The townspeople, dressed in their finest fashions, brought a sense of décor of their own to the gymnasium-turned-ballroom. Reds and greens and silver and gold, and shades of blue aided in lighting up the room, and the joy they felt masked the trauma they had experienced just three nights ago. No one talked about the murder of the mayor. The subject of Maggie May Schultz’s demise didn’t come up either, but there were small groups of folks who talked about the recent Evelyn Dick murder trial, and how they hoped she wouldn’t win her appeal coming up in February. Someone said it was just a little too close to home in Southern Ontario. This subject led to one that often occurred when a community event took place, that of the Victor Hall hunting accident because it had been the worst thing that had happened in the small town of Elkton until now. Snippets of these natters were caught by those within earshot.
“Never could believe that Victor shot himself accidently. Didn’t make any sense, eh.”
“No, but it sure was awful. Had to be hard on Max and Theodore.”
“You think they saw it happen?”
“That’s the way I heard it, but I never understood it, myself.”
“It never made any sense to a lot of us. I, for one, still have questions about it after all of these years,” said Tim Frank.
Theodore stood just a few feet away listening to all of the idle talk. He strode over to the group who were discussing the accident, deciding to set everyone straight once and for all about the death of Victor Hall.
“Listen, you people weren’t there, but Max and I were. We were more than devastated when it happened. I was several yards away in one direction; Max was several yards away in another direction. We both heard the shot at the same time, thought one of us had bagged an elk. When we got to Victor, he was hunched over against a tree, blood pouring from his head. There was nothing either of us could do. That’s the facts. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m tired of hearing about it.” Theodore turned, grabbed Selma’s arm, stomped out the door, and left in a huff, leaving behind a stunned audience, which included Agatha Larsen.
Clearly Theodore Olsen had more on his mind than met the eye, Agatha thought. More questions began to fill her mind. What really happened that fateful day ten years ago? And did it have something to do with Max’s murder? She determined to add his outburst to his page in her notebook.
Chapter Twenty-two
10:00 P.M. December 27, 1946
Agatha left the Snow Ball a little early. She had covered a lot of territory throughout the day, and she wanted to sit back on her sofa, and review some of what she had learned. Now donned in her comfortable pajamas, she turned to Theodore’s page, and added his outburst, along with a few questions.
Why was he really visiting with Greta today?
Why did he get so aggravated when he heard folks discussing the Victor Hall accident?
Why is he more grumpy than usual?
After all of these years, does the Victor Hall accident have something to do with Max’s murder?
Agatha thought for a while. She never believed that Victor accidently shot himself. But what happened? Did Maximilian and Theodore witness a murder? If so, who had reason to kill Victor? Perhaps she needed to look into that incident a little more intensely. It just might possibly provide some sort of an answer as to why Max was poisoned. She made a note to check with Sheriff Lange to ask for the police report that deemed the incident to be an accident.
She picked up the folder that contained the news clippings of the bank robbery that had taken place in Sacramento, California in 1945. Photos of the robbers graced the pages of the Sacramento paper. There were four men in the gang and one woman, who went by the name of Babs Mahoney. One of the men had been shot and killed trying to get away and the other three were behind bars. They had turned against Babs since she apparently had gotten away with the money, and had not been found. She was described as a bleached blonde with blue eyes, a slight frame, and had the ability to change her looks. She was considered to be extremely dangerous. Her picture depicted someone Agatha would prefer not to meet any time soon, especially since Babs had killed the guard, or so her fellow robbers had stated.
Why would Max keep this? Did he really want to write a fiction account of the incident? She found a copy of a letter he had written to Greta’s cousin, Sheila, asking her to continue to send him updates on the case. The most recent news clipping had a date on it of November 20, 1946 that expressed authorities were still on the lookout for Babs Mahoney. This provided Agatha with one more thing she didn’t understand.
