but in the end she merely nodded and disappeared. I heard her in the tent next to Liam’s saying the same thing she’d said to us.
“You’d think that woman would want to sit down for a minute,” said Mrs. Stone, shaking her head.
“So you can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt your friends?” Charlie clarified.
“I can think of a few people who lost over the years who weren’t very happy, but certainly no one would want to hurt any of us,” and Mrs. Stone. “It never mattered that much.”
Through the tent flap I could see most of the wide expanse of the fairgrounds, where lots of local people were still busy making last-minute preparations and finalizing the tents for that evening’s opening.
Thinking it over yet again, I decided that Mrs. Stone was wrong about one thing: the fair, and in particular the baking competition, had mattered an awful lot to someone.
After the mostly fruitless conversation with the last remaining living bakery competition judge, we left Liam’s tent and headed for the open field. It was time to hear what the mayor had to say.
“I feel like we don’t know anything,” Charlie muttered under her breath. She was staring at her notes, which were brief, even as she walked along with us. “I keep trying to think of an article to write, but there’s so little information.”
Lena had published a brief article that morning about Tootsie’s death; she’d said that the police were currently calling it unexplained.
I knew differently, and so did Charlie.
The overcast sky was getting more threatening by the minute, but there was still no wind, and the muggy air was making me sweat.
“I hate sweating,” said Charlie. “Why can’t there be a bit of a breeze if it’s going to be so cloudy?”
“There’s a big crowd here,” Greer commented, ignoring Charlie’s complaints.
About a hundred volunteers were sitting comfortably on the grass. A few more had taken the chairs lined up at the tables, while a handful were relaxing in their own lawn chairs.
Many of the women wore hats, and the gentlemen had rolled up their sleeves, giving the whole scene an old-fashioned look. Mayor Clabberd was standing to one side in his customary white suit, holding his trademark cane. He looked out on the crowd jovially, smiling and nodding whenever he caught someone’s eye.
It only took a few minutes after we got to the field for the mayor to stroll to the front of the gathering and call for silence.
Everyone sat expectantly. Maybe we were about to learn what had happened to the bakery competition judges.
Chapter Sixteen
“Afternoon,” he said, pushing up on his heels. “Delighted to see you all here. I’m always heartened to see such a good turnout for Mintwood’s most important summer event.
“At this last gathering before the opening, I have a few announcements to make. The first is that I want to thank you volunteers for all your time and hard work. The fair wouldn’t be anything without you.”
He paused dramatically as some applause rippled through the crowd, then went on. “Now that that’s out of the way, I want to announce a couple of changes to the fair this year. The first is that the baking competition is welcoming bakers from outside Mintwood for the first time ever.
“We feel that this will improve the baking experience and give everybody more of a chance to participate, compete, and learn. Secondly, and on a more somber note, as many of you know, two of the three baking judges have passed away in the last year. There’s a lot of information floating around out there that isn’t correct, and I just want to say that I have complete confidence in our police force and expect they will get to the bottom of both mysteries very quickly. So I would hate for anyone to jump to conclusions.
“We will miss Tabitha and Tootsie dearly. They were a big part of the fair family, and they are irreplaceable. We have been in contact with Tabitha’s family and offered our support. Let’s try to have a wonderful fair for their sakes. It’s what they would have wanted.”
Detective Cutter was standing next to the mayor, his hands looped into his belt. He was nodding, but not smiling.
“Now, our esteemed Detective Cutter would like to say a w
ord,” said the mayor, stepping aside.
Detective Cutter, a wide man who wasn’t very tall, stepped forward and cleared his throat. Everyone listened expectantly, but the detective paused before he began speaking, so that all I heard for a while was the sound of hay and leaves rustling.
Detective Cutter’s report was what everyone in town had been waiting for, and he did understand something about drama. We craved information, and now we would have it. In his own good time.
“First,” he said at last in a clear voice, “I want to thank all of you for such hard work this week. I know that what you’re doing is made more difficult by the investigations the police are conducting, and I also know that everyone wants to know what happened to their friends. All I can do is assure you that we’re working as hard as we can to discover the truth, and when we know something, you’ll know as well.
“To that end I would ask that anyone with any information, even if it seems insignificant to you, please come talk to us. We’re trying to find out as much as we can about the two judges and their passing. To be very clear, we have no idea that what happened to them is in any way connected with the fair.
“Anything you can tell us may help. Also, as you can see, Mrs. Stone is here, and she has given me permission to say that she will be under constant surveillance until the mystery of these two deaths is solved. Just in case the murderer does happen to be a rogue pastry chef.”
There were a couple of murmurs of amusement, as Detective Cutter had no doubt intended. Although I saw a few people smile, no one actually believed that the two longtime judges had suddenly been murdered over a cupcake.
“Now, if that’s everything . . .” The mayor stepped forward to end the little meeting and people started to gather their things and stand up. But before the crowd could disperse, Pickle came marching up the aisle, obviously intending to speak.
People’s expressions changed when they saw her, some looking resigned and bemused while others looked openly annoyed.
“As many of you know, we’ve had to find a couple of new judges this year,” said Pickle, clutching her clipboard to her chest more tightly than ever and ignoring the reactions in the crowd. “Unfortunately, as both the mayor and the detective have said, we’ve lost two brilliant judges far too soon.”
Witch of Mintwood Mysteries 7-9 Page 11
