Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery) (6 page)

Meat bingo was being held in the opera house instead of the Grange because the Opera House Restoration Committee wanted the community to get a gander at what it was they were trying to restore. My grandparents, Celadon, and myself had all spent hours at the historical society and in the attics of various longtime townspeople uncovering photographs from when the opera house had been in its heyday. The opera house makes up the top floor of the town hall. Opera houses dot New England like alpacas. We have them but you won’t find them everywhere. And anytime you do it feels special and nice.

A mill owner built the Sugar Grove Opera House in 1893 as a way to celebrate culture and the arts. In the intervening years, with the rise in popularity of other forms of entertainment and the decline of the mills, the beautiful old building, once a point of pride in the town, had fallen into disrepair. The clock in the tower still rang out the time because of a generous donation by the Greene family.

Some of that generous donation had come in the form of child labor provided by yours truly the summer before my freshman year of high school. Grampa had me working away with him in the guts of the clock room tidying up after the clock repairman and running up and down the stairs for endless cups of coffee and pastries from the Stack.

The only way I had finally gotten out of it was when I reported to Grandma I had found the repairman with his fly down and his tackle on display, relieving himself through the ventilation shaft in the tower of some of the cups of coffee I had fetched. Grampa was all for me continuing my work as I was sure to have seen similar things and worse from the bull he had in the back pasture. Grandma, however, said she would be fetching the coffee from then on. I’m not sure what she said to him but before the end of the week the repairman had finished the job he had spent two months fiddling around with.

Despite our history, I gave the clock tower an affectionate glance as I approached the building’s heavy oak double doors with their time-smoothed brass handles. I climbed the stairs to the large space, thinking of all the shows and pleasant evenings that must have been enjoyed here in the past. Now most of the theater seats with their faded velvet upholstery worn smooth, have been removed from their rows facing the stage. Tonight they stood pressed against the walls, awaiting repair. This made room for the folding tables and chairs necessary for competitive bingo playing.

Often times the opera house is so empty it’s creepy. Your imagination runs away with you and you start seeing shadows dart across the scuffed oak floorboards and hear rustling from behind the tattered curtains up on the stage that seems otherworldly in origin. Before you know it your heart is pounding around in your chest and sweat runs down your arms until your hands become slick.

But this evening the room was full of noise and hurried movement of a purely normal kind. If you can consider it normal for people to converge on a public place for the chance to win prizes of meat when they spell out
bingo
. The Opera House Restoration Committee sold bingo cards for a suggested donation at the door and the winners took home butcher paper wrapped packets of beef, pork, chicken, and venison. Everything was legal and above board and no one had to fuss with the state over gaming regulations.

It was a win-win and one of the most popular events in town. I searched around the room for Graham and spotted him deep in conversation with Tansey Pringle, the future paternal grandmother of my children, if Tansey had any influence with God. I generally did my best to avoid Tansey outside of our business dealings but Graham waved me over and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t happy to see him. I crossed the room to the table where they stood.

“Hello, Dani. It’s great to see you.” Graham took a step closer to me and I wondered if he was about to embark on a public display of affection. I could hear the entire room suck in their breath at the same time and stare. I was surprised that my own thoughts bounced rapidly back and forth at that moment. Did I want him to kiss or embrace me in front of the entire town? Or would I rather we kept up the pretense that our business was private? Unfortunately any thoughts Graham may have had about his plans were driven off by the arrival of Knowlton.

“Hey, Graham, shouldn’t you be out busting speeders on snowmobiles instead of in here slacking?” Knowlton and Graham had gotten along fine back around Thanksgiving. That was when Graham was in town for business not pleasure. But now that Knowlton viewed Graham as competition, things had gotten a bit frosty between them. At least on Knowlton’s part. I wasn’t sure how Graham felt and didn’t think I had the guts or the right to inquire. It made things awkward every time they met up.

“Well, I’ve only managed to put in eighty-three hours so far this week but the opera house seemed like such a worthy cause I decided to take a night off. And the company was too appealing to pass up.” Graham gave me a smile and moved in even closer. I held my breath and braced myself for impact. Which turned out to be Knowlton. He wrapped his slim fingers around my even slimmer upper arm and pulled me toward him.

“Dani, take a look at my newest troll doll. Now I’ll be unbeatable.” Knowlton was justifiably proud of his bingo winnings, raffle winnings, and ability to be the correct caller on any radio station contest he dialed in to. He was legendary in this narrow slice of life and it had gone to his head.

“I hope it brings you luck.” I had to be polite. My grandparents were the meat bingo organizers and Knowlton was one of the most dependable donors. I got out of having to say anything else because Grampa was up at the podium clearing his throat into the microphone.

“If you could all grab a seat, we’ll get started here pretty quick-like,” he said. There was a scrambling and a hasty set up of troll doll altars and ceremonial dauber placement, at least by Knowlton. People spread out three, four, and even five cards in front of them and stared expectantly at the stage, where Grampa was polishing the bingo cage with a spotted handkerchief.

“We have a whole truckload of special things in store for you all this evening, with one outstanding offer amongst all the others.” Grampa could afford to say this because he and Grandma donated all the meat to the event with one exception. “Piper has generously donated her Stack Shack specialty sausage. She’s even offered to cook it right at the Stack if you win it.” She had done the same thing for the last meat bingo session a few months earlier and the opera house committee had to hurry into the town office to print out extra cards because they sold out with people still in line. Grampa gave the cage a spin and the games began.

