“Mrs. Larsen,” he said in a stern voice. “Why do I have the feeling you are playing detective trying to solve this case?”
“Whatever do you mean, Sheriff?” she responded in an innocent tone.
“You know what I mean, Mrs. Larsen. I can’t begin to tell you how dangerous it is for a novice to try to investigate a murder. You might come face to face with the murderer and ask one too many questions. I don’t want another murder to solve. Especially yours, eh.”
“I hear you, don’t you know. Have you found out anything?” she hoped.
“Not yet, but even though you don’t think so, we are working on this.”
They said their goodbyes and Agatha sauntered over to the Superior Lake Café to meet the girls for lunch.
Chapter 14
12:30 P.M., December 27, 1946
Ingrid Young, owner of the Superior Lake Café, was an Ojibwe Indian, whose family had left the reservation before her birth to dwell in Bayfield. At the age of eighteen, she met Leo Young, an Elkton native, and ran off to marry him. The family had owned the restaurant for two generations before Leo and his new wife had taken it over. Then fifteen years ago Leo died suddenly of an undiagnosed illness, leaving Ingrid alone to raise their two daughters, and to manage the café. The townspeople would be hard pressed to find anybody who had the cooking skills of Ingrid Young.
Full of spunk and joy, the slightly plump Ingrid had strands of grey that sparkled throughout her dark brownish black hair that she wore pulled back in a bun. Her high cheek bones, natural tan skin, and brown almond shaped eyes reflected her Ojibwe heritage, and made her look younger than her fifty years. She spotted Agatha just as she arrived in the crowded restaurant.
“Hey, Mrs. Larsen, you gonna' need a table or are you ordering out today?”
“I’ll be needing a table for the girls and me. I don’t mind waiting, though. Good crowd today, eh.”
“There are just a few folks ahead of you. Won’t be too much longer.”
Agatha positioned herself in line behind Doc and Nora Anderson, who stood behind Gertie Bolber, spinster, town gossip and owner of Gertie’s Grocery Store.
“Hey, Mrs. Larsen,” Nora said to the woman who had given her so much back when she had been her struggling student. “The carnival sure is bringing out the folks, eh. So glad under the circumstances. Saw Samara’s sculpture. Looks like a winner to me.”
“Yes, I feel certain she will win, or is that just the voice of a proud grandmother? Any hey, I agree the carnival is bringing a calmness to the whole community, don’t you know. Say, how are you, Miss Gertie?”
“Doing fine. Had to come pick up an order to take back to the store. We’re busier than usual. Love the carnival.” Just then Ingrid called Gertie’s name letting her know the pasties she had asked for earlier in the day were ready. “Gotta' go. See you later.”
As Gertie walked out the door, Theodore Olsen and his loan officer, Sebastian Becker came into the café, and stood behind Agatha.
“Well, Theodore, here we are again. One thing for sure, we know we are both getting plenty to eat. Nice to see you, Sebastian. Enjoying the carnival?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sandra and I are having a great time. Got to see the snowman competition this morning. Those kids did a great job, and were having fun doing it.”
Theodore nodded towards Agatha in an attempt to be polite, but the scowl in his eyes indicated that he would have preferred to ignore her.
Amid the idle chit-chat, one by one, the line grew shorter. Since many were ordering food to take out, Agatha soon found herself seated at a corner table where it was quiet. The girls joined her just minutes later, and they each ordered a nice hearty bowl of stew, along with some hot tea.
Eating the savory food, they brought each other up to date on what they had learned.
Mazie said, “I found someone who heard some of the conversation between Oswald Benson and the mayor--none other than my best friend, Tyra King. She told me Oswald said something like, ‘No more, Max. I’m done. You don’t have anything.’ Then the mayor kind of laughed and said, ‘Oh we’re not done. I have plenty.’ That’s all she heard, but she thought it was weird.”
