“The whole place is a mess since the merger,” he confided. “I should have seen the writing on the wall, but I didn’t. So I’m forty years old and out of work.”
“Help yourself, lover.”
“You shouldn’t call me that. People will get ideas.” I dug through the lipsticks and chewing gum, past the day’s bank deposit slip from the Liquorium and a key ring with a rabbit’s foot attached. On top of the cigarettes I found a clipping neatly cut from the local newspaper. “What’s this?”
She turned, startled, then smiled when she saw what I held. “Didn’t you see it? I brought it along to show you.”
It was a brief announcement of the fact that Marsha, formerly of Elmbrook, had married her professor in Ann Arbor. “When was this in?”
“Just tonight. You should read the evening paper more closely.”
“Well, I wish her luck.”
“She didn’t waste any time, did she?”
“Not much. The decree was final just last week.”
“So her liberation didn’t last very long.”
I didn’t feel like making small talk about it. “Want a beer before the roast?”
“Can’t. I promised that Walker woman I’d go in the pool with her.”
I glanced around for Fritz but he seemed to be missing. There were some figures silhouetted against the flames out in back but I couldn’t identify them from this distance. Nelse Walker strolled over to watch his wife dive into the pool. In a one-piece bathing suit she was even more dowdy than in slacks, but he didn’t seem to mind. When Barbara appeared, wearing a navy blue tank suit, he asked, “Isn’t that Andy Barron’s wife? The liquor store guy?”
“Something will turn up,” I tried to assure him. “Sooner than you expect.”
“Here’s Barbara Barron,” Helen announced. “But where’s Andy?”
Barbara — tight-jeaned, smiling and sure of herself — shot me a special look reserved for divorced men. “Counting his money. He’ll be along.” Andy owned the town’s only liquor store and it didn’t close till nine. Once or twice when we were going out with them, Marsha and I had waited while he totaled the day’s receipts. On a summer’s weekend like this it could be a sizable amount.
Charles glanced out at the fire. “As soon as the flames die down we can start roasting the hot dogs.”
“How are you, lover?” Barbara asked me. “Enjoying your freedom?”
“Not especially.”
“I’ll bet Marsha’s enjoying hers.”
Mrs. Walker wandered up. “Am I the only one that brought a bathing suit?” she asked again. “I don’t want to go in the pool alone.”
Barbara winked at me. “I’ll go in with you. Helen, have you still got that old suit that fits me?”
Helen nodded. “It’s hanging up in the changing room.”
“Come talk to me while I change,” Barbara said to me.
“No thanks.” I patted her oversized white purse. “Got any cigarettes in there?”
“Sure. I thought you’d been introduced.”
“I didn’t catch the name, but I remember seeing her around the store. Where’s he?”
He glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be overheard and said. “I happened in there one day and Andy was fooling around with someone in the back room.”
“Oh?”
He glanced around again. “I think it was Helen.”
“Helen Riggs?” I looked around for our hostess, but I didn’t see her anywhere. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“It was probably all innocent,” he admitted, backtracking a bit.
Barbara picked that minute to dive into the pool, splattering us both. She surfaced smiling and said, “Hope I didn’t get you boys wet.”
“Not at all.” I wiped myself off with a handy napkin and drifted out toward the fire, leaving Nelse Walker to contemplate the ample flesh of his wife.
Gert and Sally Tern were helping with the fire, but there was still no sign of Fritz. I steered clear of another encounter with Sally and joined Charles instead. He’d assembled ten long sticks for the hot dogs and was beginning to pass them out. Fritz Obern appeared from somewhere then and I decided he’d been off by himself brooding about the lost job. “What’s this party for, anyway?” he asked Charles.
Our host shrugged. “Midsummer night, maybe. It’s July 31st. Isn’t that midsummer night, when people dance around fires?”
Because I knew a little about such things I answered, “Not exactly. Midsummer day is traditionally June 24th, which is just after the beginning of summer. At least that’s what it is in England. But people do dance around the fires tonight, or at least witches do — July 31 is the eve of Lammas, one of the four witches’ Sabbaths, like Halloween.”
Fritz snorted. “I know you don’t believe that garbage, Mark.”
“What garbage?” Barbara asked, coming up to us with a towel around her wet body. I saw the fire reflecting off the droplets on her bare thighs, and I looked away.
Charles laughed. “Oh, Mark is just bewitching us with his knowledge, as usual. These teachers!”
Helen came up and took some of the sticks from him. “Come on, everyone! Time to roast your hot dogs! We’ve got marshmallows too, for later.”
For the next half-hour we were busy at the fire, and I made an effort to be civil toward Sally Tern, if only for Charles and Helen’s benefit. She wasn’t a bad girl, really, and in other days I might have found her a pleasant companion.
“Charles probably told you I’m divorced,” I said at one point.
“He said your wife gave you a bum deal. I hope you’re not bitter.”
“No, just a bit sad, I suppose.”
Helen was trying to get a little singing organized, but without much success. The fire was dying down and I tossed another log on it. That was when I became aware of a newcomer to our tight little circle.
“Is it Andy?” Barbara asked, straining to see.
“Afraid not, Mrs. Barron,” a voice answered. “It’s Chief of Police Lambert.” He stepped closer to the firelight and we could see his gaunt, tired face. “Afraid I’ve got some bad news. There was a robbery at the Liquorium.”
“Andy...?”
“He’s dead, Mrs. Barron. Somebody shot him.”
That was when she screamed.
The women took Barbara upstairs to rest while Chief Lambert gathered the four men around the pool. The fire, forgotten now, sent up a few high-flying sparks and Charles Riggs called to one of his, sons to extinguish it with the hose.
“Were you the first to arrive?” Chief Lambert asked me.
“That’s right.”
He turned to Nelse Walker and Fritz. “And were you both here before Mrs. Barron arrived?”
They agreed they were. “She said Andy was still counting the money,” Nelse said. “I remember hearing that.”
“What’s all the questioning for?” Charles wanted to know.
Chief Lambert shifted uneasily. “Well, you know I always swing by the Liquorium the nights I’m on duty an’ give Andy a lift to the bank so he can use the night depository. ’Specially on Saturday nights he has quite a wad — maybe as much as five thousand dollars.”
Nelse Walker looked surprised at the amount. “That much!”
“Anyway, tonight when I got there the lights were on an’ the door was locked. I figured he was inside, ’cause when he goes off to the bank by himself he turns off the lights. Then I saw his feet sticking out from behind the counter. I smashed the glass in the door and unlocked it. He was dead, shot once in the back of the head.”
“So why are you questioning us?” Charles repeated. “You certainly don’t think we know anything about it!”