one end of the structure collapsed. With a terrified squawk, the poor bird attempted to launch its unaerodynamic body into the air, then hot-footed it off between the tables. Children squealed and shouted from all over the room. Several clambered from their chairs and took off in pursuit, laughing and diving after the leash, terrifying the big, white, flapping bird even more.
“Stop!” shouted Sarkisian, but whether to the turkey or the children, I couldn’t be sure. The children, at least, responded. “No one move,” he ordered.
The turkey ran to a corner and stood there, trembling. I made a mental note-again-not to be among the mopping up crew. The distressed bird had contributed to the mess on the floor. I approached it from one side, and Sarkisian from the other. He reached the end of the leash first and picked it up.
“The sheriff just arrested the turkey!” Simon Lowell yelled.
The resultant laughter startled the bird, and it darted about the sheriff’s legs. Sarkisian unwound himself and handed the leash to me, and I only had to tug a couple of times to get the prisoner to come with me.
Outside seemed a haven of peace. I tied the poor thing to a pipe near the door where it could await the raffle in relative quiet. Then it would be someone else’s problem. It stood at the extent of its tether, wings still raised, looking forlorn. I felt certain there was something in the Geneva Convention, and possibly the Sheriff’s Department regulations as well, about food and water for those being held in custody. I reentered the building in search of a couple of dishes, only to be met by Adam Fairfield’s raised voice.
“Your shoddy construction’s always causing trouble,” he yelled. I wasn’t at all surprised to find him facing Simon Lowell once more.
“There was nothing wrong-” Simon began.
“You’re supposed to be an odd-job man,” Adam sneered. “If that platform is a sample of your work, Upper River Gulch had better beware.”
Simon flushed. “At least I don’t do my job drunk. What happened, did Brody catch you swigging the inventory, so you killed him?”
“How dare you imply my home is a brewery,” Gerda declared, quivering with indignation. Or at least pretending to. She inserted herself between the two combatants, effectively breaking up the fight. “That’s where Brody was killed, remember? Now, you’re both acting like a couple of ten-year-olds, and I, for one, have had enough of it.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at them.
Adam turned on his heel and stomped back to the kitchen, presumably to take out his ill temper on the oranges again.
Simon had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, Gerda,” he muttered, and went to repair the platform.
Sarkisian leaned close to me. “I’ve never been to such a friendly little gathering. Are all the Service Club activities such fun and games?”
I nodded. “They live up to their name of SCOURGEs.”
He grinned. “If I’d had an ounce of foresight, I’d have had them declared a public nuisance.”
“Oh, please do!” I whispered back.
“That Lowell really is a rather violent young man, isn’t he?” Doris Brody Quinn inserted herself between us. She gave me a dismissive nod and turned the full force of her gaze on the sheriff. “Do you know, my brother claimed to have found out where Lowell’s money came from.”
“What money?” I asked, reflecting on the single-construction shack he lived in.
She directed a pitying look at me over her shoulder, then turned back to Sarkisian.
“And where is that?” the sheriff asked.
Doris Quinn lowered her voice. “He wouldn’t tell even me. He said he was saving the information for the most public unmasking possible. But someone killed poor Clifford before he could reveal Simon’s dirty secret.” She regarded the sheriff with a touch of triumph, as if she expected him to rush right over and arrest Lowell.
Instead, he merely smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s citizens like you, who bring the officials much needed information, who make our jobs easier and solve crimes faster.”
Doris smiled. She honestly seemed to think he was being serious, not sarcastic. But I had to admit, from his tone of voice, it was hard to tell.
Several people near the front of the room stood and began collecting their plates. “Looks like the first to arrive are done eating,” Sarkisian murmured to me.
“And hightailing it for the door,” I agreed. “And who could blame them?”
“The raffle?” he suggested.
I grinned. “Right. Then at least I can get rid of that ridiculous bird. Peggy!” The little woman looked up from a plate stacked high with pancakes and scorched bacon. “Time for the drawing!”
I’m not sure everyone in the building realized the full implications of that comment. They might still be under the impression we were going to produce the promised smoked breast from somewhere. Boy, was someone going to be in for a surprise when I handed them the leash.
While Peggy hurried to the repaired platform, I strolled to the door and propped a shoulder against the jamb. Art Graham handed Peggy onto the rickety stand, and Tony hovered nearby, probably to catch her if she fell. It swayed under her meager weight, but nothing worse. Simon Lowell stood by, looking ready to handle damage control if it collapsed again.
“Sheriff!” Peggy waved to him. “Come up here, please.”
He wisely declined to clamber up to her side. Undaunted, she held out the giant glass bowl to him, just over his head, and he fished around inside, finally drawing out a folded ticket. He read the number in a loud voice. I looked around, wondering whom to pity, but even though everyone seemed to be checking their tickets, no one spoke up. I began to wonder if maybe someone just didn’t want to collect their prize. I couldn’t blame them. I’d keep quiet, too.
With a sinking heart, it dawned on me I might have to take that damned bird home with me until I could trace the winner if they weren’t present-or couldn’t be brought to own up to it. “Is there a name and number on it?” I called, clinging to that slim chance.
He turned it over. “No.”
“Read that again, will you?” Adam stood in the kitchen doorway, his ticket in his hand. “Couldn’t hear you over all that sausage and bacon sizzling.”
Hope warmed me. I’d love to hand the turkey over to one of the SCOURGE elite.
Peggy took the number from Sarkisian and read it again, as loudly as she could. An all too familiar squeal erupted from the kitchen. Aunt Gerda emerged, waving the winning ticket. I just leaned there, lacking the willpower to move. Sarkisian, grinning hugely, strode past me.
I caught his arm. “You did that on purpose!”
“Hey, it was a fair drawing. You watched.”
“I don’t know how you did it, but you arranged it!”
Laughing, still protesting his innocence, he escaped into the parking lot. He returned only moments later with the giant white bird tucked under his arm. To the general applause-relieved that it wasn’t them, I’m certain-he presented it to its new owner.
Aunt Gerda stared at the big white bird. The big white bird stared at Gerda. After a long moment, Gerda turned to me. “How do you cook a vegetarian Thanksgiving meal?”
Chapter Ten
You could only describe my mood as foul-or rather, fowl. After exchanging a few choice words with my Aunt Gerda, I stalked off to line the backseat of my beloved vintage Mustang convertible with numerous sheets of newspaper. After arranging a bowl of water on the floor and a plate of pancake scraps on the seat, I stalked back to the Hall to collect the unstrung turkey. To my disgust, it hopped right in, then settled down with all the air of a broody hen going to roost. It left me with a deep sense of foreboding.
I stalked-which was becoming my normal walk-back indoors to dish up the last of the bacon and pancakes to the lingering customers, and wished wholeheartedly that Adam Fairfield would run out of orange juice so we could all go home. And at last, he did pour the last glass, and I forked out the last bits of bacon and trudged with the
