Dean L. Hovey
Undeveloped: A Pine County Mystery
For Charity, Heather, and Garret
DECEMBER 1998
Aaron Roberts was chilled to the bone yet somehow felt oddly giddy as he trudged through the snow. When he arrived at the house he tried to lift the flower pot but his frozen fingers couldn’t grip the terra cotta. It fell aside, sinking into the snow. The key he expected to find under the flowerpot was gone. He let out a sob and fell to his knees. In desperation he twisted the doorknob and to his surprise the door opened and he struggled to his feet.
The warmth of the house engulfed him as he pushed the door closed. He fell back against the door and slid to the floor. He used his teeth to pull off the thin work gloves, letting them fall to the floor. The warmth seeped into his clothes and skin as he sat on the mat embossed with the greeting “Welcome to the Boonies.”
Strong arms lifted him and with assistance he stumbled to a kitchen chair on numb feet. Someone stripped off the wool jacket he’d taken from the cabin where he’d spent the night and a warm blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. Sitting upright was too much effort so he put his arms on the table and rested his head on them.
A conversation in hushed voices mixed with the clattering of pots and cups as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Someone pushed him upright and wrapped his fingers around a ceramic cup.
“Drink this.”
The warm liquid felt heavenly. Suddenly shivering, he tried to set the cup on the table but slopped the coffee. He tried to take a deep breath, but searing pain stopped him. Looking down, he saw blood oozing through his shirt and around the edges of the bib overalls and he blacked out.
He felt someone open his fingers and press something into his palm. “Take these.”
Lifting his head, he stared at two white tablets. He pushed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with lukewarm coffee that dribbled from his numb lips. Next to the puddle of spilled coffee sat a brown prescription bottle. With great effort he mumbled, “Thanks,” and then lowered his head to the table.
After a few minutes he felt the oxycodone numbing his pain and he drifted off to sleep.
Cold air rushed in as the door opened. “What the hell is going on?” An argument ensued and he felt another blast of cold air as footsteps faded away, followed by the slamming door.
A hand roughly lifted his shoulder and he turned, finding himself staring into a hazy male face. “You should be dead by now.”
CHAPTER 1
“The flower business swings wildly and half the time my cash flow is stretched. I get a couple of weddings or funerals and the money comes in, and the checkbook looks great. A week later I get a wholesale flower delivery, no one dies, I have to pay the girls, and suddenly I’m tapping into my savings to pay the bills.” Mary Jungers sighed as she spread butter on a caramel roll at Tobies Restaurant and Bakery, known as the halfway stop for Twin Cities’ travelers driving to Duluth. Generations of families have exited I-35 at Hinckley to stretch, use the restrooms, and stock up on Tobies famous baked goods.
Sergeant Floyd Swenson, of the Pine County Sheriff’s Department, was sitting across the table from Mary sipping coffee and watching cars moving through the parking lot. He’d occasionally make a supportive noise and smile at her, but he was obviously focused on the people in the parking lot and at the bakery counter.
“The problem with Tobies caramel rolls is that they’re so sticky,” Mary said, licking caramel from her fingers. “They stick to your fingers, they stick to your teeth, and they stick to your hips.” The last comment was directed to Floyd’s inattention.
His eyes came back from the window and he saw her teasing smile. “A little padding wouldn’t hurt your hips,” he replied, taking the hint and focusing back on Mary.
“Why Floyd, I didn’t know that you’d ever noticed my hips.”
“I notice lots of things,” he replied. “I’m a trained observer.” It was obvious that Mary was self-conscious about her body. He’d rarely seen her in anything but a sweatshirt that drooped below her hips or a blouse covered by a blazer of the same length, both of which obscured her figure. She wasn’t full-figured, but compared to Floyd’s very slender build, she was padded like Floyd expected a middle-aged woman to be.
“I was thinking I’d stock Department 56 products and move the big cooler — it takes up so much of the front of the shop — into the back room where I’m storing boxes. I talked to Robbie Peterson and he said he could move the cooler, update the décor, and put in new shelving for twenty-two thousand dollars. I think I could recoup that in profits in a year. What do you think?” Mary asked as she ate the piece of roll she’d buttered.
Floyd refocused on the front window. He set his coffee cup down and slid his chair to the right so he had a better view of the front counter, now lined three-deep with people waiting to buy baked goods.
“Floyd, did you hear me?” Mary asked sharply.
“Hold that thought for a second,” Floyd replied as he stood and walked quickly to the front door. His walk turned to a trot once he eased past the free-standing rack of artisan breads and the people lined up at the cash register. He surprised the young woman who was unlocking her car door by putting a hand on her shoulder. Mary watched the animated conversation. Floyd spoke to her with emphatic gestures, then led the sullen girl by the elbow back into the store and guided her to the cash register. The girl pulled crumpled bills from her pocket and paid the clerk who bagged the loaf of bread the teen had tucked inside her leather vest.
When he returned to the table Mary asked, “What was that all about?”
“A shoplifter took a loaf of bread from the display and walked out.”
“And?” Mary asked.
“And I encouraged her to come back inside and pay for it.”
“You’re not going to arrest her or give her a ticket or something?”
“I didn’t see much point. The bread’s only worth a couple of bucks and she paid for it.”
“Won’t she do it again?”
“I’ve got her name and if she shows up on the arrest docket I’ll call Tobies and ask the manager to press charges. The girl knows that and I suspect she’ll be reluctant to shoplift here again. Besides, the county attorney and the courts don’t have time to deal with somebody who’s lifted a loaf of bread.”
“And you gave her a little fatherly advice too?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“She peed her pants when she saw my uniform. I think the message was received.”
“Do you mean that she literally wet her pants?”
“Yup. She’s wearing shorts and there was a puddle on the ground around her flip-flops. I almost laughed, but managed to keep up the ‘bad cop’ façade.”
Mary put her hand over her mouth and laughed. “My big, tough deputy, who weighs maybe one hundred and fifty pounds, scared the pee out of somebody.”
Floyd shifted in his chair, uncomfortably. “I weigh one-sixty.”
“Right. You might weigh that if you include your handcuffs and gun.”
“Weren’t you talking about moving your cooler to the back room?” Floyd asked, redirecting the conversation. “It sounds to me like the estimate you got from Robbie Peterson is pretty reasonable. Construction is a little slow and it sounds like he’s given you a fair bid. I think you should do it.”
Mary took a deep breath and broke another piece off her roll. “I’m trying to decide how to put it to the bank. They know the checkbook is looking a little light at the end of the month. I don’t know if they’ll be excited about adding a loan payment to my cash flow drain.”