Treble at the Jam Fest Read online

  I waited. Old Ned—everyone calls him that, and he says at seventy-five, he’s earned it—is a self-described curmudgeon. But he’s not mean-spirited. And he’s not a gossip. But he would tell me what he thought I needed to know.

  “Three, four years back.” He leaned heavily on the bar. “Before you and your sister came home and gave us all a boost. There was a rift, you might say. We all pooled together funds for advertising the village, when we took on the new slogan.”

  Jewel Bay, the Food Lovers’ Village.

  “A few business owners put together the campaign. I don’t remember if your mother was involved. Anywho, we ran newspaper ads from Billings to Calgary to Spokane. Put up them big billboards. The whole she-bang. And it worked.” Ned paused, staring into the past.

  “Then all of a sudden, we were short on money. Barber was the treasurer. Said the bills came in over what we’d budgeted and the fund was broke.”

  I sipped the last of my mineral water.

  “Everybody was up in arms. Short version, the Chamber offered to take over the promotional stuff, and they’ve done a bang-up job. About the same time, some of the gals decided to reactivate the Village Merchants’ Association, to spice things up down here.”

  “Seems like that’s all working well,” I said.

  “Like a charm.” Ned reached for my glass and slid me a refill. “Problem is, Chamber hasn’t had any trouble keeping expenses in line. Why did we?”

  “So you think Barber pocketed the money.”

  “I think he found himself holding a lot more cash than a two-bit barbershop brings in. Before you know it, he’s got new guitars and speakers and musical whatnot. He’s making contributions to the festival and getting himself on the board.”

  A shiver of suspicion ran down my throat.

  “And you think … ”

  “I’m not saying I think anything, girlie. Not about that death I know is on your mind, whether it was an accident or not. But Dave Barber is building a monument to himself while he’s got the chance.”

  Harsh words. I’d always considered Ned a pleasant curmudgeon, not a bitter one.

  “I know you, Ned. What else is on your mind?”

  His face darkened and he grunted. Ned grunts a lot. “I can’t say there’s a link. But it does put me in mind of an ugly incident oh, maybe thirty years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “When Eileen, my younger girl, was a senior in high school, she and her best girlfriend were in charge of the Homecoming dance and all that hoo-rah. It was a big deal, and she did a good job. But a bunch of money turned up missing. No one had the guts to accuse her outright, but she went through a rough patch. You know how kids can be.”

  I did.

  He went on. “This was before Excel spreadsheets and all that, but I’d taught her to keep track of income and expenses, so I checked her records. I had a pretty good idea where that money went, but we couldn’t prove it, so we let it go. Dave Barber was in that class, and he was dating her best friend.”

  “And you think he absconded with the Homecoming money your daughter and his girlfriend collected.”

  “Bingo. Pamela got pregnant, and right after graduation, they got married. Instead of rock and roll, he found himself a teenage husband and father. Went to barber school and started working with his dad. When the old man died of a heart attack, Dave took over the shop. They moved into the folks’ house—ramshackle wreck north of town. Had a couple more kids, and the day after the youngest finished high school, Dave left her.”

  This was all news to me. “She still around? I don’t know her.”

  “Moved to Pondera. Works in the big bank. My girl keeps up with her, says life beat her down a bit, but she’s bouncing back.”

  A couple sauntered in from the courtyard and sat a few stools away. Ned slid down to say hello and take their orders. Barber had argued with Gerry Martin. He’d wanted Martin gone. He did not care for some woman involved in the festival. He may or may not have sticky fingers.

  I’d seen Dave at the Playhouse Saturday afternoon, prepping for the workshops. If he’d been there in the morning, he could easily have spied Martin coming out of Le Panier and urged him to take a stroll up the River Road, a stroll Martin had not been prepared for, that ended in his death.

  Two episodes of missing money, decades apart and neither ever proven, hardly made a man a killer.

  But they might make him think he could dip into the till one more time.

  Bingo. Murder as a cover-up, though I didn’t know yet how Gerry Martin figured in the mess.