As she pondered over the photograph of Babs Mahoney, she found no resemblance to anyone she knew. For just a fleeting moment, though, Agatha thought about Sandra Becker who hailed from Sacramento, and had dyed red hair. But the photo bore no likeness to the bakery assistant. The article did say, however, that Babs had the ability to change her looks. Sandra’s husband does work as a loan officer in the bank, she thought. Perhaps he was a silent partner in the robbery. Come to think of it, she had never heard of Sandra Becker’s parents who supposedly lived in Bayfield. Had anyone in town ever met them? And could Elizabeth Smith have witnessed Sandra doing something that indicated her in the murder? Time to make a page about Sandra in her notebook.
And then there were Maggie May’s poems. Agatha still needed to probe her brain to try to force out the exact words to Maggie May’s poems. Turning to the page where she had recorded the fragments that Samara had given her, she pondered over it for quite some time in the silence of her home. Then she remembered Maggie’s song on the day of the parade.
Its Christmas morning and things are not the same
No longer, no no longer, no no no
They will no longer meet
Upon their icy feet.
“I had stopped her from continuing this thing,” Agatha spoke aloud to herself. “How I wish I hadn’t done that now. Clearly it was the masquerader who wouldn’t be meeting on the icy feet. Still wish I knew who that represents or if it is meaningless information.”
She needed to talk to some folks around town who may have recalled some of Maggie’s poems. The one most likely to remember something word for word has to be the town gossip, Gertie Bolber, owner of Gertie’s Grocery Store. Nobody found out things in this town faster than that woman, who possessed the memory of an elephant to boot. Agatha elected to go to the store the next day, and try to pick Gertie’s brain. In spite of the evidence pointing to Oswald Benson, she had a sick feeling he wasn’t the murderer, and she knew in her heart she had to keep on digging deeper.
She put her notebook and clippings away, got into bed and curled up with “The Hollow” that she still wanted to finish reading. Maybe Agatha Christie could give her some pointers on how to solve this mess.
Chapter Twenty-three
9:00 A.M. December 28, 1946
Mr. and Mrs. Bolber had purchased the local grocery store when their little daughter, Gertie turned two, naming it “Gertie’s Grocery Store.” Since their deaths a few years ago, forty-year- old Gertie had been managing the store with an amazing ability, surprising most folks with her business savvy. Short and slightly plump, with a wide forehead that peeked out from under her medium length dark brown permed hair, Gertie looked older than her age. High cheek bones were a remnant of a reminder that her great-great-grandmother was an Ojibwe, a heritage that brought her a sense of confident pride. Remaining a spinster, legend alleged that as a twenty-year- old she had a lover who resided at the Red Cliff Indian Reservation, but he left her broken-hearted, causing her to be gun shy against getting involved with anyone again. It isn’t certain if the story is true, but most folks have always sworn it to be an accurate account of Gertie’s past.
Gertie not only knew everyone in town, she also knew everybody’s business, and never forgot a thing. Therefore, one could always count on Miss Bolber for the latest gossip that she managed to ascertain before anyone else. It remained a mystery to the folks of Elkton where she found her information, but the
y just assumed she possessed some sort of a gift.
Agatha trekked into the store at nine o’clock a.m. to find a crowd already converging at the meat counter where Gertie, along with two of her employees, waited on customers as quickly and accurately as possible. Since she couldn’t get to her at that moment, Agatha decided to pick up a few items, opting to return a little later. Walking away, she overheard Gertie telling someone that the sheriff has been on the lookout for Oswald Benson, that he may have killed the mayor. How did Gertie learn this information?
The next thing she heard stopped her in her tracks. Gertie shouted to a person Agatha couldn’t see, “Is that a new scarf? Been knittin’? I like the one you usually wear too.”
Just before the mystery person could answer, the whole Elkton ice hockey team charged into the store and chanted, “Whose gonna win? We’re gonna win! Bayfield doesn’t have a chance ‘cause we’re gonna melt their ice!” The crowd cheered and clapped, and were looking forward to the ice hockey game to be played later that day, marking the end of the Christmas carnival.
