Nipped in the Bud (21 page)

Hazel patted me on the back. “They’ll be okay. It’ll just take some time.”

“This has put me in the mood for grilling Gus. How about you?
Ready to talk to him?”

She grinned. “Try to stop me.”

We hurried through the drizzle to Gus’s hardware store a few doors down. Hazel rushed ahead like a storm trooper ready to invade a foreign country.

I grabbed her arm. “Hold up. We need to approach him calmly, or he might clam up. Follow my lead.”

We found Gus dumping a carton of pipe fittings into a dingy plastic bin. “Hey, Gus,” I called out and strolled down the aisle. “Got a minute?”

His head
raised,
his eyes friendly. He stood to his full height, planting a hand on the small of his back as he grimaced in pain halfway up. “If the two of you need some help fixing something, I’m your guy.”

“Actually, we do need your help fixing something.” I quickly glanced at Hazel and gave her one last warning look to stay calm. “Do you remember a company named Fulcrum?”

A flash of surprise coupled with caution took over his face then rapidly faded. “Fulcrum, Fulcrum, let me see. It does sound familiar.” He put his finger by his mouth and looked up. “You know, I think that might be the name of the company that Pacific Pickles bought their land from.”

“Oh quit putting on such a big show,” Hazel blurted out. “You know very well who Fulcrum is.”

So much for calm.
“So, Gus, do you remember a Nancy Kimble by any chance?
Ida Carlson’s daughter?”

“No, can’t say that name sounds familiar to me.”

Hazel snorted. “Hah! Think you’d remember the name of the person who made it possible for you to collect monthly blackmail payments.”

Under Gus’s intense scrutiny, Hazel’s shoulders rose and her back straightened. I could almost see his thoughts running from one side of his brain to the other. I decided to wait until he spoke before saying anything else.

“I think it’s time you minded your own business,” he said, with hard eyes aimed at Hazel. He swung his gaze to me. “And that goes for you, too.”

Well, then. This was going well. “Now, Gus, Hazel jumped the gun there. We were just wondering if it was a coincidence that in the same month the council learned Bud owned Fulcrum, that you started giving Winnie a nice allowance to spend as she wanted.”

He had managed to gain control of his expressions, and this accusation didn’t faze him at all. He held up a hand. “Like I said, you better mind your own business if you know what’s good for you. In fact,” he tipped his head at the door, “I suggest you leave before I get mad.”

“Gus,” I said, letting my frustration drip off his name, “you might as well tell us the truth. You know I’m going to get to the bottom of Bud’s murder, and that means this will all come out.”

Gus stared at me, fire flaming from his eyes. He perched one hand on a hip covered with a dirty work apron and pointed at the door with the other.

I backed up a step. “Okay, okay. We’ll go, but our next stop is to see the other council members. One of the five of you is bound to confess to blackmail.”

“Fine, have at ’
em
. We have nothing to hide.”

Not the response I’d hoped for. Or was it? He said
,
we
have nothing to hide. “Let’s go, Hazel. Looks like Gus
is
going to keep his secret to the bitter end.” I gave him a quick skewering with my gaze. “And make no mistake about it, Gus, the end will be bitter.”

We shuffled out of the store and stood under the overhang to stay dry. I let out a deep breath and was surprised at how badly my hands were shaking.

“I’m not cut out for this,” I said to Hazel, whose eyes were alight with excitement.

She clamped her arms closed. “I’m just plain mad. That man is lying to us and you know it.”

I looked around and considered our next option. “If you were Gus, what would you do next?”

“If I was guilty like we think he is, and if the other men were involved, I’d call them up and get together to form a pact not to talk.
And the sooner the better.”

“That’s what I’d do, too,” I said, barely able to contain my enthusiasm over an idea that popped into my head. I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the alley behind the store. “Let’s hang out here for a while. See if Gus goes somewhere or if the other men come here.”

We slipped into an alcove next to the entrance and waited. As if assisting with our hiding, thick gray clouds covered the sun, dimming our space.

“Let’s try not to talk much,” I whispered to Hazel. “Gus might be meeting the guys somewhere else, and he’ll hear us if he leaves.”

She nodded and slid her fingers across her lips like a zipper.

To pass the time, I named in my head all the plants I could think of in alphabetical order. I’d reached hydrangea, the
oakleaf
species, one of my favorite semi-shrub perennials, when the first councilman and my radio show boss, Roger Freund, arrived. Oops. I’d forgotten the man who held my radio career in his hands was also a member of the council. He plowed across the street with a deep scowl on his face, the same scowl that often rested on his face at work when things went wrong.

Waiting for him to pass so I could talk, I mocked choking myself in a mime of what could happen with my career, and it was nearly our undoing. Hazel, a boisterous laugher, had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep quiet until Roger slipped inside.

“Now what?”
Hazel whispered.

“Let’s wait to see if others arrive. Then we can go back in and listen,” I whispered back, causing Hazel to clutch my arm and do a small jig.

I resumed my plant naming, reaching
Lamium
, a wonderful little ground cover, at the same time as Walt
Cunkle
turned the corner. He yawned and stretched, making his way toward us. Owner of the bowling alley, he often worked nights. His day was probably just beginning.

Hazel and I shared an aha-we-were-right look and went back to watching the road.

Not one to keep my enthusiasm hidden, I returned to the plant thing to distract me from the excitement of seeing the council members arrive. At periwinkle, a vine-type ground cover that I loathed for its aggressive spreading habit but loved for its tiny violet flowers, Tim
Needlemeyer
arrived, with his usual cheery smile. I’d never seen Tim without a goofy grin.
Fitting for a man who spent his days in sales.
As a used implement dealer, he had to be nice if he wanted to eat.

