Stiffs and Swine (5 page)

James looked at the girl and allowed his gaze to soften slightly. His tone conversational, he continued. “This officer is also devoted to tracking down each and every fake license in the county. She truly wants to keep all of the drivers within our county safe, and those possessing false licenses are often some of the worst drivers, due to their inexperience.”

The girl blanched. James had struck a nerve by mentioning fake licenses. Silently apologizing to Lucy for taking such liberties in her name, he plowed on. “You know, I believe you could spend six months in jail for carrying one of those licenses.” James flicked his eyes back to the boy, who continued to act disinterested, but his fidgety hands belied his agitation.

“A person could face a fine
and
a year’s time in jail for making and distributing fake IDs,” James concluded.

At this opportune moment, a hulking young man wearing a thin leather coat and walking with a cowboylike swagger entered the library. His hair was dark, long, and greasy, his skin shone with oil, and he was clean-shaven except for a straight line of hair growing down the center of his chin. The hair had been dyed orange. In addition to the odd facial hair, the imposing young man had a row of small silver hoops protruding from his right eyebrow and a barbed-wire tattoo encircling his wrist.

This must be Martin Trotman
, James thought, recalling how the twins had described the leader of the teenage assemblage. James casually approached Mrs. Waxman and pretended to consult her about a damaged book. As they talked, he asked her to watch Martin without being obvious. Mrs. Waxman patted her bouffant hair as she reported in hushed tones that Martin had usurped the chair of the girl in the miniskirt. The girl then whispered into Martin’s ear and the mature-looking young man scowled.

“He’s staring this way,” Mrs. Waxman murmured. “At the back of your head. He doesn’t seem too pleased, either.”

“I think he’s the ringleader and that some of these kids have been dealing in fake IDs.” James puffed out his chest, quite pleased that he had solved the mystery of the teenagers so quickly. “I doubt Martin does any of the labor himself. I’d guess the girl in the short skirt is one of his assistants. He must be in charge of fulfilling orders and collecting money.”

Mrs. Waxman mulled over his theory. “It’s possible. But how many of these IDs can one kid need? These teens are here week after week.”

James frowned. “I’m not sure. I guess they’re using the licenses to try to buy alcohol or get served at bars. Not around here though,” he snorted. “Sammy down at Wilson’s Tavern would throw them out on their ears and
then
call their parents.”

“On the other hand, this could be quite an entrepreneurial group we’re looking at here.” Mrs. Waxman eyed Martin again. “Perhaps they’re selling the IDs to other delinquents around the Valley. There are a lot of kids who would like to try to pull one over on the liquor stores or less observant barkeeps.”

Rubbing his temple, which had begun to throb with the beginnings of a headache, James glanced at the door in time to see a scrawny teen with glasses and acne enter the library. The boy furtively slipped a book in the return slot and then edged his way to where Martin sat. James hustled behind the circulation desk and removed the eight-hundred-page fantasy book that the teen had returned.

I believe Harris has entered the picture,
James thought. Scott had mentioned that Harris liked fantasy novels but had recently displayed some odd behavior when the other teens were present on Friday evenings. Curious about the conflicted young man, James watched as the anxious-looking boy settled himself at a wooden table by the magazines and absurdly pretended to read a copy of
Dog Fancy.

James kept one eye on Martin and the other on the rest of his patrons, but as the evening wore on, he found that he could only find cause to reprimand the teens for raising their voices or putting their feet up on top of the wooden tables.

Martin seemed restless for the entirety of the two hours he spent in the library. He often disappeared into the lobby, and although James immediately trotted into his office and looked out the window whenever the young man ventured out, he never saw Martin in the parking lot.

“Where’s he going if not to his car?” James murmured to the darkening sky.

By the time the library closed at nine, most of the high school kids had dispersed. Martin had left first and then slowly, usually in groups of two or three, the rest followed.

