Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes (21 page)

And after leaning against the wall and defensively crossing her arms, she continued. “Mental illness routinely runs in families, and Ole’s Aunt Harriet has exhibited symptoms most of her adult life. But back in her younger days, no one went to the doctor for that kind of thing. My mom, who grew up with her, said folks either considered her ‘grumpy’ or ‘wild,’ depending on her mood.”

The corners of Barbie’s eyes crinkled in muted laughter. “Mom used to tell me some outrageous stories.” She glanced to her right, then her left, before proceding. “I suppose this really isn’t funny, and I shouldn’t repeat it, but I can’t help myself given how crotchety that old lady is now.”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “One time, years ago, when Harriet and her sisters were at the national curling championship, she was really out of control, not thinking right at all.” Another glance around the room. “Well, following the awards’ ceremony, she stripped naked and streaked across the rink.”

Again I imagined the Anderson sisters gliding across a sheet of ice in their sensible black shoes, their bags of stolen goodies hanging from their shoulders. Only this time Harriet was as bare as the day she was born, although her breasts still sagged to her knees, like deflated party balloons, and the wind still whistled through her mustache and … I winced.

Barbie grew more reflective. “Then, years later, someone caught her coming out of the former Lutheran minister’s parsonage early one morning, her hair and clothes in complete disarray. She was in her early seventies by then, so I guess that really wasn’t all that funny.” A beat later, she amended that statement. “In fact, it was pretty sad.” Another beat. “Yeah, Reverend Swenson was a jerk for taking advantage of her like that.”

“Did he know she had issues?”

Barbie arched her penciled brows. “He should have. By that point in her life, Harriet wasn’t exactly ‘Girls Gone Wild’ material. Nope, she was normally quiet. When she wasn’t, it was plain to see she wasn’t thinking straight.”

She wiggled her finger at me. “It happened shortly after we moved back here. Lena talked to Tom and me about it because we had always been open about our own situation.”

She unfolded her arms. “Lena was so angry with Reverend Swenson, I thought she was going to hand him his asshole to wear around his neck in place of that religious collar of his.”

I shoved that image from my mind, afraid it would otherwise haunt me for days.

“What about Ole?” I asked. “Did Lena ever confront him about his issues?”

“Oh, yeah, but he refused to see a doctor, almost to the day Lena died.”

Again Barbie leaned against the wall, this time propping it up with her shoulder. “His sisters weren’t any help either. Margie and Vivian made excuses for him. On a few occasions, they even went so far as to blame Lena for the problems in their marriage.”

She lifted her chin. “Now don’t get me wrong. Lena was no saint. To the contrary. She could be a real hard-ass, especially where Ole was concerned.”

I still wasn’t sure what to think. Barbie’s remarks definitely raised a lot of questions. Some I’d have to ponder. Others I could ask right away. So that’s what I did. “Well, how did Margie and Vivian explain Harriet’s behavior?”

Barbie twisted her bottom lip while holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “They said Harriet’s problem was nothing like Ole’s. They blamed Ole’s trouble on booze but said Harriet, who’s never had a drink in her life, was just plain nuts. They said there’s a nut or two in every family.”

I had to agree with them on that. From what I’d gathered, Ole had developed a drinking problem during a mid-life crisis, while Harriet had been dealing with psychological issues most of her life. “Well …”

Barbie shook her head defiantly in answer to my unspoken skepticism. “I know what I know. And now Margie’s wondering about it too.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to make her angry again. Still, I wasn’t one to take stock in arm-chair analysis, which was exactly what she was peddling. Bottom line, Ole was never professionally diagnosed with any type of mental illness. I stopped short as a notion teased my brain. Then again, neither was Harriet. Hmm.

The band was setting up, and among them, Tom, Barbie’s husband. I watched as he positioned his drums. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. He didn’t appear any different from anyone else. Not that he would, I suppose.

