Sixteen
Carrie Ann was sitting on a bench outside The Wild Clover with an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips. She quickly removed it and tried to hide it in her palm when she saw me coming.
“I wasn’t going to light up,” she said when she saw my eyes following her hand. “Honest. Search me if you want. I don’t even have a lighter with me.” She stood up in case I wanted to frisk her, but I had other things on my mind.
There were enough cars on the street to indicate that business was booming inside the market. “Did you leave Holly inside alone?”
Carrie Ann must have figured that I wasn’t going to scold her for the cigarette because she stuck it back in the side of her mouth, unlit, and talked around it. “She’s a whiz at the register. And I needed a break. I’m not used to working straight through without stopping for a few smokes.”
“Looks like we’re really busy,” I said, looking at all the cars and spotting my grandmother’s car parked close by. Then I remembered.
Every Monday afternoon a group of seniors played cards in the old choir loft. My original vision of the market had included community events like this one. It made me feel good to know the store was like a second home to them.
“What’s today’s game?” I asked.
“Sheepshead,” Carrie Ann said. “As usual, all the old fogies drove themselves here, whether they lived two miles away or two doors down. Business has been steady, but not too much to handle.”
Sheepshead is Wisconsin’s state card game, brought over by all the Germans who settled here. If you live in Wisconsin, you know how to play sheepshead. That’s the Monday group’s favorite card game, with rummy coming in a close second.
Carrie Ann took the cigarette out of her mouth, looked at it longingly, and rearranged it in her mouth. “Are you ready for the showdown at the Town Council meeting tonight?” she asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Will you come for support? I need your vote.”
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t.”
“You could bring Hunter along.”
Carrie Ann’s mouth dropped open and the cigarette hung on the edge of her lower lip for a moment before she tucked it back in with her tongue. If nothing else, my cousin was a professional cigarette juggler. “How did you know about that?”
“It’s obvious,” I said.
“It is?”
I nodded.
“Don’t tell anybody, okay.”
“’K,” I said, sounding like my sister. “It’s our secret. So are you coming tonight or not?”
“Not,” Carrie Ann said.
I don’t know what possessed me, it must have been all those emotions bouncing around inside my body, the anger and frustration, because I reached out and grabbed that stupid dangling cigarette from her mouth and broke it in two. Then I took her hand and jammed the pieces into it. “Suit yourself,” I said before stomping inside.
I didn’t look back but I could hear Carrie Ann sputtering behind me.
“Hey, sis,” Holly said, grinning like she was very pleased with herself. “I’m getting the hang of the register. I’m a natural!”
I forced a smile in spite of the extremely bad day I was still trying to get through and greeted the customers in line, determined to rearrange my attitude as we exchanged pleasantries.
Laughter floated down from above. The sheepshead games were in full swing. The market was filled with beautiful light from all the stained glass. Milly’s bouquets of flowers were right next to the checkout, where their fragrances wafted in the air and customers picked them up on impulse. Bins brimmed with corn, raspberries, and multicolored squashes, completing the picture of bliss and bountifulness.
“Story needs a waggle dance,” Carrie Ann said, coming over to the register.
“Huh?” Holly said, waving good-bye to her last customer in line.
“That’s what Story’s bees do when they find a new pollen patch,” Carrie Ann said. “Tell her, Story.”
“Once a field bee discovers a new source of pollen,” I explained, “she will fly home, crawl into the hive with the news, and do a dance in certain patterns, like a figure eight. That tells the other bees the exact location of the newly discovered flower field.”
“It’s kind of done like this,” Carrie Ann demonstrated to Holly by thrusting out her back end and shaking it. At first I was surprised that she knew about the waggle dance, then I remembered that she had been working the day I burst in with the exciting news that I’d actually seen a honeybee waggle dance and had gone on to demonstrate it. Carrie Ann remembered! How cool was that?
Holly mimicked Carrie Ann, shaking right along. The three of us must have looked ridiculous to anyone peering through the window and to the customers in the store, but we didn’t care as we wiggled and waggled down the aisles until we were laughing and the world wasn’t tilting quite so far into the shadows.
A few minutes later, I settled at my tiny desk in the storage room and prioritized. I was surprised when the very first item on my list turned out to be the very subject I didn’t want to pursue. I guess my subconscious took over. My to-do list went like this:
? The current rumor about Grace and Clay was substantial. Had she really cheated on Manny? And if so, when and where?
? Prove that Manny was killed by yellow jackets, although that would be difficult without an official autopsy by the medical examiner.
? Find Gerald Smith, the bee association member who took Manny’s beehives, and convince him to return the honeybee hives to me.
? Once that was accomplished, figure out how to transport eighty-one hives and where to stash them if everybody in town remained hostile toward honeybees.
? Convince Grace to sell Manny’s equipment to me, all of it, including the honey house, now that Holly would loan me the funds.
? Calculate how long it would take to pay my sister back, so I could get out from under my family’s thumb.
? Respect Grace by waiting until after tomorrow’s funeral to begin negotiations for the equipment.
I started with bullet point number three, since that seemed easier than one and two—find the beekeeper who had made off with Manny’s honeybees. I picked up the phone and called Eric Hanson, the president of the county bee association.
