When Beef Jerky Met Cherries Jubilee

by Lee Pulaski

  Anne Marie gnawed on the possibility metaphorically while she chewed on some pot roast in reality. “I hadn’t considered it. It didn’t seem necessary at the time to do an extensive exam of the building. I didn’t have the place gutted, as I didn’t have a fortune to spend. Only a couple of walls were moved when I created the gallery in order to have as large a viewing place as possible.”

  “I think there’s some reason that this Remy Pierre fellow thinks your place is worth more than the appraisers do, and there are only two ways to find out—ask the buyer or start snooping behind the drywall.”

  “I’ll put a call in to a contractor I know and see if there’s a way to do it without bankrupting me. With all the kerfuffle since the death of Beef Jerky and Cherries Jubilee, it’s made it next to impossible to sell any art.”

  Zachary cut up his slice of pot roast. “Have you at least had any visitors?”

  “Only a couple, and I think they’re probably the only ones who don’t realize the subjects of the exhibit were murdered.”

  “Of all the times for folks to be stingy…”

  Anne Marie looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we’re dealing with a couple who touched the lives of thousands of people in this county, and many more beyond. While most folks around here are poor as church mice, there are some folks who would sell their children or grandchildren to have something to remember Beef Jerky and Cherries Jubilee by. Where are those people now? The reporters have dispersed, so there’s nothing keeping the art lovers from strolling into the gallery.”

  “I guess people are still freaked over the fact that Osgood and Muriel are gone. That, and the whole mass media assertion that my place was the true scene of the crime.”

  “The only casualty at your gallery was to Jasper Walters’ dignity, and I think that’s an acceptable loss.” Zachary took a sip of tea. “We need to figure out how to bring people back. I mean, you saw your opening night. The place was packed! The trick is to figure out how to make your place hopping again.”

  “I wish I had a concrete idea. Right now, my mind is a swirling tornado of madness.”

  “I’ll have to remember that line. I guess this is a conversation for later.” Zachary put his hand on Anne Marie’s. “Take heart. Everyone else has managed to make their new twists in life a success. You are not going to be the token failure. I can guarantee it.”

  Anne Marie got a daydreaming look on her face. “I’ll say one thing for teaching schoolchildren. Even though you had to deal with the bureaucratic doublespeak of the state and federal governments, at least I felt like I got through to some of the kids.”

  “Missing the little rugrats?”

  “Kind of. It’s too bad I can’t clone myself and do both things.”

  Newell’s face brightened. “Maybe you can do both. Not the cloning yourself part, of course, but have you considered teaching art classes at the gallery? There are plenty of budding young artists, and having a place to teach some of the basics would attract people to Gresham.”

  “Newell’s got a good idea, Anne Marie. It might be a way to keep the gallery interesting for a while, and I highly doubt any of your painters will keel over.”

  Anne Marie laughed. “In that case, I like the idea already. It’s definitely something to consider once I put together the new exhibit. Does this mean I can count on you both to be at the first class?”

  Zachary bit his lip, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. Although he excelled in the art of photography, he had also gone down in history as the worst finger painter at the four-year-old level. His stick figures looked like tragic crash test dummies.

  “Sure. Why not?” Newell said. “Even painting classes could use a laugh.”

  Anne Marie pushed her empty plate to the center of the table. “That settles it then. Tomorrow I’ll take steps to protect my gallery from a hostile takeover, and then I’ll plan a painting class for some time in March.” She glanced at her watch. “I should probably head home and have a nice glass of chardonnay. I have a big day tomorrow.”

  After hugging, Anne Marie strode out the back door with more confidence than she came in with. Zachary and Newell watched her go, arms wrapped around each other.

  “Discovered an evil cousin in the Reimer family tree, fought off a lynch mob, brought a friend back from the edge of despair—again.” Zachary looked into Newell’s eyes. “A pretty light day, in my opinion.”

  “Don’t forget the hay shipment,” Newell said as he started cleaning off the table.

  “Oh, who could forget the hay shipment? As far as rural couples go, we’re pretty tame.”

  Zachary took a sip of water as he turned the page of the photo album. He’d awakened from a fitful dream involving some dark figure with a machete at about two o’clock and could not go back to sleep, so he’d decided to start flipping through the albums he’d borrowed from the Reimer farmhouse, hoping to gain some new insight as to who would want to kill an elderly couple responsible for bringing beef and cherries together in a beautiful and powerful way. So far, much of what he’d discovered was that the family unit was happy. Scores of photos with the whole family together, and aside from the occasional child making faces or picking his nose, the Reimers seemed to be the poster family for relative bliss.

  Zachary knew from experience, though, that photos did not always tell the whole story about people. When he’d first opened The Literary Barn, he also worked part-time as a freelance photographer, which included a number of family portraits. The final photo showed happy, smiling people, but what it didn’t show were the siblings about to rip each other’s heads off, mothers on the verge of tears while wondering how they’d raised such horrible little monsters, fathers all red-faced because he’d just paid good money for the family picture only to have said monsters ruin it, and the obligatory grandfather trying not to cackle with glee as he remembered how his own children had been and that karma really was a bitch.