“They were calmer tonight than on other nights, James,” Mrs. Waxman said after the last patron had left. She began to straighten the magazine area with swift, efficient movements. Mrs. Waxman was one of the few townsfolk who didn’t call James ‘Professor.’ After all, he had once sat in the back of her classroom, praying that her eagle eyes would pass him over whenever he forgot his grammar worksheets, and he still felt like a child in her formidable presence.

James assisted the retired schoolteacher in tidying up the library. Mrs. Waxman was moving more slowly than she had in the past. She had recently been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, and he worried that the evenings and one weekend day she worked were too hard on her inflamed hip.

Opening the front door for her, he asked how her medication was working.

“I won’t be dancing the polka anytime soon, but it’s keeping the aches at bay.” She gave James a maternal pat on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of years left in me yet, and I’m going to work in this library until I can’t walk anymore.” She smiled. “I’m at home here.”

James nodded. “Me too,” he said, gazing happily at the vibrant row of fairy-tale character drawings done by the students in a local second-grade class, which Scott and Francis had posted around the lobby. “And now that those high school kids know we’re onto them, we can go back to having our peaceful branch again.”

Mrs. Waxman shrugged. “I don’t know. I rather enjoyed being in the midst of a mystery for once.”

James walked the older woman to her car. “The best thing about mysteries is solving them.
This
one is definitely solved,” he said brightly and wished Mrs. Waxman good night.

James and Bennett
drove through the town of Hudsonville in search of Fox Hall Lane. The bustling town was bigger than James had imagined, and it was utterly charming. Wooden barrels stuffed with red geraniums, yellow strawflowers, and purple salvia lined the sidewalks. The spotless glass windows of the storefronts glinted in the midday sun and colorful flags depicting a crowned pig seated in a field dappled by dandelions and thistle hung from every streetlamp. Pink balloons floated from the backs of green park benches and there wasn’t a parking space in sight. James couldn’t help but note the variety of the vehicles. They ranged from expensive sedans to family-oriented minivans to rusty pickup trucks, and the cars bore local license plates as well as those from states as far off as Arkansas and Kansas.

Bennett rolled down his window and the sound of a jaunty fiddle tune floated into the Bronco. Shopkeepers wearing pink and black baseball caps had set tables with special Hog Fest wares onto the sidewalk. Families browsed the tables or hurriedly tried to finish ice cream cones before the summer heat reduced them to sugary puddles.

The energy of the street fair was contagious, and James was eager to check in at their bed and breakfast so that he and his friends could wander around Hudsonville before the festival’s opening ceremony later that afternoon.

“There’s your turn.” Bennett pointed ahead at a signpost partially obscured by a mammoth oak tree. He examined the sheet containing their driving directions for the tenth time and then gestured at the odometer. “After 2.7 miles, we’ll see the sign for the inn. We turn left, and then proceed .7 miles to the gravel parking lot.” He swiveled in his seat. “The girls are still right behind us. I’m sure glad everyone was able to get a couple days off.”

“Did you bring any homework?” James asked, keeping an eye out for the sign.

Bennett nodded. “Man, I sure did. I’ve got a book on world culture trivia, a book on bird trivia, and a book on sports trivia.” He snorted. “Shoot, my bag was so heavy you’d think I was a woman gettin’ ready to fly to Paris instead of a bachelor headin’ out for a weekend of barbecue.”

James spotted a modest wooden plaque bearing the name
The Inn at Fox Hall
. He turned into a narrow lane lined with tulip poplars. Though the large, mature trees were not in bloom, James could visualize how magnificent they must look in May. He pictured the tulip-shaped flowers, which were green and had a band of orange on each of the five petals. James had always thought that the blooms resembled a fox’s face, and he couldn’t think of a more appropriate tree to grace the entryway of an inn called Fox Hall.

As the house came into view, Bennett whistled. “Man, we’ve got some nice digs for a bunch of small-town celebs here to decide who’s the fairest piggy of them all.”