“That is strange. Sounds like blackmail? What plentiful thing did Max have? Oh criminey, this gets more mysterious as we gather more information.”
“I heard something today, but I don’t know if it means anything or not,” Samara said after swallowing a bite of the stew. “Some of the children walked by while I was putting on the finishing touches on the sculpture, and they were singing their version of one of Maggie May’s poems. I felt sad when I heard them, but it made me think she may have known what was going on with Mayor Mueller. The words went something like this:
‘The mayor and the masquerader were meeting on the street,
But now they won’t be walking on icy feet.
Fish aren’t the only thing that people want to buy
There’s more than meets the eye.’
That’s all they sang, but don’t you think there could be something to it?”
Agatha felt a pang in her heart at hearing the similar words her dear departed friend used to sing in the square, but it brought an even greater determination to find out who killed Maggie May and Maximilian.
“I remember that poem. We’ve got to see if we can recall the exact words. I’ll work on it later today. I had an interesting visit with Oswald Benson too. He was in the greenhouse bending over some strange looking plants that were under some lights. He also said he wanted to shake the hand of Max’s murderer because he felt elated over his death.”
“Nana, what did the plants look like?” Mazie asked.
Agatha described the green plants with narrow pointed leaves that fanned outward.
Mazie swallowed a sip of the hot tea. “Hmmm, that sounds like marijuana. Did you see that piece in the paper about the drug smuggling? There was a picture of the marijuana accompanying the article. Why don’t I stop by the green house and check it out? This could be what the mayor had on Mr. Benson.”
“Oh dear, do be careful. Oswald Benson makes me very uncomfortable. Don’t go alone. Take Tyra with you. Having the deputy’s daughter with you should keep you safe, but if he is into drug smuggling, this could be a very dangerous situation.” Taking a pause and eating the last bite of her stew, Agatha then continued, “I almost forgot to tell you about my visit with Elizabeth Smith. Since she is a bit overworked this week and is so shy, it’s hard to read her, but I believe she knows more than she is letting on. Just what that is, I don’t know. I’m thinking she may have seen something and is afraid to say anything. Also, I think I’m going to pay another visit to Greta Mueller today. I’m certain she is having an affair. Maybe she knows something about Oswald and Max’s relationship.”
Agatha took a last sip of her tea, when Mazie said:
“Don’t worry, Nana, I’ll be very careful. Tell me the exact spot where you saw the plants.”
Agatha informed her granddaughter where to look, and the three finished their meals. The girls left their grandmother, who had retrieved her trusty notebook from her purse, adding the information they had shared. She tried to remember the exact words of Maggie May’s poems, but for the moment could only write what Samara said the children were singing. She closed up the book, waved a goodbye to Ingrid, and left the café.
Theodore had been sitting at the next table with his back to the trio of detectives, and had taken in every word they had communicated. He had to stop them from further investigation. He didn’t know how, but he would figure out a way.
Chapter Fifteen
After lunch, December 27, 1946
Mazie and Tyra walked into Benson’s Hardware and Nursery to find Oswald working on a picture frame. He glanced up from his work when they approached him.
“Say hey, Mr. Benson. Is that my grandmother’s frame you’re building? It looks beautiful.”
“It is. Do you girls need somethin’?”
> “Um, yes, my mom wanted me to pick up a few poinsettias if you have any left. We need more decorations for the Snow Ball,” Tyra answered. Of course, her mother didn’t actually send her there. That’s just the plan she and Mazie had concocted.
“I got some in the greenhouse. How many do ya want?”
“She said to pick up as many as I can.” It hadn’t been a complete untruth. They never seemed to have enough décor, even though her mother didn’t know anything about this.
“I’ll bring ya what I’ve got,” he said as he walked towards the back of the store.
“We’ll go with you to help carry them,” Mazie said while she and Tyra followed the gruff man.
