“That would be good. How long would it take?”
“Couple of days max. I can start on it tomorrow,” Jason said.
I looked around the table. Should I start the discussion now or wait till after dinner? I’ll just let things go naturally, see what develops. If we don’t accomplish anything, we are at least getting to know each other—team bonding.
I could hear Charles talking to the grownups, “…So then I said, ‘Yes, that’s why I brought the shovel,” Madame Petrovsky, Fay, and Myrna March burst out laughing. Old Charles was killing ‘em at the other end of the table. As they finished laughing, our bus boy sneaked in and set up a stand on the floor presaging the arrival of the big food tray. Our room was small. There was barely room to walk behind the seated diners. This made the room cozy and warm. The smell of the garlic and herbs from the other rooms was adding to my longing for our dinner to come.
“What do you think, Professor?
“About what?”
“About secrets,” Veronica said. “When a person says he will keep a secret, what does that mean? Does that mean he can tell his best friend? Or does that mean he can’t tell anyone?”
“That’s a tough one, Veronica,” I scratched my chin and then poured some wine for myself and then remembered the others. I poured a little into Veronica’s glass and then Jason’s—Ralphy, I didn’t know if I should. I didn’t.
“If a person’s wife, or his best friend, can keep a secret—I mean really keep a secret—I don’t think the guy is wrong for telling that one person. Does that help?”
“Well, someone I know, not mentioning any names, said that he would not tell a soul and now he tells me that he told someone. Isn’t that breaking his promise? He said he would tell no one and then he tells Jason, I mean someone.” She raised her hands on either side of her head and waved them as if she was erasing her previous statement. “Shouldn’t he be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law?” She looked at the boys. As if I couldn’t tell who she was talking about and what the secret was.
“If he only told that one special person and that person was someone who could be trusted with a secret, I don’t believe that he broke his promise. I mean, if someone told you something in confidence, wouldn’t you tell Monica?”
“Yes, but that’s different. She’s my sister, I tell her everything.” She leaned forward and sipped at her wine, held in both hands.
Our waitress squeezed into our room burdened with a satellite-dish-sized tray with the fruits of the kitchen. I recognized her as a student at Braxton. Her accomplice placed more bottles of wine on the table. Why does the petite waitress carry the oversize tray and the healthy red-blooded American boy carry the two bottles of wine? Is there a glass ceiling here?
We all were silent while the platters and bowls were passed around, like this was something religious. I speculated that everyone with a refrigerator would take home a doggy bag—even with our big eater-boys here. There was a lot of food.
Then the feasting began and the conversation returned. Ralphy and Jason were talking about our chances against Carbridge U for homecoming which is only a few weeks off. Carbridge is called Dirt U or Dirt Ewe at Braxton because they are in the famous dust bowl of the 30’s and the area is prime hog farming area. Veronica was quiet and I couldn’t quite hear the conversation at the other end over Ralphy and Jason’s discussion.
Fay ate quickly and came up to me. “Thanks for the dinner, Professor. If it’s all the same to you, I’ve got to run. Two tests tomorrow.” We exchanged smiles. She squeezed my hand and slipped behind the other chairs on her way to the door. It’s easy to see why she’s so skinny, she hardly had anything to eat—and no doggy bag.
After I finished, I stood up and contorted myself on the way to her former seat to have my dessert there. “Are you enjoying yourselves?” I asked the grownups.
“We are,” Myrna said. “I’m learning so much.”
“Oh?” I said.
“Yes, for example: look at this label.” She passed one of the wine bottles to me. “Charles was telling me that the spirit world is involved in many places where you would least expect it.”
“Like Nancy Reagan consulting her astrologer before scheduling anything,” Madame Petrovsky added.
Myrna continued. “Madame Petrovsky said a friend of hers from California uses magic to improve the flavor and salability of their wines. She says that a woman actually comes over and performs a ritual on their land at the beginning of the growing season and before the harvest. She thinks it improves the wine. And, she says, quite a few vintners do it.”
“It’s not going to hurt,” I added.
I looked at the back of the wine bottle. There was a little picture of the vineyard with buildings in the background. Below that, I read:
At Chateau Hill Vineyards, we are proud of our zesty, flavor-filled wines made from grapes grown on our windkissed slopes in Mendocino. We age and magically blend the grapes for a smooth and consistent flavor that goes well with pasta or grilled meats. The best to you from the best of us.
“That’s not just advertising hype?” I asked.
“No, she really does come in and perform a ceremony on the land,” Madame Petrovsky said.
“So it’s part of the growing process? At the beginning of the season, you call in the healer, or enchanter, or whatever she’s called, to help your crops?” I asked.
“It’s not unlike the blessing of the fishing boats in fishing villages,” Charles said. “And, you’re right. It’s not going to hurt.”
“Yes,” Madame Petrovsky said. “We talked about that when she was in town a few weeks ago. She came to visit me and see the Cornfest. The grapes have been harvested, crushed, and bottled. So Paula thought it would be a good time to come east for a few days. We went to college together.”
“What did she think of our Cornfest?” Myrna asked. “Not as fancy as California, I’m sure.”