“It’s certainly picturesque,” James commented as they drew closer to the nineteenth-century house, which was painted white with black shutters and had a long front porch lined with potted ferns. “But I hope it’s been updated. If we don’t have any air conditioning, I’ll be checking into the Comfort Inn instead. I can drown out the sounds of the highway by cranking the fan to its highest setting.”

“Hog Fest is pretty huge in these parts, my man. I don’t think you could find room in a shed if you wanted to.” Bennett examined his printouts again. “According to the inn’s website, it was renovated five years ago. All the rooms have A/C, Jacuzzi tubs, and digital cable. And if the A/C doesn’t do it for you, there’s a big ole swimming pool out back.”

Thinking of how his enlarged belly would look in a swimsuit, James shook his head. “I’ll stick with the Jacuzzi tub, thanks.”

James parked his white Bronco in the gravel lot and waited as Lucy pulled her Jeep into the adjacent spot.

“This is a
paradise
!” Gillian exclaimed as she alit from the car, twirling around with her arms spread à la Julie Andrews in
The Sound of Music
. “I am
so
glad I decided to
release
my misgivings and join you, my friends.” She pointed at a rustic wooden sign to the right of the parking area. “Look! Nature trails! An indigenous garden walk! The pond and gazebo! You’ll
never
get me back in the car.”

Bennett glanced at his watch. “There’s also a welcome lunch today bein’ served on the back porch. I’m more interested in food than in some mosquito-infested pond right now. If we hurry, we can just make it.”

“I’m ready to eat, too.” Lindy dragged an enormous suitcase onto the flagstone path leading up to the main house. “I wonder if we’re staying in the house or in one of those darling cabins over there.”

James glanced at the miniature log cabins in the distance, which were almost entirely obscured by trees. His eyes then returned to Lindy’s bag. “We’re only here for four days, Lindy. What on earth have you got in there? A small child? Or did you decided to bring your boyfriend with you after all?”

Bennett sniggered as Lindy stuck her tongue out at James. “Hey, they invited us here because we’re kind of heroes to them. I consider it my responsibility to look the part.”

Lucy grabbed Lindy’s suitcase and shoved the handle of her much smaller wheeled bag into Lindy’s hand. “I see you’ve got a new French manicure, too. You’d better let me carry this or you could chip the polish.” Lucy pulled the suitcase effortlessly up the path.

“Wow, you’re really strong,” Gillian said as Lucy easily lifted the bulging bag up the front steps. “Are you
channeling
some kind of
inner
power?”

Smiling indulgently at her friend, Lucy replied, “Nothing complicated like that. I’ve been eating a lot of lean proteins and doing strength-training workouts.”

“A protein diet?” Bennett immediately perked up. “That means a whole lotta meat, right?”

Opening the wide front door, Lucy stepped inside the inn’s main hall and waited for her friends to join her. “It’s not a diet. You don’t count calories or anything. It’s just a way of eating. It makes me feel good and I have a lot of energy.” She patted her nearly flat stomach. “I’ve been trying to work on my balance by strengthening my core.”

“Forget about that. I’m not gonna be on a balance beam anytime soon. What about the meat part?” Bennett persisted, but before Lucy could continue, the proprietress of the inn appeared in the hall and welcomed them with a professional smile.

“Y’all must be my celebrity guests,” the slim, elegant woman gushed. “I’m Eleanor Fiennes and I am
so
honored to have you staying here.” James found her warmth a bit forced, and as he gazed at her shiny brown hair and narrow, darting eyes, he couldn’t help comparing the lithe woman to a ferret. Pulling two sets of keys from the top drawer of an antique desk, Eleanor handed one key to James and one to Lindy. “I’ve got you two gentlemen in the Hunt Room and you ladies in the Equestrian Suite.”

James stared at the weighty brass tag stamped with the image of a fox head and then met Bennett’s eyes.

“Hope you don’t mind the light bein’ on ’til real late.” Bennett grinned. “I can’t take time off from my studies.”