Upon entering the greenhouse, Mazie’s eyes searched for the location where her grandmother had seen the plants. Finding it, she sacheted over to the site, and conveniently dropped her purse. Bending over to pick it up, she looked under the bottom shelf and spotted one lone stem of a marijuana plant. He must have been in such a hurry to remove the evidence, that he overlooked it, she thought. He even took the lights. She stood in time to see that Oswald Benson hadn’t missed her actions. Fear began to mount up in the pit of her stomach.
Tyra jumped in to say, “I think these will be enough, Mr. Benson. My mom said to make out a bill and send it to her. She’ll pay you later with the carnival allotment. We can carry these. Thanks.”
The two girls practically leapt from the greenhouse, each toting poinsettias, and didn’t look back until they made it to the street.
“Whew! That was close, but I did find a piece of what looked like the picture of the marijuana I saw in the paper. We’ve got to let Nana know about this right away,” Mazie said, her heart still pounding.
“We should let my father know about this, Mazie,” Tyra spoke with fear in her voice.
“Let’s tell Nana first. She’s keeping a notebook of information we’ve been gathering. Plus she’s checking out a few more things today, and will probably have more to tell him. This is really starting to get scary. Let’s go while we still can.”
More than relieved when they left, Oswald Benson stood near the window glaring at the two nosey young women. He had seen Mazie deliberately drop her purse right where the marijuana plants had been located when her grandmother had walked in on him earlier that day. The former fish tug builder hurried back to the greenhouse, looked under the counter, and spotted the one little piece of evidence that could put him behind bars. Sheer panic gripped his soul. He had to get out of there right away.
Chapter Sixteen
2:30 P.M. December 27, 1946
Instead of paying another visit to Greta Mueller, Agatha opted to catch her later, thinking it might be a good idea to go back to Maggie May’s house, and give it a more thorough search than the earlier one with the sheriff.
Agatha used the back door key she had withheld, but to her surprise she didn’t need a key. The door was no longer locked. She knew without a doubt that the sheriff had locked it before they left yesterday. She went into the kitchen, and found Maggie’s keys hanging on the designated hook. Looking through her notes, Agatha was reminded that on the previous day the keys had been missing, both doors had been locked, and a navy blue scarf had been on the floor that Mazie had placed on the back of a chair which had now disappeared.
Outside in the back yard, the new snow which had fallen during the night and early morning blanketed the footprints and the place where Maggie’s corpse had lain. But the indentations still acted as a grim reminder of the tragic event.
“Oh criminey,” she spoke aloud, but then realized she might not be alone in the house. No, that couldn’t be, she thought, it was just fear talking because there had been no new footprints, other than hers, in the fresh snow in the back yard. Had the sheriff come back to the house? Did he take the scarf for some sort of evidence? It didn’t make sense. Where would he have found the keys that now hung in their rightful place?
She decided to go through Maggie’s closets, and bureau drawers, but the hand-knitted scarf didn’t appear in any of them. Agatha then searched through the desk and the kitchen drawer, where Maggie threw miscellaneous items, looking for some sort of a clue as to why this dear woman had been murdered. Apart from the missing scarf, the unlocked back door, and the returned keys, she found nothing.
Agatha sat down at the kitchen table where she and Maggie had often shared a cup of tea, and talked and laughed about their school days. She added the new facts she had discovered to her notebook. The missing scarf seemed to be such an insignificant thing in and of itself. But it must have been important to someone. The murderer?
She turned to the page where she had written the snippets of the poem the children had shared with Samara earlier. Agatha pleaded with her mind to bring all of Maggie’s original words to the surface of her memory.
The mayor and masquerader were meeting on the street
But now they won’t be walking on icy feet.
Agatha spoke aloud to break through the unnerving silence that continued to fill the house. “Who was the masquerader? Or was there such a person? And what did Maggie mean about the icy feet? Oh, Maggie, whatever did you mean? Why didn’t we take your poems seriously?”
Fish aren’t the only thing that people want to buy
There’s more than meets the eye.