Agatha searched through the mass of people to make a mental list of who stood at the meat counter, but there were too many, most of whom wore hand-knitted scarves. It was hard for her to concentrate when folks kept stopping her to tell her how sorry they were about Maggie May’s death, how wonderful Mazie sang last night, what a fantastic job Samara did on her snow sculpture, and when would she be playing her dulcimer again.
The next thing she knew, her old teacher pal, Mary, who played the guitar with her from time to time, grabbed her arm and said, “Hey Agatha. Haven’t seen much of you this week. You haven’t been to many of the events, although I did catch a glimpse of you at the Ball last night. What you been doin? By the way, I’m so sad about Maggie May. Can’t believe she locked herself out of her house like that. Any word on when her funeral will be?”
“Oh, Mary, so many questions this morning. I’ve been busy spending time with the girls. Maggie May was an only child, but she has a cousin, Ruth Elizabeth, who lives in Milwaukee. She’ll take care of things after the new year.” Agatha told a partial truth. Maggie’s cousin had been told Maggie May had been murdered, but that she must wait for the autopsy to be performed before she could make funeral arrangements.
“Dear me. It’s all so sad, what with the murder of Maximilian, and then Maggie’s death. I heard Gertie say Oswald Benson may be the killer. This is so awful,” Mary wrung her hands in worried fashion.
Wanting to change the subject mainly to get on with her investigation, Agatha told her friend that the funeral arrangements would be listed in the paper as soon as Maggie’s cousin could tend to things. Then she added, “Let’s plan on playing some music together after these holidays are over. I’ll give you a call.” To Agatha’s relief, that ended the conversation, and Mary left the store looking forward to strumming a few tunes with her friend.
Any chance to speak with Gertie had dissipated because the store remained too crowded for her to get Gertie’s attention. She would have to wait until later to find out whose scarf the store owner had complimented, and to be able to ply her memory of Maggie’s poems. Agatha suddenly felt a pang of fear when she realized Gertie may possibly be in danger herself, especially if the scarf belonged to the murderer. She would keep looking in all directions, not just at Oswald Benson.
Oh criminey, she thought, I’ve got to get this thing solved before anybody else gets killed.
Chapter Twenty-four
Saturday, 1:00 P.M. December 28, 1946
Built in 1922, The Ice Palace remained one of Elkton’s proudest amenities. The indoor skating rink had been named for the short story, “The Ice Palace” by F. Scott Fitzgerald, published in The Saturday Evening Post in May 1920. The story told about a Southern woman who became disillusioned with her environment, gave up and moved north in the winter to meet her fiancé’s family, but she eventually returned to her southern roots. The people of Elkton who were familiar with the story thought “The Ice Palace” ought to be a good name for their new skate arena simply because they felt that “Up North” wasn’t for the weak, much like the woman in the story.
Crowds filled the arena from both Bayfield and Elkton, chattering and bantering with their rivals as they waited for the start of the annual ice hockey game that marked the end of the Christmas carnival each year. Agatha spotted Sheriff Lange and Deputy King, both dressed in uniforms, and looking none the worse for the wear. She locked eyes with James, who signaled her to join them.
The three met in a quiet place outside of the arena. “Mrs. Larsen, you’ll be glad to know we have Oswald in custody. Caught him at the Red Cliff Reservation just as he was pulling up to Anna’s cousin’s house. He had some furniture in his truck, along with the marijuana plants. He swears up and down he didn’t kill the mayor.
“The old boy admitted to drug smuggling using the fish tug The Nancy Lou taking it up to Canada. He again swore that when he noticed the lock on his shed had been cut, he went inside to find that the cyanide had been taken. After learning the mayor had been poisoned with it, he panicked, replaced the lock and kept his mouth shut.