“Um, excuse me.” Lindy cleared her throat as she held out her key. “Are all three of us sharing one bathroom?”

Eleanor Fiennes nodded. “That’s the best I could do, I’m afraid. Why, this inn’s been booked for Hog Fest weekend since last year! I had to push a whole family into one of my older cabins simply to accommodate you five on such incredibly short notice.” She grinned humorlessly. “Fortunately, a few tickets to the festival stopped them from being dissatisfied.”

Sensing that she had offended their hostess, Lindy immediately backpedaled. “Oh, we really appreciate that, Mrs. Fiennes, and we are grateful to be staying at your beautiful inn. Thank you so much for your trouble.”

Eleanor eyed the suitcase on the floor next to Lucy. “Can you manage your luggage?” When Lucy nodded, the proprietress looked relieved. “Good, good. Well, your rooms are on the second floor and lunch is being served as we speak, so shake out the wrinkles in your clothes and come on down for some of our famous hot chicken salad sandwiches.”

James was quite hungry, and the idea of lunch was more appealing than spending more than a few minutes examining his room. As it turned out, there wasn’t much to see in any case. The room was masculine and had a set of twin beds covered by ivory quilts stitched with maroon stars. The walls were a forest green and held three oil paintings depicting fox hunts. James had never been fond of the idea of a pack of dogs and a group of armed horsemen tracking down and cornering a terrified fox. He viewed foxes as beautiful and clever animals and wished that the tradition of shooting them for sport had become illegal years before it actually did.

As James hung up his favorite jeans and two pairs of khaki pants, Bennett dumped a pile of books on the single nightstand and poked his head into the bathroom.

“Kinda feels like home,” he said, pleased with their cozy room.

Without wasting any more time, the two friends hustled downstairs and out the back door where the wooden porch was crowded with glass-top tables, white metal chairs, and dozens of guests, all chewing contentedly or drinking tea from tall, clear glasses.

Several children frolicked in the pool and a young woman in a minuscule black bikini sunned herself on a lounge chair on the emerald lawn adjacent to the porch.

Eleanor appeared alongside James and Bennett but didn’t speak to them right away. Instead, she cast a brief and disapproving stare in the direction of the gorgeous girl and then, with a slightly clenched jaw, gestured at a laden buffet table. “Please help yourself to our lunch buffet. We’ve got a watercress and mint salad with walnuts, our delicious warm chicken salad on toasted croissants, fresh berries, and Key lime or lemon tartlets for dessert. Pitchers of tea, ice water, or limeade are on the sideboard. Enjoy your lunch, now.”

The two men watched her march off in the direction of the sunbather in the bikini.

After James had dished food onto a china plate decorated with a rim of running foxes and settled himself at the only available table, he realized that he had forgotten to get himself something to drink. As he headed back to his table with a glass of limeade, he noticed Eleanor berating the young woman in the bikini. The girl stood and, draping her yellow and white striped towel over one shoulder, slid her feet into flip-flops and sauntered past the diners. The conversation on the porch ceased momentarily as all eyes perused the bronzed form of the young woman. Flirtatiously tossing her mane of lustrous dark-blonde hair, the girl cast a dazzling smile at one of the male guests. James could see that the young lady was clearly Eleanor’s daughter and a great beauty as well.

As the girl reached the end of the porch, Lindy and Lucy seated themselves at the table, looking perplexed.

“Why did everyone suddenly stop talking?” Lindy asked.

Bennett pointed at Eleanor’s daughter, who had stopped to chat with a woman in an apron. “That lovely little vision walked on by and everybody’s brains just shut right down.”

“Well, she certainly looks like a healthy American girl,” Lindy said flatly. “But I’d hate to be her skin in twenty years.”

“You can see right off who her mama is, too. Eleanor’s thin and handsome. She must’ve been a real looker in her day,” Lucy offered. “I guess they’ve been blessed by good genes. The rest of us have to work every day just to fit into our uniforms.”

“Hey. Where’s Gillian?” James inquired.