“I need to think. I know there were more words to these poems. I’ve got to remember. What on earth does she mean that fish aren’t the only thing people want to buy? And how did Maggie May know about such things? More questions. Less answers. Anyway, I’ve got to call the sheriff. Someone has been in this house since yesterday, and I’m certain it wasn’t him.”
She left a telephone message with the receptionist at the sheriff’s office for James to call her as soon as possible. Upon placing the handset on the receiver, Agatha Larsen knew she had a lot more thinking to do. For some reason, she felt these poems were important just like the scarf. Once she located the owner of that, she felt confident she would know the murderer. Who else would come back to the scene of the crime?
Chapter Seventeen
3:45 P.M. December 27, 1946
Agatha spent more time at Maggie’s than she expected. Fortunately, she had fifteen minutes before the announcement of the winner of the snow sculpture. She hurried over to Samara’s booth, and joined Alex and Erica, along with a host of others. They hugged and waited with anticipation.
The rules were that each sculpture had to be sculpted completely out of snow, and had to reflect something specific in and around Elkton. There were ten entries, but three of them stood out. One was Samara’s sculpted family of black bears sleeping in their cozy den. The one next to her displayed a fish tug “floating” on Lake Superior with many fish piled on top. A third sculpture of an elk family standing in front of a background of sculpted pine trees looked to be another stiff competition.
“Have the judges finished looking at everyone’s sculptures, dear?” Agatha asked her artist granddaughter.
“They have, Nana. We’re all just waiting to hear the results. I really think John Henderson’s elk family is the real winner here, eh, but I’m still hopeful,” Samara replied, then whispered so her dad didn’t hear, “Did you get to visit with Mrs. Mueller?”
Agatha shook her head slightly. She mouthed the word, “Later.”
Just then, Mazie arrived with Tyra, but she knew she would have to wait to tell her grandmother what she learned at Benson’s Hardware and Nursery. Giving her a hug, she whispered, “I’ve got something very important to tell you.” Agatha gave her hand a little squeeze of acknowledgement.
The three judges were: art teacher, Mrs. Simpson; local artist, Henry Holden; and the winner three years previous, Arthur Drummond. With white, red, and blue ribbons in tote, they approached the podium. Mrs. Simpson spoke for the trio.
“This is the hardest competition we have ever had to judge, eh. But after much deliberation, it is my pleasure to announce the third place winner, Justin Abbot for h
is rendition of the fish tug industry.” Everyone clapped while Justin received the white ribbon.
“Second place is awarded to Miss Samara Larsen for her black bear family.” Everyone cheered again.
With a deliberate pause, Mrs. Simpson announced, “And the blue ribbon goes to John Henderson for his depiction of the elk family.” The crowd roared with delight while the artists felt a sense of pride mixed with relief the competition had ended.
Proud parents, Alex and Erica hugged their daughter with delight. “You did an amazing job. I suppose they’ll take down the shelters and scoop the sculptures away after the ice hockey game, just like in past years,” Erica said with her arm around her daughter. “Makes me kind of sad after knowing how hard you all worked on them.”
“That’s what we’ve been told. I, for one, am glad to give up handling the snow, but we had fun working together. John deserved the blue ribbon. I’m very happy for him.”
“Well, we’re pleased with the results, dear,” Agatha responded to Samara. “You girls are coming back to my house, right?”
They nodded, and the three sauntered over to Agatha’s residence arm in arm. Residing on Superior Lake Drive, just a block over from the square, Agatha could walk to everything she needed. It’s what made Elkton such a great place to live, but when she needed to drive her 1938 grey Pontiac, it was there for her.
Pulling off their heavy coats, gloves, boots and scarves, Agatha said, “Let me fix some hot tea. We’ll talk in the kitchen.”
With the familiar notebook spread open on the kitchen table, Agatha told the girls about her visit to Maggie May’s house where she discovered the returned keys, the unlocked back door, and that the scarf was missing.