Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 02 - Apple Pots and Funeral Plots (12 page)

“Five minutes to eat as much as you can.”

“It’s really gross,” Kate added.
“Grown men
and women
stuffing their faces with food, half of it falling out and then they stuff it back in again.
Disgusting!”

Ted looked at her.
“No it’s not.”

She put her hand on his arm.
“Yes it is, but I still like you anyway.”

He smiled.
“Okay.”
He went back to devouring his rice.

Kate rolled her eyes and looked at me.
“Sometimes men are such babies.
Always needing constant reassurance.”

I wanted to tell her that Ted was a boy and that most men didn’t need that much reassuring, but I just nodded and let the comment go.
It was a good thing Tom wasn’t here or she’d be in for an argument.
He’d argue that men only whine because they know that women need to reassure them.
I’d have to admit that Tom was pretty self-reliant and didn’t need much encouragement to make him feel secure.
After all, he was a cop; he already felt superior to almost everyone.
It was one of those little aggravating qualities I tried to ignore.

Kate and Ted
talked
about each of the preliminary contests and how much of each food he could consume in the thirty seconds.
I glanced over and in the corner was the booth for Pete’s Kitchen Shop.
It was very plain compared to the rest of the booths.
No decorations, just a simple sign and a table filled with apple pots.
I wondered how much those special pots costs.

I got up from the table.
“I’m going to go look at a few more of the booths.
Do you want to come?”

“No, they’re the same every year.”
Kate shook her head.
“We’re going to the carnival rides.”

“Please be careful.”

“They’re the safest rides around,” Ted protested as he got up from the table.

Kate leaned toward me.
“We stay away from the ones that actually go high into the air.
I don’t think they’re that safe.”

I patted her on the arm and smiled.
“Smart girl.”

Kate and Ted took off in the direction of the carnival rides and I went to the corner to check out Pete’s Kitchen shop.
Mayor Brian Galan
stood in
the booth
and spoke
to a pair of gentlemen.
I’d never seen so many tattoos in my entire life.
Both men were covered with them.
They
stood
to the right of the booth, so I went over to the left and picked up a pot.
It was a beautiful maroon color.
Both handles were inlaid with gold and the bottom was stamped, “Made in
South America
.”
No price was visible anywhere.

Mayor Galan and the men shook hands.
When they left, he came over to me.
“Well, good afternoon.
Liza, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I make it my business to know everyone who comes to my town for our festival.”

He stuck out his hand and I set down the pot and shook his hand.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Liza.”

“Likewise.”

His smile broadened and he pointed to all the rides and booths.
“What do you think of our little festival so far?”

“It seems very nice.”

“And big, too?”

“Yes, it’s very big.”

“We pride ourselves on being one of the largest festivals in
Oregon
.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you probably are.”
I held up another pot.
It was turquoise with a silver inlaid handle and asked, “How much is this?”

“It’s not for sale.”

“I thought all of the apple pots were for sale.”

“No, I’m only a wholesale distributor.
Unless you’ve got a wholesale license, I can’t sell you any of my pots.”

“But I don’t see any other booths with such exquisite pots.”

“You’re right, I’ve got the best.
But still I can’t sell you one.”

“I’ve never seen these pots in any store.
Who buys them?”

“Specialty shops all over the country, and even a few shops in
Europe
.”

I held up the pot.
“Come on, just sell me one.”

He snatched it out of my hands.
“No can do.
You wouldn’t want me to do anything against the law, would you?”

“No, I guess not.
Can you give me the name of some of the shops that sell this type of apple pot in
California
?
I’d love to have one.”

“My client list is confidential.”

“But I really want one.”
I was whining, I knew, but it seemed unreasonable that I couldn’t buy a pot.
It was probably way over my budget, but this was more like a struggle of wills rather than an issue about the pot.

“Then you’ll have to go to specialty shops in your area and look for them.”
And he put all of the pots under the counter.

“You don’t display them?”

“No, I only had them out for my last distributor to look at.”
He smiled smugly.
“They stay under the counter because I don’t want to tempt the general public.”

I turned in a huff and walked away from the booth.
I could hear that stupid mayor snickering behind me.
He called after me, “It was nice meeting you, Liza.”

I didn’t even turn around, just waved and kept going.
His laughter got louder.
I wanted to wipe that smug little smile off his face.

