“Well, girls, I’m certain Greta is hiding something, but for what reason, I have no idea…..yet.”
Agatha told her granddaughters about Greta’s mystery guest, who had left via the back door when she first arrived at the mayor’s house.
“Hmmmmm, Nana, that’s very interesting, don’t you know. You don’t think Greta killed the mayor, do you? After all, she was in the best position to jab him with a needle, and no one would be the wiser. Or maybe she hired someone, and that’s who you heard leaving her house, eh,” Mazie imagined.
“Now, Mazie, let’s not get too carried away. We need some sort of proof, at any rate. But I don’t think Greta did it or hired someone to do it for her, even though she is keeping something to herself. Plus, why kill Maggie May? Why would anyone kill either of them, even if the mayor wasn’t very well liked?” Agatha paused and shook her head. “No, we’ve got to find a link between the two, and for this moment, I don’t know what that is, so let’s go over my notes to see if anything stands out.”
“Wait, Nana, maybe the only connection between the Mayor and Mrs. Schultz is that she saw who killed him,” Samara surmised.
“Maybe that’s it, but we were dancing and singing with her right up until the mayor and Greta walked up to the gazebo. I’d be surprised if she saw anything at that time, since she was having such fun with the children. It is a good thought, though, dear.”
“Let’s go over your notes, Nana,” Mazie injected.
The three perused Agatha’s notebook studying the facts they had so far, even though she didn’t have much.
“I think I’ll pay a visit to Oswald Benson at his hardware and nursery tomorrow,” Agatha said. “The fact that he had cyanide in his shed makes me very uncomfortable. Of course, it doesn’t mean he is the murderer, because everyone in town knows he had that rat problem, and that Tim Frank purchased the poison for him. The whole town knows, too, that he keeps the stuff locked in the shed behind the nursery. I think we need to find out if anybody saw anything that didn’t seem quite right on the night of the tree lighting. We’ll take any information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, girls.”
“I agree. I’ll ask some of my friends tomorrow if they noticed anything out of the ordinary,” Samara said as she stood to take a closer look at the Christmas tree. “Oh, there’s the first Christmas card I made for you, Nana. What was I, about four? Can’t believe it has survived all of these years, faded as it is.”
“It is amazing that any of these things are still with us.”
Mazie had been unusually quiet while she pondered over the events of Christmas Eve. Something odd happened that night, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She kept reviewing the scenes of the night over and over in her mind. Suddenly it hit her.
“Nana, Samara, I do remember something that happened probably fifteen or twenty minutes before the mayor lit the tree. I can’t believe it didn’t cross my mind until now! Oswald Benson walked over to the mayor with the holly in his arms, and it didn’t appear to be a very friendly conversation. His red face almost matched his red hair, but the mayor just had that usual smirk on his face and walked away. I’m telling you, Oswald Benson was mad about something.”
Samara responded, “Now isn’t that interesting. He’s a rather gruff character. Didn’t he used to build fish tugs in Bayfield before he moved here? Makes me wonder why he opened a nursery. What do you suppose happened that made him mad at the mayor? I’ll ask around to find out if anyone heard any of their conversation.”
“You know, girls, I remember seeing Paul Miller there that night. He was a good friend of you father’s when they were growing up, but when his parents were killed in an auto accident about six years ago, he moved to Bayfield and became a police officer. Wonder what he may have seen. He always had a keen eye for details, which makes him a perfect lawman. Perhaps Elizabeth Smith or Sandra Becker noticed something. Oswald and the two women were doing that last minute decoration with the holly, don’t you know.”
“Nana, I can’t imagine Elizabeth spotting anything. Her head is always bent to the ground. Never met anyone so shy in my life.” Mazie took another candy from the dish.
“Well, I’ll stop in at the bakery tomorrow after I talk with Oswald. She may turn out to be our best witness.”
Samara was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. She had been working so hard on her snow sculpture that she was about to fall asleep on the sofa. With just a few last minute details to add, it wouldn’t take her long to complete it in the morning.