“Hi, Story, long time no talk,” said Eric. “It’s such a shame about Manny Chapman.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s like a bad dream,” I agreed. “Listen, Eric, I’m actually calling about Manny. I heard that someone from the association named Gerald Smith took all his hives, and I’m trying to find the guy. Can you get me his contact information?”
“Don’t know that name, but we have a lot of inactive members. Let me check and get back to you in about ten minutes.”
While I waited, I wandered upstairs into the choir loft. Most of the seniors were wearing shirts with playing cards on the front of them.
Grams gave me a wink. She had her trademark daisy in her hair and a fistful of queens, a very good place to be.
Sheepshead is an intense game. The players don’t chitchat much while they’re wheeling and dealing, so I was spared all the questions that might have come up about Clay’s arrest or his girlfriend’s murder. I made a mental note to disappear by the time the games broke up to avoid a lot of awkward questions.
Five minutes later, I went back down to the storage room and paged through the phone book. Smiths. Lots of Smiths. No Geralds. Several G. Smiths, though.
I drummed my fingers on the desk, wondering what I would say to Gerald Smith to talk him into returning the bees. That might be a trick in itself, getting them back. I’d have to come up with a spiel to convince him.
Holly came in, closing the door tightly behind her, and informed me that the police chief was in the building. Great.
“He’s asking for you,” she said.
The phone rang and I held up a finger to indicate that I needed a second to take the call.
“Eric, here,” the president of the county bee association said. “You must have that name wrong.”
“Gerald Smith,” I said, pronouncing the name slowly, but I knew the truth before I spelled it out.
Eric said exactly what I thought he would. “No one in the association by that name.”
“Anything close? Maybe I did get it wrong.”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
I hung up.
“What should I do with Johnny Jay?” Holly asked. “I gave you an out by telling him I didn’t know whether you were here or not. Want me to cover for you? I’ll tell him you’re on a CB.”
“CB?” I didn’t know that one.
“Coffee break,” Holly translated.
“I can hear you two talking about me right through the door,” the police chief called out, coming in without an invitation. “In case you don’t know, it’s against the law to obstruct justice.” He glared at Holly.
“Johnny Jay,” I said brightly, “I was just going to call you.”
“It’s Police Chief Jay to you. How many times do I have to tell you that? A little respect wouldn’t kill you.”
Johnny Jay looked angry.
“Holly, you need to stay as a witness,” I said, implying that I thought the police chief capable of using his position in a negative manner. Which was true, especially when he was mad.
I stood up, not wanting to give Johnny more of an advantage than he already had. We stood almost eye to eye when I stretched out tall.
“So you heard a scream, did you? Either you withheld important information,” he said, puffy-faced with temper, “or you’re lying to cover up. A bald-faced lie to a law-enforcement official could buy you time in jail, Missy Fischer.”
“I didn’t lie. And you’re threatening me. Did you hear that, Holly?”
Holly was out of my sight range, but I’m sure she nodded. The police chief and I were locked in a stare-down. He didn’t know it, but I always won stare-downs.
He poked a finger at my face.
I didn’t blink as I said, “Don’t touch me.” I refrained from any emotional display since bullies enjoy getting reactions. The best course of action was to stay calm but firm. “Or I’ll file a complaint. Police brutality.”
Johnny Jay removed his finger and glanced at Holly, breaking the stare-down before we got far into it. “I need a moment alone with your sister.”
“No way. I’m staying,” Holly said. She leaned against a storage shelf and folded her arms. She knew the bully rules as well as I did. Keep close to a friend.
In school, Johnny Jay used to go after the weak kids, the ones who wouldn’t stand up to him and didn’t tell. Or the kids who had the shortest fuses. With them, he’d swoop in and attack, then stand back all innocent when the other kid lost his cool. Most of the time his victim was the one who got in trouble.
I hadn’t belonged to either of those groups. Not the weak ones or the short fuses.
“You two could have used a little discipline growing up,” he said.
Johnny Jay was a serial bully. He had to have someone to pick on at all times. I was his current target for some unknown reason. But saying we didn’t have any discipline as kids was a big joke. Mom wasn’t exactly a lenient parent, and Dad had worked all the time and never really tried to cross over her strict line of authority to help me out.
“No sense lying anymore. It’ll only make matters worse for you.” The police chief was on a roll. “You heard a scream all right, didn’t you? Only you weren’t in your bed, dreaming, were you? Come on, admit it. You and Clay Lane were in it together. She was in the way, but why? Why did you have to kill her?”
Holly let out a little gasp. I slipped her a look. She covered her mouth.
Then I said something really stupid. I said, “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you actually think I could hit another person over the head and hold them under water while they drowned?”
Johnny Jay’s eyes narrowed and I realized my mistake. I shouldn’t know how Faye had died. Hunter had said it was confidential police information.
“Did Hunter Wallace tell you that?”
What would happen to Hunter’s law-enforcement career if I told the truth? “No,” I said, unable to betray his confidence even if I suffered for it.
“Come on, let’s go,” the police chief said.
“Go where?”
And that’s how I found myself, once again, in the interrogation room.