“How’s your husband now?” My curiosity was comingled with confusion regarding a health condition I knew nothing about.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Barbie waved her hand, as if that would further convince me. “After he decided to take control of his life, he came to Minnesota to dry out. He’d self-prescribed alcohol to treat his other issue, so he ended up with two serious problems.” She grimaced.

“Through treatment at Hazelden, he got hooked up with a therapist he still sees once a month. He got sober, began taking his medication faithfully, and went back to school. After he finished his music degree, he got his teaching license.

“That’s how I met him. I interviewed him for the university’s paper. You know the story: ‘Rocker Gives Up
Everything for Life Anew.’” She swept the air with her hands like she was reading a banner tied to the back of a plane.

“Rocker?”

“Yeah, he played drums for some well-known bands when he was in California. But the music industry isn’t exactly conducive to healthy living.”

I gazed at Tom. He was an interesting-looking guy. His face was heavily creased, giving him a tired look, but he smiled easily. He wore a sleeveless tee-shirt, cut-off jeans, and Birkenstock sandals. A peace sign was tattooed on his right arm, near his shoulder, and silver posts dotted his earlobes. “He never resented giving up his old life style?” His arms and legs were thin, although he carried extra weight around his middle. He didn’t seem to mind. He munched on a homemade Nut Goodie Bar, another waiting on a napkin on his snare drum.

“If he hadn’t changed his life, he’d be in jail right now, or a hospital, or possibly the morgue.” Barbie spoke without sentiment. “So no, I don’t think he has any regrets.”

“Well, I’m glad he got himself straightened out.”

“Oh, don’t let me give you the wrong impression.” Her hands poked at the air like she was groping for the right words. “It … um … hasn’t been easy, and it certainly hasn’t been perfect. He’s had … um … his share of set-backs, and he’ll struggle with demons the rest of his life.” By the expression on her face, I could tell she was pondering something. “Then again, who won’t?” She paused, providing time for that philisophical tidbit to take root. “And all things considered, we’ve done pretty damn well. I like to think the experience has made us better people. More understanding. More forgiving. Less serious.”

“Less serious?”

“For sure. If we can’t laugh at some of this, we’d cry all day.” She glimpsed at the stage, captured her husband’s attention, and blew him a kiss.

He flashed her a smile in return. It was a great smile. It originated in his eyes and lit up his entire face.

“I hope I didn’t bore you,” she went on to say. “Like Margie, I’ve been thinking a lot about Ole lately. I suppose that’s what people do when someone they care about dies before their time. They question things. They wonder if they could have done more.”

“Is that what you think? You could have done more?”

She only briefly hesitated. “No. Tom and I did our best. I just have trouble—even to this day—accepting that he ever got involved with that tramp in the first place. God, she was a pig. She’s the only person I’ve ever truly hated.”

Barbie picked at her thumbnail, scraping polish from it. “She’s the reason Lena died, you know.” More scraping. “I miss that woman so much.” She sighed heavily. “I swear I cried every day for a year after her death.” She looked at me dead on, something she hadn’t done much of during our conversation. “Finally, Tom convinced me to do what I could about the situation and then let the rest of it go. So that’s what I did.”

After Barbie excused herself to grab something to eat, I talked to John Deere and the other guys leaning against the bar. Then I visited the bathroom again. And when I was done in there and back out in the hallway, I noticed the café doors that served as entrance to the coatroom. According to Margie, the Precious Moments bride and groom were on the other side.

I glanced up and down the hall. No one seemed to be watching, so I stepped forward and gently pushed on the swinging doors. Yep, Buford and Buddy had struck again. The wooden figures were on the floor—together in the biblical sense—at least as together as two wooden figures could be. And while I couldn’t see the bride’s face, I had to admit the groom looked incredibly happy.

Oddly embarrassed, I stepped back and let the doors swing shut. Then once again I scanned the hall. Spotting no one and no one seemingly spotting me, I tugged at my shirt, pushed my hair behind my ears, and nonchalantly shuffled into the café.