Chapter 13

Shelby and I headed back to the library booth.
I knew Edith didn’t think much of the mayor either, so I’d have a good ear for my ranting about that man.
When I arrived, she was gone.
A sign was taped to the front of the booth saying that she was at lunch and would return in an hour.
I shrugged and wandered by the next few booths

While I walked, I wondered what had happened to Danielle’s journal.
There hadn’t been anything about it in any of the articles I’d read, and Jimmy hadn’t mentioned it either.
Unlike her, I never keep notes about my investigations.
On my computer I had a copy of the original news report about Danielle’s death and the article Justin had sent me but other than that, everything I knew was in my head.
Writing some of it down was probably not such a bad idea.
It was easy to forget things if you didn’t keep track of them.

The next booth sold journals.
They were exquisite.
Some were covered in satin and lace, others had wooden covers engraved with animals or celestial shapes.
Maybe it was an omen since I was just thinking about starting to take notes on my investigation.
I examined a few journals.
It was hard to choose.
Each one was unique.

A young man stepped forward.
“Do you like my journals?”

I smiled at him.
“Yes, I do.”

He stuck out his hand.
“My name is Don.”

Everyone in this town was certainly friendly.
I shook his hand and said, “Mine’s Liza.”

“
Bill
’s new friend.”

Gossip traveled fast in this town, too.
“Yes.”

“He said you’re looking into that teacher’s death.”

“Yes.”

“She was a nice lady.
I have a card store downtown and she bought a journal from me.”

“Her red one?”

“Yeah.”

I pointed to the journals.
“These are really nice.”

“Thanks.”
His smile broadened, clearly proud of his craft.
“I make them all by hand.”

I picked up several and turned them over in my hands.
“It’s hard to choose one.”

“Here’s what I recommend.”
He took the two journals out of my hand and set them down.
“The insides are the same.
It’s the outside that has to speak to you.
Just look at them all, touch a few that appeal to you, then you’ll have picked one.”

“Okay.”
I did as he said, really looking at each individual journal.
I touched a few that had dogs engraved on them but moved on.
It was hard not to handle the ones covered in velour and fur, but I moved past them, too.
Finally I came to the last table.
None of them had spoken to me, as the man had suggested.
Maybe I wasn’t the “journal speaking to me” type.

Then I spotted it.
It was baby blue with white clouds embroidered on the front.
The sun was peeking out from one of the clouds and its sunbeams stretched over the journal.
My first thought was of my mom and dad and how they loved flying above the clouds.
My mom used to say that flying was like visiting God and seeing the sun shining made her feel warm all over.
They were both gone now, but the journal made me feel close to them.

I picked it up.
“I’ll take this one.”

He took the journal and started wrapping it in tissue paper.
“You didn’t think you’d find one, did you?”

I shook my head.

“It’s always the same.
People look and some walk right by, but others look and then their eye catches the one for them.”
He put the journal into a white paper bag with handles and smiled.
“I hope the journal brings you many hours of happiness.”

“Thanks.”
I started to leave and then turned back.
“Did Danielle tell you why she bought the red journal?”

“Yes.
She said that her parents were dead and the lacy white cover made her remember the handmade doilies her mom loved to make.”

I held up the bag that held my journal.
“Mine reminds me of my mom, too.”

“Mothers and daughters.
They often have a bond that transcends death.”

“I hope so.
My mom’s been gone a long time.
I’d like to think she’s up there watching over me.”

“Somebody has to be.
Haven’t you ever started to do something or go someplace and then just stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s your mom pulling you back.”

“I’d like to think so.”
I waved at him and continued past the next set of booths.

I wasn’t interested in copper or ceramic dishes, so I kept going.
The fifth booth had seven apple pots displayed. They were much more elaborate than the plain ones I already owned.
All of them were dark colors with ribbing around the pot and the handles were inlaid with silver or gold.
Maybe these were for sale.
The lady was busy trying to sell another woman a purple pot, so I picked up the pot nearest me.
It was black with silver inlaid handles and it said, “Made in
South America
” on the bottom.
It also listed a price of fifty dollars.

The other woman put down the purple pot, shook her head, and walked away from the booth.
The lady selling the pots came over to me.

“Aren’t these pots lovely?”

“Yes, they are.”

She gestured toward the pots.
“These are the only ones I have left.
They sell pretty fast.”

“They’re much nicer than the ones that you get with the cobbler in them everywhere in town.”

The lady smiled broadly.
“Oh, yes.
These are just like the ones that you can’t buy unless you’re a wholesaler.
But I have to tell you that these are all strictly decorative pots.
They cannot be used to make the apple cobbler.”

“Why not?”

“The bottoms won’t hold together.”
She showed me the bottom of a black pot.

I could see a small crease that went all the way around the bottom.
These must be seconds or pots with imperfections.
“If these pots are defective, then why are they so expensive?”

She pointed to the handles.
“It’s because of the silver and gold inlaid in the handle.
But even if the pot didn’t have that crease, you couldn’t cook in it.
None of the pots with silver or gold can be cooked in.
The metal would get into the food.”