  A loud thump came from the stairwell, followed by some mumbled cursing. Zachary smiled as he grabbed a used envelope from the table next to him and used it to keep his place in the photo album. “Stealthy much?”

  Newell appeared at the bottom of the stairs, limping and gorgeous in his elaborate ensemble of one pair of black briefs. He hobbled over to Zachary and sat next to him on the couch.

  “I rolled over in bed, intending to wrap my arm around you, and I found a whole lot of nothing. What’s wrong, sweetie? Couldn’t sleep?”

  Zachary shook his head. “I had a weird dream that woke me up, and I just couldn’t drift off again. That’s when I figured I should give these Reimer family albums a look-see.”

  Newell moaned with interest. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Well, nothing that screams, ‘This is your killer,’ but I have gotten a little insight into what made Beef Jerky and Cherries Jubilee so great.” Zachary reopened the album. “Look at some of these older newspaper clippings. They took out bank loans only when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, they just saved up their money to finance their expansions. Most people act like the Reimer company was a force of nature that just grew in intensity over the years, but in truth, they were just cautious entrepreneurs who didn’t bite off more than they could chew.”

  “Maybe some bank employee killed them because they refused to take out any more loans.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to interrupt your sleep.”

  Newell kissed Zachary’s shoulder. “Listen, Zach. It’s no problem. Remember, we’re a couple. What affects you affects me. I guess I’ve just gotten used to having you in the bed with me.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve never made it to the ‘used to you’ stage before, and it feels good that you miss me when I’m not around.”

  “That’s awful that no one else has seen what I see—a beautiful man with a ravishing soul.”

  Zachary took Newell’s lips and interlocked his own. How did he get so lucky as to find the
perfect man for him? It was amazing.

  “So where is this cousin, Perry, in this Waltons-esque saga?” Newell asked. “Is he the one flipping off the camera in the family pics?”

  Zachary bit his lip as he realized. “You know what? This is the third album I’ve been through, and I haven’t found any sign of him. That is so odd.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t opened the right album yet. You do have six or seven here.”

  “You might be right, but if I’m still batting zeroes by the time we get through all the albums, we might have to consider he might not be part of the family, in which case his inquiry as to who is getting the farm might just be a smokescreen for something else.”

  Newell furrowed his brow. “To what end?”

  “To the possible end that this guy, whatever his connection is to Osgood and Muriel, might have murdered them and might be looking to forge some kind of deal with their descendants to get their paws on the family business.”

  “Do you think that’s really possible?”

  “Well, think about it. It’s been almost a week since the Reimers were murdered, but have you seen any mourning relatives in town? Anyone making arrangements for a funeral?”

  “Funeral arrangements might be difficult, since Sasha still has the bodies in her custody.”

  “Another thing, though. After Perry left the bookstore, that’s when Rose appeared, and she warned me about dealing with him.” Zachary snapped his fingers. “However, she described him as her cousin, too. That means it’s likely we’ll find him elsewhere in these albums.”

  Newell smiled sympathetically. “Felt good to have a working theory, though, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, until that working theory stopped working and left me stranded on the side of a deserted highway in the middle of the night.”

  “You know, no one can ever accuse you of being a man who can never find words.”

  “Thank you. I think my brain is set in ‘novel’ mode instead of ‘short story.’ Still, there is something shady about Perry, and he could still be a killer.”

  “It’s certainly possible. Rose certainly has reason to be concerned. Did she say why?”

  “No. She said she was going to, but then we got into the whole situation with Sajen getting shot and Allen’s posse coming to the church. I’m very much curious to find out, though. Maybe I’ll leave early in the morning and go to her house before heading to The Literary Barn.”

  “If you’re going to leave early, you probably should get some sleep.” Newell gently bit Zachary’s ear. “You won’t be clear-headed enough to ask the questions you need to in order to find the killer.”

  Zachary moaned. “You’re right. Still, I wish Josh took his job more seriously so that he could catch the killers instead of leaving it to the regular Joes who have other full-time jobs.”

  “Not to mention sweethearts that are more than willing to show the regular Joes in every way why they are beautiful and loved.” Newell ran his fingers through Zachary’s hair as he continued to nibble on the ear.

  Zachary closed the photo album he was holding and set it on the coffee table in front of him. “In every way, you said?”

  “That’s right. What are you thinking?”

  Zachary turned his head to kiss Newell’s lips again. “Take me upstairs, cowboy.”

  Zachary had expected Newell to take his hand or put his arm around the waist and nudge Zachary toward the bedroom. However, Newell had to take it one step further and scooped Zachary up in his arms and carefully—yet romantically—carried him up the stairs all the way to the bedroom. Gently lowering Zachary on the bed, Newell left moist kisses on his partner’s lips and neck, pulling the T-shirt aside to plant one on the shoulder.

  Newell gently caressed Zachary’s cheek. “Tell me your desires.”

  Zachary took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He wondered how to nonchalantly tell Newell that his desire was to see the black briefs mysteriously disappear.