“She loved it, the leaves turning colors, the friendly Midwesterners. The weather was perfect that week too,” Madame Petrovsky said. “She thought the town was quaint and the University picturesque. She even visited your library.”
“Really?” Myrna said. “Did she say how it compared to hers, back in California?”
“Well, she did. She said it wasn’t as large as hers but you had more books and more interesting things on display. And, very homey, a nice place to spend a rainy afternoon—her words,” Madame said.
“So, Myrna, good grades for you and the whole library staff.” They smiled as I filled their wine glasses. “To your friend’s magical wine,” I said as I looked at Madame Petrovsky. We lifted our glasses and toasted.
“And the students,” Charles said. “She said she enjoyed all those happy youthful faces wherever she turned.”
“Dessert anyone?” Our waitress snuck up behind me. Everyone looked up and gave gestures that said ‘no thanks, I’m too full.’ “Well, then, how about coffee?” This received a more positive response. The guys ordered coffee, the ladies, tea.
Quiet conversations bubbled around the table. I held my glass between my hands, sat back and watched. Veronica was smiling at Ralphy. He just said something to Jason they thought was funny. Charles was discussing Clinton’s reelection chances to Myrna March. Madame Petrovsky was listening too. It looks like Myrna and Charles are hitting it off all right. They are about the same age and they dress the same: from a previous era. Everyone looked good in the candle light, warm colors on unworried faces. We aren’t getting anything done, but, we’re having a good time and I think that we’ll be able to work well together—unless the bowl thief is here. I hope not.
I heard clinking. It was our waitress with cups, saucers, and the items necessary for coffee and tea service. My coffee was good, strong with a nutty flavor. I was sipping and watching Ralphy explain to Jason and Veronica, with exaggerated hand gestures, the importance of being earnest when Myrna March blurted out, “What!”
I looked w
here she was looking. Her tea had turned blood red, a thick bright red. Conversation stopped and everyone looked at Myrna’s cup. I looked at them looking. Now both Veronica’s and Madame Petrovsky’s tea was red also. Veronica said, “What’s going on here?”
I took Myrna’s little stainless tea server and poured tea into my empty water glass. Nothing happened. “Did you put anything in your tea?” I asked Veronica. She picked up the empty imitation sugar packet that lay on the table and looked at me. I looked at Myrna’s and Madame’s place. They too, had empty packets in front of them. I grabbed the empty ones and all that were left in the bowl and put them in my jacket pocket. “Don’t drink that stuff. Jason, go find our waitress.” What was going on here? Have we been attacked?
The waitress rushed up to our table. She saw the teacups and put her hands up to her face. “I’ll get you new ones. I don’t understand what happened. This never happened before. I don’t know what happened.” She turned to leave. I touched her arm. “It was something in the sugar packets,” I said. “Where was the sugar bowl before you brought it to us?”
“It was at the service station. We keep the knives and forks and everything we need to set up the tables in this section there.”
“Would you show me?” I asked.
We left our private room, walked down a short hall to the main dining room. The service station was against the wall between the doors to the kitchen and the door to the men’s rest room. She pointed to the flower pot sized crock that held the imitation sugar packets. “There,” she said.
“Who puts the sugar packets in there?” I asked.
“When it gets low, I tell one of the bus boys to fill it. We have a big box of them in the kitchen. But now I remember. The pot wasn’t there a minute ago. There were a dozen Sweet-N-Lo on the table but the bowl wasn’t there. I just grabbed the packets, put them in a bowl, and brought them in to you.”
I looked around. Anybody going to the kitchen or bathroom could have moved the crock and tossed some packets on the table. It wouldn’t have been hard. But why? Why turn our tea red?
I rejoined our group. Veronica still wore her frown but everyone else had gotten back into the party mode. Jason and Ralphy were vigorously discussing the pros and cons of the Ford Mustang and Charles was telling the ladies about a bargain he got at an antique sale in Florida. They all looked up when I came in.
“Anyone could have done it. The sugar was pretty much out in the open. Anyone walking to the kitchen or washroom could have done it,” I said.
“But why, Professor? Why would someone do that?” Veronica said while twisting her napkin unconsciously in her hands.
“To scare us. To make us feel like someone knows all of our actions and can get to us,” I said.
“Well, it worked. I’m scared,” Veronica said.
“I don’t think that they want to hurt us,” I said. “I think that they want us to stop investigating,”
“We must be getting close, don’t you think, Professor?” Ralphy said.
“Could be,” I didn’t want to say anything in this too public area. They turned back to their conversation groups and spoke quietly. The mood was spoiled.
We left together around seven after many thank yous and requests for doggy bags. Even the flamboyant Madame Petrovsky asked for one. Does this mean that she’s a mortal like the rest of us, or is the doggy bag for Beloved Haliburton?
Chapter 19
March Spots Petrovsky
The next morning, Ralphy came into my office about eleven.
“Thanks for the great meal last night, Professor,” he said.
“We didn’t get much accomplished but I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” I said.
“I did. You know, I was listening to your conversation at the other end of the table. Veronica is still not really talking to me.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” I asked.