“What about the pots with the jewels on the sides?”

“You can’t cook in them either.
Not because the jewels would get into the food, but because the glue holding the stones to the side of the pot would melt and they would fall off.”

“Where do you get these pots?”

“Pete’s Kitchen Shop.
When he receives a shipment he goes through each piece.
Any that are damaged he sells to me.
I usually only get ten to fourteen pots.”
She pointed to the pots again.
“And these seven are all I have left.”

She was definitely a good saleswoman.
But I had a few more questions.
I glanced at the pots she had displayed on her table.
“Why are all of your pots so dark?”

“It seems that the only ones I ever get are the darker colors.
Maybe whoever is making the lighter colored ones doesn’t make as many mistakes.”
She pointed to the black pot in front of me.
“Do you still want to buy it?”

“Yes.”
It was a beautiful pot, and what were chances I
would
cook in the other three that I’d gotten?
Maybe if I gave them to Tom, he’d cook in them.
He loves to cook.
And I’m just as willing to be the clean-up crew when he does.

The lady wrapped the pot in tissue paper and put it into another white paper bag with a handle.
Now I
carried
around three bags, and together they were getting heavy.
I decided to drive back to the inn and get rid of my bags.
Besides, I had seven days to see all of the booths and I was starting to stiffen up from all the walking.
I could use a couple of the pills the doctor had given me for my aches and pains from the accident and maybe, a little nap.

On the way back to Kate’s car, I spotted Jimmy talking to Bill by the eating contests booths.

Bill waved and I walked over.
“Are you finding lots of things to buy, Liza?”

“Of course.
I always do.”
I looked over at Jimmy and asked, “Did you check into those files for me?”

“No, not yet.
I’ve been too busy patrolling the fairgrounds today.”

“What files?”
Bill asked his brother.

“Never mind,” Jimmy said.

“Did you make that sign?” I asked.

Jimmy laughed.
“Yes, a big one.”

Bill looked from Jimmy to me.
“What sign?”

“Never mind,” Jimmy replied again.

“Hey!
Don’t treat me like I’m not even here.”
Bill said, his tone elevated and his words curt.

I put my hand on Bill’s arm.
“I tried to fall into the hole where Sally’s house used to be this morning.
Your brother practically saved me from tumbling in.”

“What were you doing there?”
Bill asked.

“Just looking.
Several people told me about the fire and I wanted to see the hole for myself.
I’m afraid I got a little too close to the edge.”

“First the car accident and then almost falling into a hole.
You need to be more careful, Liza.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“How’s your investigation going?”
Jimmy asked.

“I haven’t really learned very much.
But did anyone ever find Danielle’s journal?”

Bill piped in first.
“I’d forgotten about that thing.
She was always writing in it.”

Jimmy shook his head.
“I don’t remember seeing anything about it in the report and it wasn’t part of her personal things that they sent back to her aunt.”

“That’s weird.
It should have been in her hotel room with her.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Could she have given it to someone in the town?”

“I don’t know who.”
Then Jimmy looked at his brother.
“What about you, Bill?
Do you think anyone in town might have Danielle’s journal?”

“Not that I know of.
Maybe
Edith
?
They spent a lot of time together.”

“No, Edith thought it was sent back to Danielle’s aunt.”

“Maybe one of the maids in the inn took it,” Jimmy suggested.
“I know the inn has dismissed a few maids for stealing from the rooms.”

Bill nodded.
“That’s probably it.”

“Maybe.”
I shrugged.
Another convenient answer?
I held up my three bags.
“Well, I’m back to the inn to get rid of my bags.”

“What are you doing for dinner, Liza?”
Bill asked.

“I don’t have any plans, yet.”

“It’s Kate’s night to cook, so I’d love someone to come and be tortured with me.”

I laughed.
“I’d love to.”
I waved to both men and went to the park
ing lot
in search of Kate’s car.
I have a terrible sense of direction, so it took me
a few minutes to locate it
.
It was a good thing it had an ala
rm button on the key ring or I would
have never found it.

Shelby and I went back to the inn.
She went directly to her food and water dishes while I set my new apple pot on the table by the front door.
That’s when I noticed it.
My laptop was on the round table by the window.

I hadn’t left it there, had I?
I thought I’d put it away in my bag and then put the bag into the closet.
I walked over to the laptop.
It was still warm.
I’d been gone quite a while.
Even if I had left it on the table, it shouldn’t be warm.
Maybe the sun had come in through the window and shone on my laptop.
Or had someone been in my room and looked at my files?
Did someone wonder about my investigation into Danielle’s death?
Was I getting close to something and didn’t even know it?