Nipped in the Bud (22 page)

“What’re you doing back here?” he asked in a sleepy tone.

“Sorry, Charlie,” I said and winced when I realized I’d inadvertently mimed the tuna commercial’s tone of voice. “We need to use the bathroom, quick. Hazel feels like she might throw up.”

I nudged her, and she quickly caught on, making a few retching sounds.

Charlie’s face blanched. “So what are you waiting for? Get in there, then.” He shook his head.

I held in my laughter and pushed Hazel into the ladies’ room. With the door closed, neither of us could keep from breaking up. I hadn’t had this much fun since I was a kid.

“How long do you think we need to stay in here?” I leaned against the door as the automatic freshener sprayed the air with a tangy orange scent.

Hazel followed my lead and wedged her bottom onto the stained porcelain sink. It groaned from her weight, and she stood upright.
“Doesn’t take long to barf.
We could go out anytime, and Charlie would believe us. Do you think the other guys saw us and followed us here?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine they would. We should probably wait a few minutes to be sure.”

“At least we heard the truth. Bud was paying them to keep quiet.” In a burst of excitement, Hazel grabbed my arms, pulling me from the door and dancing us around the tiny space.

I let her lead until she tired and sagged against a wall. “I guess that’s good news. Still, it doesn’t prove one of them killed Bud.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “I say we check out their alibis for the time Bud was killed. The question is
,
how do we search out their alibis without tipping them off to the fact that we know what they did?”

I thought about the men and saw them marching off to their jobs the morning of the murder. There were only five of them, not the full contingent of seven dwarfs, but still a picture of the dwarfs singing, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go,” marched through my brain.

I shook out the vision. “Their alibis might be hard to come by since Roger is the only one who works a regular nine-to-five job. Maybe we should just come right out and tell them what we know and ask where they were when Bud was killed.”

“Might spook them, and we’ll never find out what we need to know.”

I ran the men through my mind again. Dopey, Grumpy, Sleepy, wait Sleepy. “Maybe we should start with Walt, the one man who didn’t want to go along with the group.”

Her eyes tightened, and she raised a skeptical brow.

“Look, Hazel,” I said, letting a burst of passion heat up my words. “I know it’s a long shot, but I can’t wait around and play it safe. I have to find out who killed Bud before Mitch makes good on his threat to arrest me.” I checked my watch. “Let’s go back to the shop and work on the containers. That’ll give Walt time to go over to the bowling alley and get settled for the day. Then I’ll go over there. I’ll say I was walking by and needed one of their pizzas. While I wait for it to cook, I’ll feel him out.”

“Okay. Be careful. We might not get a second chance.” Hazel flushed the toilet and grinned. “In case Charlie can hear it.”

I watched the water swirl around and disappear down the drain. Walt had to have information about the killer. He just had to or my life might be flushed away, too.

After our close encounter of the dwarf kind, we went to The Garden Gate to work on the containers. They hadn’t arrived, so I sent Teri home. Hazel set up for the weekend traffic, making space for some of the containers up front. When we did get them planted, we could slip the pots into the display area we created. I went to the office to follow up on other leads.

I searched through my bag and located Stacey’s résumé. The Beaverton Library was her last place of employment. I located the library’s phone number online and dialed. The receptionist transferred me to the city of
Beaverton
human resources, who handled all employment verifications.

“Hi, I’m calling to confirm employment,” I said in my professional tone. “Could you verify Stacey Darling’s employment at the Beaverton Library?”

“I’m sorry. We don’t give out that kind of information without a release from the person in question.” She might as well have been a recording for all the inflection she failed to put in her voice.

“Oh, please. I just want to confirm she worked there from 1996 through 2000.”

Sigh. “I wish I could help but that’s confidential.” Her tone was growing irritated.

“Can you tell me if she worked there at all?”

“Who did you say this was?”

Busted.
“I didn’t. Thank you for your time.” I hung up and moved down the list of employers, who I discovered were equally familiar with employment laws. In our lawsuit-happy culture, few businesses today would risk giving out information without written consent.

Striking out on the job front, I located the college Web page where Stacey supposedly received her master of library science. I first confirmed that such a degree was conferred at this university and then located alumni services. No point in contacting the school. They wouldn’t give info over the phone. I found an online community where I posted a notice asking if anyone knew Stacey during the years she attended school there. I would check back in the next few days to see if anyone recognized her name.

Frustrated by more dead ends, I went to help Hazel until it was time to question Walt. In a way, the work was therapeutic. Hours of digging in the soil and arranging plants gave me time to brainstorm ideas on what to do next in my Stacey quest and think through my strategy for confronting Walt.

Now, as I opened the outer door of the Serendipity Bowl prepared to do battle, I reminded myself that Walt was a gentleman, usually levelheaded and not a conniving money grabber, but, and this was a big but, my plan was to out a blackmailer. Levelheaded or not, our confrontation might not end well. Resolved to dig up as much dirt as possible, I pulled open the inner door.

Typical bowling alley odors hit me in the face and threatened to permeate my skin. I momentarily regretted my decision to choose the bowling kingpin as my first interrogation victim. Still, I could bathe and eradicate any smell that clung to me. I couldn’t bathe and eradicate a prison sentence.

I momentarily regretted my decision to choose the bowling kingpin as my first interrogation victim. Still, I could bathe and eradicate the smell that would cling to me. I couldn’t bathe and eradicate a prison sentence.