  But the info I’d picked up today would fill in a lot of rows and columns in the Spreadsheet of Suspicion. And the bits and bytes would add up to the whole story. Soon.

  Nineteen

  Erin, I heard the news!”

  “They caught—?” I turned at the sound of my name amid the chit and chatter of the pre-concert cocktail party in the Playhouse lobby, then stopped myself. I was so wrapped up in murder, so sure that Dave Barber was a killer, that I’d forgotten it was all in my head—so far.

  “Bill is a wonderful man,” Mimi George from the Jewel Inn said. “Tony and I are so happy for her. For all of you.”

  My mother always says “change your shoes, change your mood.” So I’d put on my lucky red cowboy boots, a short blue and white skirt, and a red tank, and grabbed a white sweater that tied at the waist. I felt like a flag, hung out a week before Memorial Day. I did not feel lucky. But that had nothing to do with my mother and Bill.

  “It’s great!” I said. “And about time, don’t you think?”

  Chiara broke in, greeting Mimi with an air kiss and an apology. “Need my little sis.” She carried a single champagne flute she stuck in my hand and pulled me to an upholstered bench in the alcove next to the concession stand.

  I thanked my lucky stars that I’d slipped my mother’s ring—my ring—back in its box.

  “What did you want to tell me about Tanner? Quick, before they get here.”

  I told my sister about Tanner’s illness recurring, and what he’d asked of Adam.

  “You’re not saying you don’t think he should go. He has to go. They’ll hold his job.”

  “No. Yes.” I squeezed my eyelids shut and opened them, waving my free hand in a stop motion. “No, of course he should go. And yes, they’ll hold his job. I hope. He was going in to talk to his boss today. The problem is—”

  Was that all in my head, too?

  “The problem is”—I swallowed hard, hating to think about this—“Tanner has no family. If he dies, he’s leaving the company to Adam. What if—what if Adam wants to move back? He can’t run that business from here. It’s hands-on. It needs daily management. It needs—”

  “Erin. Erin, stop.” Chiara’s voice sliced through my fear. “Adam is not going back to Minneapolis. His work is here. His life is here.” She jabbed a finger toward the tile floor.

  “But—”

  “But nothing. He is not leaving you.”

  “He—he couldn’t live with himself if he let Tanner down. And I couldn’t live with myself if I insisted he stay here for me.”

  Kyle Caldwell zoomed toward us, Kim behind him. I quickly rearranged my face.

  “There sits trouble.” Kyle’s fedora tumbled off and he grabbed it, laughing. “Trying to be hip for jazz night, but it’s not me, is it?” Though he, too, had the tall, slender Caldwell build, Kyle kept his hair too short to show much color, and had long given up the Western look the rest of the clan favored. I didn’t know when I’d last seen him without a ball cap.

  “Hey, Kyle. Hi, Kim,” I said to the cousins. Only a year apart, and both single, they often hung out together. “You two snare the Lodge tickets tonight?”

  “My first time in the Playhouse since the Film Festival,” Kim said. “Nice—all bright and shiny.”


  “The gem of Jewel Bay,” I said lightly. With the tin ceilings, the colored Tiffany-style light fixtures, and the columns covered in tiny iridescent tiles, “bright and shiny” was spot-on.

  “Where’s the big guy?” Kyle said.

  My neck heated up. Kyle had been teasing me about boyfriends since we were kids, and it had a way of getting to me. “His buddy’s here from Minneapolis. They’ve been out sightseeing, but they’ll be along.”

  “I heard they found the body on the rocks,” Kyle said. “You investigating?”

  My flush deepened. “Hey, with Kim on leave, somebody has to.”

  Kim stiffened, but Kyle grinned. “I’m trying to rope her into working at the Lodge, now that she’s hung around some other outfits, seen more of the hospitality biz. My dad and hers aren’t gonna want to work forever. And I can’t run the place from the kitchen.”