“I’m going to turn in now,” she said. “Got to get up early to finish that sculpture. See you two in the morning.”
She gathered the empty cups to put in the sink.
“I’m so glad you are home with us for Christmas break, dear. I miss having you here. Of course, I know you are missing that young man of yours.”
“I know, Nana, I’m almost finished school, and I’ll be back here before we know it, and teaching art. The headmaster already promised me the job because Mrs. Simpson is going to go live with her daughter in Wyoming this summer. It’s a break for me, don’t you know. I do miss Mark, but he wrote me a letter and said he would try to give me call tomorrow evening. He’s been a huge help on his father’s farm, especially since there is some sort of illness spreading amongst some of the animals. He’s working with the local veterinarian and he loves it. Well, night, night.”
“I’m going to go to bed too, girls. What about you, Mazie?”
“Me too. It’s been a long couple of days, so emotional. I’ll fix us breakfast tomorrow, how about that?”
“Sounds good, dear. I’m happy you are off this week, too. It was good of Doc Anderson to close the office except for emergencies, giving his head nurse time to spend with her sister and her grandmother. See you in the morning.”
The three went to their rooms, but Agatha found it a bit difficult to sleep again. She took out her notebook, and added to Oswald’s page:
Seemed to have had an angry conversation with the mayor before the tree lighting
She scanned the pages just to see if they had missed anything, but her notes didn’t give her the answers she required. It would come, rest assured, it would rise to the surface of her mind. She closed the notebook and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Friday morning, December 27, 1946
The fragrance of bacon frying, tea brewing, scrambled eggs, and biscuits in the oven lured Agatha and Samara to the kitchen without having to be summoned by Mazie.
“This smells really good, Sis. Can’t believe you’re such a good cook,” Samara said as she poured the tea for the three of them.
“Well, we’ve got a full day ahead of us, eh. We need to start out with a robust meal to get us going. You’re sculpture is being judged this afternoon at 3:00, right?”
“Yes. The winner will be announced at four. Have you practiced you songs enough for the Snow Ball tonight, you think?”
“I really don’t know why everyone keeps asking me if I’m ready. Yes! I’m ready!” She knew she sounded testy, but, after all, it was becoming the question of the day. “Thought I’d check around this morning with some of my friends to see if they saw anything at the tree lighting. Nana, you be careful when you talk to Oswald Benson this morning. I’m not feeling too good about you going there alone.”
“Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine, don’t you know,” Agatha said taking a bite of a biscuit. “This is delicious, dear. I’ll stop in to see him first thing with the painting you gave me for Christmas, Samara, and have him make a frame for it. That will give me a legitimate reason for going to his shop, and I’ll try to be careful with my questions. After that I’ll go to the bakery to find out if I can learn anything from Elizabeth. How about we meet at the Superior Lunch Café about twelve thirty and compare notes? Will that work for you Samara? You’ll be finished with your sculpture by then?”
“That will work, Nana, I don’t have much left
to do on it. I’ll see what new information I can find too.”
They cleaned up the kitchen, feeling full and satisfied, put on their coats and gloves, and left the house.
***
Agatha walked towards Benson’s Hardware and Nursery with the painting in a large tote. She passed by the tug-of-war game where folks were shouting and applauding for each team. It made her feel warm inside to see people enjoying themselves without a clue that another murder had taken place. She smiled, waved to the crowd, and walked into the shop. She found a note posted on the counter that read:
I’m in the greenhouse if you need me.
Oswald
Agatha entered through the door that connected the greenhouse to the hardware store, and discovered Oswald bending over some strange looking plants that were under some lights.
“Morning, Oswald.”
Startled, he jerked his head up, “Mornin’, Mrs. Larsen. You scared me. Guess I wasn’t expectin’ anyone so early, eh. Do you need somethin’ from the store?”
“Yes, I want you to make a frame for this painting my granddaughter gave me for Christmas. She’s quite the artist, don’t you know.”