“By that time he was spilling his guts all over the place. It seems that Mayor Mueller had seen the marijuana plants in the greenhouse some time ago, and had been blackmailing him ever since. Oswald got so tired of paying him, that he broke into the mayor’s house the night of the Christmas program to see if he could find anything the mayor had on him. Didn’t find a thing. Decided to let Max know the payments had to stop. That’s what people saw taking place the night of the tree lighting—the two arguing about the blackmail. He did threaten Max a bit, but vows they were just words he had no intention of turning into action.”
“Oh criminey. While this explains some things, we still don’t know who the murderer is,” Agatha muttered more to herself than to them. “I wonder if Maximilian was blackmailing anyone else.” She had to get the words of Maggie May’s poems now for certain. “Did you happen to ask him about the threatening note I received?”
“Yes, ma’am, and he swore he didn’t know anything about a threatening note to you or anyone else,” the deputy responded. “Which makes me want to say that you cannot keep doing this, Mrs. Larsen. I fear you must be getting a little too close for the murderers comfort, and your life might be in serious danger.”
“Yes, Jonathan, but I cannot stop looking into this. My best friend has been murdered in her own home, and a former student poisoned in front of a crowd of people. I’m afraid if we don’t find out who did this pronto, someone else is going to be killed too, don’t you know.”
“Hey, that person might be you,” he said.
The trio walked back into the arena where the game had already gotten underway. Mazie beckoned to her grandmother to sit in the seat they had saved for her between Samara and herself.
“What’s going on, Nana?”
“They got Oswald. He’s in jail. Swears on his life he didn’t murder the mayor, and I believe him. Never did have a good feeling about that,” she whispered to her two granddaughters.
“Uhhh, which means the murderer is still on the loose then,” Samara spoke in her softest voice.
“Yes, dear, I’m afraid it does. Come over to my house after the game. I’ve got some things to tell you, and an errand for you both to run for me.”
They stopped talking about their investigation opting to wait until they met at Agatha’s, and found themselves enamored with the game.
The Elkton team was winning by one point when Gary Anderson made another goal.
The crowd screamed, “Score one for the home team!”
***
4:00 P.M.
After the game ended, Agatha and the girls had their meeting where she brought them up to date, even telling them about the threatening note.
“Nana, this is getting way too dangerous. I’m afraid for you,” Samara cried.
“It will be okay, dear. We’re on to something and I don’t
even know what that is just yet, but I need the two of you—there’s safety in numbers—to go visit Gertie Bolber and ask her who was wearing the scarf she admired this morning. Find out if the scarf she also ‘liked’ was the navy blue one we saw at Maggie’s. Take some paper with you and ask Gertie if she remembers any of Maggie’s most recent poems word for word. Write down everything she remembers. Are you okay with doing all of this?”
Mazie answered first. “We’ll be fine. What will you be doing in the mean time?”
“I’m going back to Greta’s. The two of us are going to search Max’s study until we find something that shows us who else Max may have been blackmailing. There’s got to be something we’ve overlooked. I’ll meet you back here as close to five o’clock as possible.”
Chapter Twenty-five
4:15 P.M. December 28, 1946
With her notebook in her oversized purse, Agatha went back to see Greta Mueller. The two women sat in the living room as they had previously, drinking some tea that Greta had so graciously prepared for them.
“I’m so sorry dear, but we’ve got some new information. Did you know that Max had been blackmailing Oswald Benson?”
She gasped, “No! Whatever for?”
“Well, evidently Oswald has been growing marijuana in his greenhouse and smuggling it up to Canada on a fish tug. He confessed everything to the sheriff. Max had seen the plants, knew what they were and decided to make a little money on the side for himself.” She took a sip of tea and continued. “Oh, and by the way, Oswald is the one who broke into your house the night of the Christmas program looking for any evidence Max may have had on him. He told the sheriff he did not murder your husband, but he did make an idle threat to him the night of the tree lighting.”
“This is most distressful. I am in complete shock. I knew my husband was a bit of a scoundrel, but blackmail? Could he have been blackmailing anybody else do you think?”