  The rosy spots on Kim’s high cheekbones darkened into splotches. We’d seen each other a couple of times since she’d been home, and talked about resuming our regular rides, but she hadn’t mentioned taking a role in Lodge management. She’d carefully avoided all mention of the future. Our rift had scabbed over, but while I understood now why she’d acted as she had after my father’s death, the wounds went deep, and the inner layers of emotion were tender at the edges. For her, too, judging from the wary slant of her eyes.

  “Here they are,” I said, as Adam and Tanner crossed the lobby toward us. Thank the stars for the well-timed interruption. Adam introduced Tanner to the Caldwell cousins.

  “The ringers who kicked your backsides all winter in pool league?” Tanner said.

  “They cheat,” Adam replied. “I just can’t figure out how.”

  I pointed a finger at Kim. “Wednesday noon, we’re going riding. No excuses this time.” After barely a word in fifteen years, we’d reconnected last summer and gone riding on Wednesdays when her schedule allowed. And while I needed to spend every minute at the Merc this week, who knew how long Kim would be around?

  And then it was time for small plates of yummy things, and more visiting. I adore seeing the community spirit in action. Every so often, someone thinks Jewel Bay ought to incorporate, until they do the math and realize it will never happen. Others argue that incorporation would strangle volunteerism. If we had a street department, would three hundred people brave a chilly Saturday morning in November to hang garland, tie bows on trees, and create Montana’s Christmas Village—then come back in frigid January to take it all down? If we had our own sanitation crew, would neighbors clean up along the highways and the River Road?

  That reminded me of the paper cup I’d found. I hoped Ike would take my trash-picking seriously, and send it to the state crime lab.

  The lights dimmed, then brightened. Adam gestured to Chiara, then took my hand and we followed her into the theater.

  I hadn’t gotten to ask about his conversation with his boss.

  Our seats were in the twelfth row, in the middle. Adam stopped in the aisle to greet a camp parent, and Chiara motioned Tanner in first. I crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t put him through the conversational ringer.

  Down front, Dave Barber stood at the corner of the stage, arms folded, waiting to introduce the first band. The place was three-

  quarters full, but he did not look happy.

  He was glaring at Rebecca Whitman, entering the row ahead of us. Her soft green shawl gave her a fairy-like delicacy, the lights picking out copper strands in her hair. She was with the Drakes, and if she sensed Barber watching her, she showed no sign.

  How could I investigate the possibility of embezzlement that Ned suggested? Would the Drakes talk? Or Rebecca?

  “Tell me you aren’t investigating,” Chiara whispered as we took our seats.

  I flicked my eyes at her but didn’t answer.

  “Erin. You have enough on your plate. A business to run. Mom getting married. Adam.”

  “He’ll be gone for weeks. I’ll have time on my hands.”

  She made an exasperated sound and trained her eyes on the stage.

  I glanced back at Rebecca, her profile strong, the fairy-like appearance gone. Had she questioned Barber’s handling of the festival finances? Confronted him about his plans? Was that why she’d been tossed out?

  Not tonight. Chiara was right.

  Adam made his way toward the empty seat. Was I overreacting, fearing I would lose him? He’d certainly never hinted that he might go back to the Midwest. He always said Montana was home now.

  A few seats away, Tanner looked pale but less tired than when he arrived. What must it feel like, facing cancer for the third time at thirty-three?

  The first time, I supposed, you could call a fluke. The second time seemed more ominous.

  The older you get, the more you see the fragility of life. And the third time does not seem so charming.

  Not tonight, Erin. Tonight is for music and friends.

  Adam dropped into the seat next to me. I took his hand and held on tight.

  ∞

  Pearl Django jazzed and rocked and rippled for an hour before clearing the stage for the second half’s performers. I needed a break, too, but despite the remodel expanding the women’s room, a line had formed by the time I got there. The downside of good seats.

  Sally Grimes grabbed my arm. “Erin, I can’t thank you enough. My best seamstress retired last winter, and your friend Candace will be the perfect replacement.”