Walt, a silo of a man, stood behind the shoe rental counter, another spot that rated high on my “
ick
” factor. Who wanted to put their feet into shoes worn over and over again by virtual strangers?
Even if they were disinfected.
In one shovel-sized hand, Walt held an aerosol can, in the other, a large two-toned shoe. He gave quick spurts of the spray into the shoe.

The door slammed behind me. He looked up and arched a brow ever so slightly. “Well, Paige.
Can’t say I’m surprised to see you.”

“I just had to have a pizza, Walt,” I said, trying to sound as if I was really starving.

He set the shoe and can on the counter. “I know you like our pizzas, but let’s cut to the chase, Paige. We saw you and Hazel running down the alley, so I reckon you’re really here to find out what I know about Fulcrum.”

My mouth dropped into a big fly-catching cavern.

He chuckled.
“Right.
How about we go to the break room? I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but flipped up the hinged section of the counter and lumbered toward the far end of the long room. I picked my chin up from the floor and followed, sidestepping another employee who rolled a dolly with cases of beverages toward the bar area. The sound of balls rushing down the alley and crashing into pins was absent. Wednesday night was league night, and the sessions didn’t start for another forty-five minutes.

The ten-by-ten space of the break room was just large enough to hold a counter with a sink and a round table surrounded by chairs that had more duct tape holding the seats together than vinyl. The laminate table, a bright yellow with sparkly flecks, had obviously been through many years of bowling wars. It held cigarette burns as testament to its years of service. Fortunately, the tiny room smelled only of the rich aroma of fine coffee.

“Go ahead, sit,” Walt said, his tone friendly. He washed his hands, thank goodness, and grabbed a full coffeepot. “You take cream or sugar?”

“Black is good,” I answered as I selected the least cracked vinyl chair and sat.

He brought over two white mugs. “I’m not sure how much of this story you know, but I’m tired of keeping it quiet. I’m going to let it all out once and for all. That okay with you?”

Feeling a little guilty at not having to pry out the details—or maybe I was disappointed at the lack of challenge—I accepted the mug and nodded.

He dropped his heavy weight onto a cushion that wheezed out a steady stream of air until he’d shifted around and finally settled. “First let me say that Bud
Picklemann
, no matter his underhanded methods, has been good for this town. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. He brought more jobs and commerce to Serendipity than anyone in our history, and
I
think he’s the reason the town is still viable. Now, that said, he was a rascal.” Walt shook his head sorrowfully. “What you want to know about is the day Ida Carlson’s daughter came to our council meeting. She was mad.
Boy,
was she mad. Told
Picklemann
off like a pro, she did.
Also told all of us that
Picklemann
owned the land through his company, Fulcrum.
She even brought papers to prove it.” Walt stopped and sipped his coffee. “Well, I tell you, that
was
like dropping a bomb. Gus took over like he always does and talked to the woman. Don’t know what he said to her, but she left.”

“He threatened her and her mother,” I blurted out. “Nancy Kimble told me that.”

He shook his head again. “I’m real sorry to hear that. All these years I thought
Picklemann
was paying her off like he was paying us off. I’d hoped Ida was being compensated that way.” He stopped and stared into the open doorway.

I watched for a while, growing antsy. “What happened after she left?”

“Chaos broke out. Now, I’m not usually a leader, but I felt real strongly that if this news got out, people might boycott working at the factory. We needed that place. It was time we provided jobs for our kids so they didn’t have to go elsewhere.” His tone bordered on televangelist zeal.

“You sound like you really believe that.”

“I do. My oldest son, Billy, works with me, but I didn’t have enough business to keep the other two employed. They’re both in
Portland
. Don’t see them or their kids as much as I’d like.” Another long drag on his cup until a faraway look cleared from his eyes. “So anyway, as I tried to convince the men to let the ownership thing go, forget all about it,
Picklemann
pops up and promises to pay each of us five hundred dollars a month not to tell. Well, I tell you, I didn’t have to say another word to the men. That was the end of the discussion, and
Picklemann
came through with cash every month.”

I leaned forward, careful not to touch the germ-laden table. “You said at the hardware store that if this came out in the open it might help solve the murder. What did you mean by that?”

Walt lowered his coffee and slowly twirled the liquid. “I didn’t mean anything in particular. I just thought that maybe this was all tied together somehow. If we told Chief Lawson the truth, we might expose the killer.”

“So if you had to choose, which one of the council members do you think might have done Bud in?”

“Now, Paige. I think you’re misunderstanding me. I’ve had the pleasure of serving on the council for years with these men. They all took money for the wrong reason, but I would bet my own life that none of them had a thing to do with
Picklemann’s
death. And if their reputations don’t convince you, think about it. Why would any of us kill the source of a monthly payment?
Picklemann
paid every month, right on time, and never hinted that he might stop.”

“What if one of the men got greedy?
Or had problems with his finances and asked for more money?”

Walt shook his head. “In a town this small, I’d a heard if one of the guys was hurting. And why after ten years of a good deal would someone want to make a change? No, I think
Picklemann
was killed because of something more current.”

Unfortunately for me, Walt made complete sense.
“Any ideas?”

He sat back and pondered my question. “I watch those CSI shows all the time. Seems like money is the number one reason people are killed. I know
Picklemann
was struggling with Charlie Sweeny over something. I don’t mean to imply Charlie’s capable of murder, simply that he’s been different since his son died.”

“What were they struggling over?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice, but there it was, thick and heavy in my words.
The hope that this might be
the
clue.

“I don’t know for sure, but
Picklemann
was working on the
Leever
deal to buy up land right outside town. You hear about that?”