  Zachary whistled a tune as he adjusted books in the travel section of The Literary Barn. He’d just opened the bookstore an hour ago, and despite only having one customer so far, everything just felt good. He hadn’t found Rose at home when he made a trip to the Reimer homestead earlier, but it didn’t bother him enough to ruin his good mood.

  Alexander poked his head over the rail on the upper reading level, where he’d been cataloguing. “Oh my God! You had sex last night, didn’t you?”

  Zachary raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re whistling. You only whistle when Newell has been tender with you the night before.” Alexander gasped and pointed at Zachary. “No, no, no! This wasn’t just merely sex! You were whistling a Katy Perry tune. He must have done things to you that would scare the neighbors—if you had any within howling distance, that is.”

  Zachary could feel his face burning with embarrassment. “If you’re busy chronicling my moods like that, you must be lacking in a sex life of you own. I’d talk to Murphy about that.”

  Alexander leaned on the rail with a bemused smile on his face. “Guess again, bro. Murphy gave me this wonderful oil massage last night, and then he gently tickled my…”

  Zachary put up his hands and emitted a different type of whistle. “Whoa! You and I are good friends, Alexander, but I really don’t need mental images of you and Murphy playing the wounded villager and the hero soldier in a scenario where he hoists you over his shoulder and takes you off an exploding battlefield, and you express your gratitude by offering to do anything for him.”

  “That’s exactly what we did last night. What did you do? Set up a hidden camera in my house?”

  “Oo!” Zachary shook his fist at Alexander. “Don’t you have cataloguing to do?”

  “You’re the boss.” Alexander cackled as he went back to work, and the cackling echoed throughout the quiet store.

  Zachary’s face continued to burn. He couldn’t believe that someone could detect when he’d been intimate with his boyfriend. It was like he had a scarlet letter tattooed on his forehead.

  The front door opened with the jingling of the bell overhead, and Rose and Sajen entered. Zachary walked over to the counter.

  “I take it from this casual stroll through the front door that things went all right with Josh.”

  Rose nodded. “Well, he’s not completely convinced Sajen is innocent, but he seemed to believe what we said about the pregnancy, especially after Dr. McKenna showed him my test results.”

  “I’m glad that you’ve at least given a defense. The longer Sajen was on the lam, the longer it looked like he was guilty. At least you now have some record of your claims of innocence.”

  “Now we just have to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.”

  “Rose, are you getting the farm? If you are, maybe you and Sajen could continue the family tradition your grandparents started almost sixty years ago.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’m getting the farm, but even if I were, I have no interest in agriculture. I’d rather pursue art with Sajen.”

  “Who said you necessarily had to continue farming? Your family business is large enough that you could hire people to continue the agriculture work, and you and Sajen could stay in the house and pursue whatever artistry you desire.”

  Rose’s eyes widened. “They’d spin in their graves if we did that!”

  “They have to be buried first for that to happen. Besides, if there’s one thing folks in Gresham have learned over the last year, it’s that you need to pursue what makes you happy, not what other people expect of you.”

  “I hope that can happen. I have my family’s reputation in my favor, but there are still plenty of folks that see Sajen as a dirty Indian, and I don’t know if I can change their minds.”

  “So don’t change their minds. I’ve got news for you, Rose. Sometimes finding your own personal happiness involves telling all the naysayers in the world where to stick it. There were plenty of people who discouraged me fr
om starting up a bookstore, saying that the industry is dying out. My doors are still open, and I recently expanded. Things are looking up.”

  “He’s right, Rose.” Sajen took Rose’s hand and then got down on one knee. “I’ll be by your side no matter what. We’ve got a family to plan for now, and this baby is going to be the best thing that ever happened to us.”

  Rose’s eyes welled up. “I love you, Sajen.”

  “And I love you, too, Rose.”

  “Now I’m really hoping you get the farm,” Zachary said after a few moments of silence. “By the way, Rose, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Perry.”

  Rose’s blissful expression vanished, replaced with the look of a deer caught in headlights. “What do you want to know?”

  “Yesterday you mentioned that he was someone I should try to avoid, and I mentioned I wanted some clarification. Who is this guy, and why’s he interested in who is inheriting the homestead?”

  “Perry has made a career out of acquiring businesses, never showing an interest in pursuing the Reimer family’s agricultural roots. He even went so far as to say that farming is the way of the past. Why he’s suddenly interested in my grandparents’ farm is beyond me.”

  “You say he’s interested in acquiring businesses. What kinds of businesses?”

  “Mostly businesses that have fallen on hard times, but Grandma and Grandpa were doing better than ever at the time of their deaths, so it makes no sense for Perry to be interested in who is taking over the business.”

  “Unless he thinks you’ll tank the business, and then he can swoop in to save it. Having an unclear path of transition and leadership can make any business look like it’s perilously close to an abyss.”

  Rose pondered that idea for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Is he dangerous in any other way?”

  “Well, many folks in the family don’t want to have anything to do with him on account that he’s an arrogant, self-absorbed prick who thinks he’s superior over anyone in the family, including his own parents. He’s gone off on a couple of relatives at family get-togethers.”