Knowlton did his good-luck troll doll pats and knuckle-cracking exercises and, unlike everyone else in the hall, he remained standing above his cards. I guess he wanted to stay light on his feet in order to maximize his chances of shouting out
bingo
before anyone else. The letters and numbers rang out in Grampa’s clear, deep voice and cards were filling faster than a dirt basement during spring snowmelt. Some people, like Graham and I, were chatting but most were focused completely on the cards before them. All around pork roasts, racks of ribs, coils of kielbasa, and pounds of hamburg went to happy winners, an inordinate number of times to Knowlton.

As much as Knowlton is not someone I want to marry or even to have an extended conversation with under most circumstances, he does have some admirable qualities. I happened to know there were a great number of people who were better off for Knowlton’s lucky streak. He and Tansey didn’t eat a whole lot of meat themselves since there were only two of them. What most people didn’t realize every time they groaned about Knowlton winning again was that he donated almost everything he won to the local food pantry. He just loved to win. He had almost no interest in the prizes at all. He didn’t care about the tickets he won to concerts or to water parks in the lower tier of the state. He didn’t need his oil burner cleaned or his windows washed. He just liked to feel like a winner sometimes, and who could blame him?

Finally after all the other packages were parceled out to good homes it was time for the sausage. Grampa announced a break before the last event of the night. People stood and stretched their legs and headed for the bathroom. I met up with Celadon as she was coming out of the ladies room and I was headed in.

“Did you get Hunter over to Mindy’s?”

“Yes, I did.” I decided not to mention Mindy’s request about the camping trip. She would probably hear about it soon enough and I wanted to sort it out myself without any interference from her.

“I saw Knowlton over there with you and Graham before Grampa started calling the numbers. Did Graham seem jealous?” Celadon had her innocent look plastered across her face so I knew there was more to her question than mere curiosity.

“Knowlton made a beeline for us and clamored for my attention. I think he was more jealous than Graham.”

“Well, I think that says a lot. I like Graham just fine but Knowlton has been all over the mere thought of you since your first breath. This new guy is traveling toward the matrimonial finish line slower than an arthritic snail crossing a spool of copper flashing. Maybe Knowlton should get a little more respect from you for his faithfulness.”

“Stay out of it, Celadon. I mean it. If you don’t butt out, I’ll tell Mom there’s something off about your aura and she’ll put you on that celery diet again.”

“You don’t mean that.” Celadon winced like she’d bitten her tongue.

“I do mean it and I will do it if I have to.”

“Don’t let me stop you from getting back to your dates.”

“I think you meant
date
.”

“I know exactly what I meant.” Celadon turned on her heel and marched back toward the main room with her nose in the air and out of joint. I had a sneaking suspicion she had given Knowlton a similar line of incentive over the phone about my attendance at bingo as she had given Graham.

Even though the clunking of the plumbing system was enough to leave you deaf, I hid out in the bathroom for as long as I dared. I was stalling for time, trying to decide on the best words to use to ask Graham about the camping trip. I still hadn’t come up with anything when I decided I was being ridiculous risking the loss of my hearing. I did what I had come in for in the first place and returned to the main room, surprised to see the folding tables used for the bingo cards rearranged in a whole new way.

The tables were lined up on two sides of the room, with Knowlton standing behind one set and Graham behind the other. Cards covered all available space. Knowlton was handing out his daubers to everyone in arm’s reach. His collection was extensive and he remained convinced special daubers contributed as much to his luck as the troll dolls and ritualistic rubbing ever would.

Graham, on the other hand, had inspired pity among other members of the bingo brigade. They had lined up behind his table with advice and daubers of their own.

“What’s going on here?” I asked Myra Phelps. Myra may have taken the night off from her police dispatch duties but she was never out of gossip mode.

“Your grandfather announced that you love Piper’s sausage so much that you would probably follow the winner home and sit on their doorstep until they felt sorry for you and let you in to sample the goods.”

“He what?” I felt my face flush and my flight-not-fight impulse swell up inside me.

“He sure did. I can’t believe you didn’t hear him.”

“I was in the bathroom”

“That explains it.”

“But that doesn’t explain what happened to the tables. And the bingo competitors.”

“Everybody bought out all the available cards. As a matter of fact your grandmother ran down to the town office and printed off a few dozen extras. Then everyone gave them to either Graham or Knowlton. There are far too many for them to keep track of themselves so everyone has chosen a favorite and is helping to mark them.”

“They didn’t.” This was humiliating. It was one thing for your own family to get themselves tangled up in your love life, but for the majority of the town to weigh in as well was too darn much.

“They did. And I happen to know Bob Sterling is in charge of a side-bet pool. But don’t go getting all worked up. It’s all in good fun and the winnings will be split fifty-fifty with the opera house fund.

“I can’t believe this.” I couldn’t but it was instructive. It was clear to see where everyone stood on the issue of my love life and whether they were on Team Knowlton or Team Graham. Myra finished talking to me and went over to join Tansey at Knowlton’s table near Celadon and Pastor Gifford’s wife, Lisette. Loden, Roland Chick, and Phoebe, stood near Graham. My grandmother wisely kept out of the fray. Grampa did his best to stir things up from the stage.

I headed over to where Bob, the only full-time EMT on the ambulance squad, was deep into a transaction with Dean Hayes. By spring Piper will have cast him off like an Icelandic sweater in a heat wave but for now they were a hot item. Why no one spent their time trying to get Piper married off instead of me I’ll never understand. She’s eligible, attractive, and runs her own business. She also might pay a contract killer to handle anyone who would meddle in her life the way people delighted in stomping around in mine. At least that was the kind of vibe my heavily tattooed, pierced, and purple-haired friend gave off and this probably explained the difference in how we were treated.