  Friend. Eek. “Oh, good. Her sense of style seems like a good fit for you. Assuming princess dresses still sell.”

  “Thank God for Disney,” she said, and charged off.

  “You did Sally a favor? On purpose?” Adam handed me a glass of wine. “Wonders never cease.”

  “Where did you guys go today?”

  “Pondera, to the Art Museum. Then we poked around the gear shops, seeing if any of them might be interested in carrying his stuff. He’s doing good, but I can’t be running him up and down mountains all week.”

  The fear and sadness mingled in his voice nearly broke my heart.

  Over by the concession stand, Tanner and Kim were deep in conversation, each holding a beer. Rebecca strolled by, not seeing me.

  Ann Drake stood alone, and I introduced her to Adam. After a moment or two of chitchat, another camp supporter came up to talk with him.

  “What a great concert,” I told Ann. “Fun party, too. You and the board must be so pleased.”

  “Thank you. It’s gratifying to see it all come together.”

  “But you’re on eggshells until the last guest goes home?”

  “Precisely.”

  “The festival has given the local music scene a terrific boost, all year long. It’s fired up the weekend musicians, given them a chance to up their game.” The clichés tripped off my tongue. “And now more residents are stepping up to help keep things running smoothly, like Dave Barber.”

  Her jaw tightened. “Dave does know everyone. I’m sure he’s barbered most of the men in this room.” Her gaze flitted around the place, then landed on me. “He—has a vision for the festival. Bigger, and grander. International.”

  “Does that mean bringing in new artists?”

  She shot me a sharp look. “Audiences want to hear their favorites, on the one hand, and make discoveries, on the other. That balance is different for everyone.”

  That was the mantra I’d repeated to my mother again and again when I first came home and took over the Merc. If a business doesn’t change, it dies. My mother finally got it, once she saw the results.

  “But something about Barber doesn’t sit well with you.”

  Her cheek twitched, her eyes on the crowd. “You’ve been talking to Rebecca.”

  Not yet. Not about that, anyway. I made a mental note.

  “Ann, who’s the board treasurer? I’ve been won
dering about finances.”

  The lights dimmed. Around us, feet shuffled, and voices rose and fell as people moved toward the theater. In the shifting light and angles, Ann’s face paled despite her makeup.

  “Have a lovely evening,” she tossed over her shoulder as she pushed forward into the crowd. Away from me.

  I spotted Adam—the advantage of a tall sweetheart—and snaked my way to him. “Finally, no line. Meet you inside.”

  Not tonight, I had told myself, but when the ideas come running thick and fast, I’m not going to close the gates. In the women’s room, I fished out my notepad and scribbled Who is treasurer? $$$??? Tension—Dave and Rebecca.

  And one more: What is Ann afraid of?

  The lobby was nearly empty when I emerged.

  But not quite.

  Ike Hoover stood beside the theater’s inner doors, now closed. Arms folded, face unreadable, clearly waiting for me. I pushed away the memory of him waiting for me the night my father died.

  “Didn’t know you were a jazz fan,” I said. “Or is this an official visit?”

  “Semi-official.” He jerked a thumb toward a long table covered with trays, the tasty treats picked over. “Nothing says I can’t enjoy myself while I’m working.”

  “Don’t you live west of Pondera? You didn’t make the trip for the snacks.”

  “Forty-two miles one way, but the EMTs lend me their bunk room now and then.”

  This building had replaced the town’s original movie theater, the Bijou, destroyed by fire in 1970. Wendy’s parents had started a summer repertory company here ten years before that, and kept it going until one of their sons and his wife took over a few years ago. In the off-season, community theater, the Children’s Playhouse, and high school productions fill the space, along with occasional concerts. Last winter’s Food Lovers’ Film Festival had been such a success that plans for next February’s event were already underway—without me, thank goodness. The moment the last jazz note died, the summer season would begin. Three hundred nights a year, this theater works.

  In the concession stand, a young man cleaned out the espresso machine. On the other end of the lobby, a woman sat at the open ticket window, a display of CDs on the counter.