Finally, reaching zinnia, Ollie Grayson rushed down the street, eyes darting about. He acted as nervous as my stomach felt. The long lean farmer wore striped bibs with mud encrusted knees, as if the call had ripped him out of the fields.

Once he disappeared inside, I grabbed Hazel’s hand and crept out of the nook.

I peeked inside the back door. The coast was clear. The men had moved in far enough for us to spy on them without being seen. I cupped my hand around my mouth. “If we get caught, I’ll disavow all knowledge of our mission.”

After all, actually carrying this thing off bordered on a “mission impossible”, didn’t it?

“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

“This is
Stumped
in Eugene.”

“Tell me, Stumped, are you one of the many people in Eugene affiliated with the University of Oregon?”

“No. I don’t want
nothing
to do with that place.”

“Oh, okay. How can I help you?”

“I’m calling about the show where you told us how to do a soil test.”

“A soil test, yes, that’s a must to determine what type of soil you have so you can add the appropriate amendments.
Especially in the northwest where we have such heavy clay soil.”

“Well, I missed most of the show and don’t want to have to go thinking up things on my own. I wondered if you could repeat the list of questions you ask when you give your soil a test.”

We crept into the back room and halted by the door. The men were grouped near the entrance to the retail
space,
far enough away to miss seeing us enter. Gus, with animated gesturing, brought the men up to date on our little visit. I wedged myself between stacks of boxes. From this spot, all five of the men were in my view, but I was hidden well enough that I was free to observe their interaction without any threat of discovery. Hazel scooted herself into a spot to my right, close enough to communicate nonverbally. I only wished we knew sign language.

Ollie leaned against the jamb of the doorway. Tim perched on an old wooden barrel and shook his legs as if he was jittery. Gus lurked in a shadow, so I could barely make out his face, probably a good thing, as I was still mad at how he treated us. I might be tempted to let him have it if I could see him clearly.

Roger and Walt stood in the middle of the group, neither of them choosing to lean against or sit on anything. Maybe this was my first clue. They were strong enough to withstand the pressure without support. Maybe they were the most likely to commit a crime. I was grasping for straws here, but I was so thirsty for clues that I had to find something.

“Well,” Gus said and peered at his fellow council members. “Now that you heard the problem, what do you think we should do?”

Ollie pulled back his shoulders and a devious grin crossed his face. “Other than to tell those nosy broads to mind their own business, you mean?”

The men snickered, my fist curled, and I shared a just-wait look with Hazel.

Walt, the only non-
snickerer
of the men, loudly cleared his throat and held it long enough to silence the others. When they had quieted he said, “I say it’s time to ’fess up and let the good people of this town know what we did.”

“Hah,” Roger shouted. “Don’t be such a sissy,
Cunkle
. I’m not giving up without a fight.”

“Hold it.” Gus waved his hands. “We don’t need a fight at all and especially not between us. We made the decision as a group to keep
Picklemann’s
ownership of the land quiet. We’ll decide as a group what to do next.”

At his admission of their cover-up, I grabbed Hazel’s hand and squeezed. She punched her other fist up, hitting a precariously placed box that teetered. She uncurled her fingers and stilled the box while I exhaled quietly.

“We sure can’t tell people
Picklemann
was paying us to keep quiet.” Ollie made eye contact with each man. “No one around here would talk to us again.
Especially my wife.”

“Not to mention what this could do to our careers,” Roger added.

“It doesn’t matter what happens to us.” Walt puffed out his chest. “I think it’s in the best interest for folks around here to know the truth.
Especially if it leads to finding
Picklemann’s
killer.”

The group erupted in violent voices and waving of arms and hands.
Shouts of, “it would only point the finger at us,” “we didn’t have nothing to do with the murder,” “if you say one word,” shot through the air. Then the men began to threaten each other.

Gus smacked his bear-sized paws together until the other men came to order.

“The one thing I’m hearing from everyone but Walt is that we keep quiet,” Gus said, and the men nodded. “So we’re agreed. We won’t admit a thing.”

“I’ll do what the group decides for now,” Walt said. “If Paige is arrested for
Picklemann’s
murder, I’ll come forward. We all know she didn’t kill him.”

“Then who did?” Ollie’s arms hung at his sides, his hands fisted in balls.

“Now, men.”
Gus held up his hand. “We aren’t here to figure out who killed
Picklemann
. We have more pressing matters. What to do about Paige and her snoopy employee.”

“What are you suggesting, Gus?” Roger’s face lost color at the implication hanging in the air.

I stared at Hazel. What were they planning? Would they do us in? Maybe they weren’t murderers now, but would they become killers?

Gus ran his hand over his bushy white hair. “I don’t have a clue. I think it’s best if we sleep on it and get back together tomorrow morning to discuss the options. Agreed?”

Grumbling approval traveled around the group, and Tim pushed off his stool as if ready to leave.

Time for us to skedaddle.
I gained Hazel’s attention and tipped my head at the door. She confirmed my plan with a quick nod, and we both made our way quietly to the exit. When she pushed open the door, the sun’s rays now beaming from the sky caught me by surprise, and I released a huge sun sneeze.

“What was that?” I heard Gus ask.

I clutched Hazel’s arm and ran, half dragging the older woman with me. We scurried down the alley to the pharmacy and ducked into the back entrance, surprising Charlie, who was counting round white pills into a small tray.