As planned, Barbie was there, at the counter, waiting for me. The place was otherwise deserted.

“Margie was just in here,” she informed me. “She said Vivian visited with you earlier. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I to say?”

We each grabbed a stool, Barbie’s butt barely brushing the vinyl before she dug into her dinner, a mish-mash of left-over hot dishes. “Well, how’d it go?”

I checked over both shoulders and spoke quietly. “I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want Margie to get angry with me for trashing her sister. But the truth is I had to run away. And even though it’s been a while, my head still hurts from listening to her.”

Barbie snickered. “Yeah, Vivian has that effect on people. She thinks she sounds smart by speaking like that.”

“Well, I think she sounds ridiculous.”

“You and me both.”

Barbie speared another clump of food. “God, I’m starving. Must be from all the typing I did this afternoon.”

“Did you finish your stories?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “No thanks to you.”

I rapped her forearm. “You’re kind of owlish when you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

With a glint in her eyes, she returned to her dinner.

I, on the other hand, rewound our previous conversation, stopping when I got to the part where Barbie said that Vivian and Margie blamed Lena for the problems in her marriage to Ole. The remark had been bothering me, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. To get any relief, I knew I had to ask about it, so I decided to do just that.

“Barbie, in spite of what you told me, I can’t imagine Margie and her sister joining forces against anyone, much less Lena. Not the way Margie slams Vivian almost every chance she gets. Which, by the way, I understand perfectly now that I’ve met Vivian. But anyhow, what’s the real deal there?”

Barbie pointed her fork at my nose. “Emme, don’t forget, blood’s thicker than water. Margie may talk trash about her siblings, but no one else better.” She went back to her food.

“Well, I wish I’d known that this afternoon.”

“Why? Did you say something bad to Margie about Vivian?”

“Nooo.” I drew out the lone syllable. “Not Vivian. Ole.”

Barbie looked confused, so I tried to set her straight by explaining how I’d implied to Margie that Ole was the most likely suspect in Samantha Berg’s murder case.

She didn’t even attempt to hide her amusement. “Margie must really like you or want her story in that paper of yours because she’s banned people from the café for far less than that.”

“That’s not the worst of it.” I eyed the room for something sweet. Did I mention that sugar helps to ease the discomfort that routinely accompanies unpleasant conversations? I believe it’s a scientific fact. But the only treat I saw teetered on the far side of Barbie’s plate. And since I was pretty sure she’d object if I reached in front of her and snatched it away, I went without. “I have a few other confessions to make too.” Sweets or no sweets, I had to unburden myself.

“Wait a minute.” Barbie raised her hand. “Let me go get Father Daley.”

“No!” I yanked her arm down. “I already made an ass out of myself in front of him.”

She appeared bemused. “How so?”

“Well, after I learned from Deputy Ryden—”

She slapped her hand against the counter. “Hold on! You met Deputy Frisk Me Please?”

I rolled my eyes. “Margie introduced us. She had him sit with me during dinner because the cafe was so crowded. Or so I thought. I didn’t know about the banquet room at the time.”

Barbie rested her elbows on the counter, one on each side of her plate, her fingers knitted together in front of her face. “God, I love that woman. Every time I think she’s messed things up for me with that big mouth of hers, she goes and does something wonderful. I never even thought of using Randy to entice you into moving here.”

I made a pained face. “Don’t get too excited. I scared him off. I tend to do that to men. That’s why I’m opening a convent.”

“A convent?”

“Yep.”

Barbie smirked. “Is your love life really that bad?”

“You wouldn’t believe … But it’s more than my personal life. I’m confused about my career too.”

I caught her grinning smartly, as if she knew something I didn’t. “That’s because deep down you want to relocate and work for me. The realization just hasn’t made it to your conscious mind yet.”