Oswald moved stealthily away from the odd vegetation. It had an alarming effect on Agatha, and she was certain she had interrupted him doing something he didn’t want anyone to see.
“Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”
“No, this is fine. We have to go into the shop so’s I can measure and so’s you can pick out a frame.”
Agatha’s heart skipped a few beats as she followed the red headed, husky man, whose weathered face revealed he had spent years working outside. In spite of his gruff appearance though, he possessed the capacity to produce beautiful foliage, something one wouldn’t expect from a person like Oswald Benson. While he looked for the tape measure, she ignored her fear of the man, and overcame it by making conversation.
“The Christmas carnival seems to be turning out real fine, after all, don’t you know. The gazebo decorations are beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he grunted.
Taking a deep breath, and summoning up courage, she decided to go for it and said:
“Say, Oswald, did you ever get rid of that rat problem you had some months ago?”
She couldn’t help but notice his face had turned an even brighter shade of red when he answered, “Haven’t had any more problems.”
As soon as he located the tape measure, he measured the painting.
“That’s a relief, eh? I suppose the cyanide did the trick.”
He kept his head down, but she noticed that his shoulders tensed up when she mentioned the poison.
Quickly, she changed the subject.
“What do you think of this painting? Samara really captured the Ojibwe village of old, don’t you think? Anna would probably enjoy seeing this. She around?”
“She’s not feelin’ well today. I told her to stay in bed and get some rest,” he said without responding to the painting that represented ancestors of his wife, Anna. He thrust the sample frames in front of her, making it clear he wanted her to leave his shop as quickly as possible.
She opted for the dark cherry frame. “That will look good in my living room. When do you think it will be ready?”
“I can have it for you by the end of next week. I’m overly busy right now. Behind because of the carnival.”
“The carnival does keep most folks busy. I’m glad for that. This year in particular. Keeps all of our minds off the murder of the mayor.” Agatha was losing fear and becoming braver. “By the way, speaking of that tragedy, did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary that night when you, Elizabeth, and Sandra went up to the gazebo?”
“No, I was too busy puttin’ up the last minute holly Anna insisted we needed.” The edge in his voice grew sharper, but Agatha Larsen prodded even further.
“I noticed you and Max appeared to have words before the tree lighting. You seemed a bit disturbed with him. Of course, many people found him rather irritating to be around.”
“Look, Mrs. Larsen, if you’re trying to accuse me of killing the mayor, you’re way off. I did not kill him, but I applaud the one who did and would love to shake his hand. He got what he deserved.”
“Why are you so pleased that Max was murdered?”
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Larsen.”
He swung around and headed to the back door, leaving Agatha with a lot to add to Oswald’s page in her notebook.
Chapter Thirteen
11:30 A.M., December 27, 1946
After leaving the hardware store, Agatha strolled along the sidewalk of the town square toward the Sand River Bakery to find the tug-of-war game still in progress. Behind the mob of folks, a group of boys were having a good old-fashioned snow ball fight. Fresh snow had landed during the night and early hours of the morning, and the boys took advantage of the new loose snow that made it easy to fashion the snow balls. Young people know how to find merriment in spite of the circumstances, Agatha thought. It’s the kind of thing that brings pleasure to those who witness it.
She ambled over towards her granddaughter, whose gloved fingers continued to work magic as she added some finishing touches to her snow sculpture.
“Oh my, Samara, this is wonderful. I see a blue ribbon in your future. I need to go back home and get my camera. It looks finished to me, but is it?”
“Almost, Nana. I’ll have it ready in about half an hour.”
“Oh, that’s good, dear. Say, have any of your friends stopped by to see you yet this morning?”
“Some have, but they didn’t see anything suspicious the other night.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to your work, dear. I’ve got some things to report when we meet at the café for lunch. On my way to the bakery. See you later, dear.”
“Okay, Nana.”