“I think I know too much.”
“What?”
“I mean I saw her with no clothes on Tuesday and on Wednesday, she fainted and stopped the whole séance thing. She thinks that I’m going to tell,” he said, still standing in front of my desk. “I’m not though.”
“She fainted?” I asked.
“Yeah, she got all wound up in this spirit stuff, and, I have to admit, it wasn’t too bad on Wednesday. I mean, it didn’t seem as phony. Anyway, she fainted and got all embarrassed and blamed me for somehow letting her faint. I don’t know—women.
“Anyway, what I wanted to say, why I came over here, was that I was listening to you talk about wine and that lady that came from California and saw the town and the school. You know, Professor, that Cornfest was about two weeks before the bowl was taken. And we’ve been thinking that it was taken by some spiritual or magical person. And, then Madame Petrovsky says this woman uses magic on her crops. Well, what do you think? Are these things related? Is this 2 + 2? Or could it be…”
“You could be right, Ralphy, you could be right. I didn’t think about it. That’s interesting. Are these things related?” I said more to myself than to him.
“Lady uses magic in her job. Comes to town. Visits library. Bowl missing. Looks fishy to me. We should track her down, see what she has to say, see if she looks guilty,” Ralphy said as he leaned back on the back two legs of his chair.
“Madame Petrovsky should have her number. I’ll call and see what she has to say. Want to go to lunch?”
“Lunch? I’m not eating for the rest of the semester.”
I called Madame Petrovsky. She was pleasant and glad to hear from me. She thanked me for last night and told me that Charles thinks that Myrna is a hot ticket. Not in so many words but that was the thrust of it. She also said that she thought my students were, “charming and an asset to the school.” I’ll have to tell them that. We finally got around to the reason for my call. “Madame, your friend in California might be able to help us. She might know if one of these ‘crop blessers,’ for want of a better word, might use our bowl. Maybe she took it,” I said in my most captivating way.
“If you promise not to browbeat her, I’ll give you her number.”
* * *
I was getting up to go to the caf for a quick bite when Fay came into the doorway and said, “Phone call. Ms. March.”
“Thank you, Fay.” I picked up the phone. “Good morning, Ms. March.”
“Good Morning, Professor” she said. “I wanted to say I had a nice time last night. Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome. And, speaking of last night, I called Madame Petrovsky this morning and not only did she thank me for last night but she also wanted to tell me that Charles thought you were pleasant company. I think that she wanted me to relay that to you.”
“That is so nice to hear.” She paused for a second. “I enjoyed myself very much last night. He is such a gentleman.” She cleared her throat. “That makes this especially hard to say because they were so pleasant last night.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t think that Madame Petrovsky has been forthright with us. She has withheld some things from us.”
“What?”
“Well,” she cleared her throat again. “I remember seeing her in the library before the Cornfest.”
“Was her friend with her?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. I think she was alone.
“You know,” she continued “that our library is partly funded by the city, so many town people have cards and use our facilities. It is not unusual to have non-students in the library. However, she lives too distant to be in our jurisdiction.”
“I see.”
“Well, she didn’t mention going to the library, or, as a matter of fact, anything about the bowl. I would think that she would say something like, ‘Oh what a coincidence, I was
there just before it was taken.’ Or, ‘I was there and I didn’t see the bowl or I did see the bowl.’ But she didn’t say anything.
“I remembered her because of the way she dressed. She wasn’t that hard to miss because she wore a hat like she wore to the dinner. And, she’s a full woman, a noticeable size, and wore a pashmina. Our regular visitors don’t dress like that.”
“Pashmina, what’s that?”
“It’s a big scarf worn over the shoulders. I suppose you could call it a shawl, but this was too expensive to be called a shawl.”
The coat that she wore last night was cut wide so it billowed out every time she turned. When she came in, she didn’t knock anything over, but almost. Her hat—I immediately think of those worn by nineteenth century French writers and painters—big, floppy looking, black, short with a brim almost extending to her shoulders. They were usually only worn by villains to conceal their faces. When you saw Madame, you knew she wasn’t an accountant. Yes, she would stand out in a small school library.
“Have you ever seen her in the library before?” I asked.
“I would have remembered if I had,” she said. “But she could have been there without me seeing her. I’m usually not in a place where I can view the traffic.”
“What would she be doing in the library all alone? I could see her taking her friend around or being on campus for lunch with a friend from town, but the library? What would she want there?”
“I don’t know but I thought you should know, Professor. And that is why I called.”
“I appreciate you telling me this. I’ll have to ask her about it.”
I hung up, had a quick bite at the caf, and called the “coast,” like they say in the movies. I can picture it now…after I dial and hear the ringing, everyone on “the coast” picks up their phone, “Hello, the Coast,” There I am with four million people on the phone waiting to hear what I have to say. Quite a responsibility.
She answered on the first ring. I was surprised. I didn’t expect a voice so quickly. I usually end up playing phone tag for days before my party and I are at the same place at the same time. I was trying to compose a great question, but the phone was answered so quickly, I settled on a non-stupid opening.