A mass of people filled the bakery, making it difficult for Agatha to spot Elizabeth. She had hired some of the college students to help behind the counter, and to assist with the baking while they were home for Christmas break. Agatha finally spotted Sandra Becker, Elizabeth’s assistant, whose dyed cherry red hair peeked through the openings in her hair net. Sandra had haled from Sacramento, California, arriving in Elkton about the same time Elizabeth did, and she had been one of a very few who Elizabeth befriended.
“We’ll be with you in just a bit, Mrs. Larsen,” Sandra barked over the hoard of people.
“I just need to talk with Elizabeth, but I can see this probably isn’t the best time?”
“She’s in the back working on the cake for the Snow Ball. If it isn’t going to take too long, you can probably go on back.”
“Thanks, Sandra, I believe I will do just that.”
Elizabeth, hunched over a very large sphere of cake, raised her head just slightly when Agatha poked her head in the doorway to the back of the bakery.
“Do you need something, Mrs. Larsen?” she asked without making eye contact.
“Yes, if you don’t mind. I’m trying to figure out a few things about the night Mayor Mueller was murdered. You mind if I ask you some questions?”
Taking a deep breath, she replied, “I don’t know how I could be of help.” While she spoke, she applied white fluffy frosting to what would soon evolve into a giant snow ball cake.
“You walked through the crowd with Oswald Benson and Sandra carrying the holly, and you were on the gazebo before Maximilian and Greta stepped up there. Did you notice anything that seemed odd? Maybe something that you may not have thought strange at the time, but in hindsight?”
“No.”
“I know how busy you are right now, but are you certain? Did you see Oswald talking with the mayor earlier?”
“I’m certain. Oswald finished his conversation with the mayor when Sandra and I got there, and the three of us went to the gazebo.” Elizabeth continued to frost the large snow ball.
“I won’t keep you much longer, Elizabeth, I know you have a lot to do, but I
just want to ask a couple of more questions, and then I’ll leave you to your work. How did Oswald seem to you after he talked with Mayor Mueller?”
“He was his usual grumpy self. Do you think he killed the mayor?”
“I don’t know, I’m just trying to figure it out. One more thing. Had you noticed any trouble that Maggie May Schultz may have incurred when she walked around this area of the square?”
Elizabeth popped her head up from the work of art in progress. “Maggie May? Why no. I never saw anything out of the ordinary. I’m sorry that I can’t help you, but I’ve got to get this cake finished, and then I’ve got a hundred cupcakes to frost.”
“Of course, dear. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but thank you anyway. If you should think of something, let me know.”
Agatha walked back into the shop to find even more folks crowded at the counter. Amongst them stood Theodore Olsen.
“Morning, Theodore. Seems we keep running into each other here.”
The bank president nodded his head enough to be sociable, and said, “Morning, Mrs. Larsen. I’m just picking up some cookies for the bank employees and our customers.” His order fulfilled, he paid and left the bakery before Agatha had a chance to respond.
What’s with him, anyway, she thought. Always grouchy, always seems so secretive. For the first time in her investigation, she opted to start a page in her notebook on Theodore Olsen. She found an empty seat at the table with the pink cloth, and took out her notebook that she kept handy these days.
She wrote Theodore Olsen’s name on the top of a fresh page.
He is grumpier than usual
Was mad at the council meeting, while others were sad and shocked
I think he knows more than meets the eye
On the page entitled, Oswald Benson, she added:
Had strange looking plants that he obviously didn’t want me to see
Was glad the mayor was murdered
Wanted to shake the hand of the murderer
He was hiding something
She started another page on Elizabeth Smith that read:
Saw Oswald finishing up a conversation with Max
I think she saw something and is afraid to say it
Agatha pondered over her notes, and wishing she knew more. Her son’s words kept playing in her head like a constant record turning round and round. This wasn’t a story on the Ellery Queen Mystery Radio program that she was so good at solving, and it didn’t compare to an Agatha Christie novel either. She dwelt in a real life drama. Two murders in her quiet town where folks were close to one another, always willing to be of help to their fellow neighbors. Things weren’t adding up. She had to find answers, and she must find them soon. Her thoughts were interrupted when she looked up to see the sheriff standing over her, not looking too happy.