"So," Casey's dad asked, "what will we have for lunch?"
Casey and his parents were early enough at the Snick Snack to get the best booth, the one with a big window overlooking Main Street, which hadn't changed much in seventy years. It featured single-storey stores and restaurants, most with false fronts, as well as sturdy two-storey brick or poured concrete buildings from the turn of the century through the booming 1920s. Buildings with their pioneer owners' names were proudly announced in insets or in sculpted concrete. Richford's Main Street was typical of the Prairies, especially since the small town's new mall was safely out of sight on a side street.
Their table's bright yellow Formica top matched the lunch counter on the far side of the restaurant, with its tall stools covered in yellow plastic. The linoleum floor had once been yellow, too. It still was in the corners. The last of the morning coffee drinkers, a quartet of farmers in peaked caps, were draining their cups.
"Let's hear what their Saturday special is," Casey's mother suggested. "If it's ribs, that's for me."
"Me, too," Casey said. He had held back at breakfast, knowing lunch would be really something. Word in town was that, while Ducks and Drakes might be the best restaurant in Richford during the week, on Saturday afternoon the only place to eat was the Snick Snack.
"Well, I don't feel like ribs." Casey's father signalled the waitress. "Hi, Tammy, what's for lunch?"
A pretty blond waitress in a pink-and-white-striped uniform with matching cap brought over a small blackboard with specials printed in multicoloured chalk across the top. "Well, ribs, is one special."
"Casey and I want ribs for sure," Mrs. Templeton said.
"With coleslaw or Caesar?" Tammy asked.
"Coleslaw for me," they both said together.
Casey's dad frowned as he read the menu. "Everything sounds so good."
Tammy waited patiently. She had had the Templetons for lunch many times before and knew there was no point in trying to hurry the chief superintendent.
Casey and his mother glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows with a "Here we go again" smile.
"Aha!" Casey's dad said.
Tammy shifted the blackboard to her other hip.
"Yes!" he said.
Everyone held their collective breaths.
"It's got to be the goulash. You know, the Croatians in Bosnia used to make absolutely fabulous goulash."
"Hope ours measures up," Tammy said as she went off to place their orders. "I'll hear about it for sure if it doesn't."
Casey sat back as Tammy put hot rolls and butter on the table. He had just begun buttering a roll when his mother asked, "Tell us, Casey, who's this woman who's been phoning you?"
There was no way to get out of this one, so Casey said, "Oh, it's Sarah Vance. You met her at her dad's drape shop in Fraserville, Mom. She's the one you asked all the questions about dying drapes."
"Yes, I remember her. But why is she phoning you?"
"It all has to do with a paper she's writing for a sociology class at university. See, she recognized me as the person who'd helped save Mr. Deverell and unearthed the Hate Cell business. She's done a lot of research on racism in Canada, the United States, and Europe and was surprised that a hate group was operating right here."
"And what does she think you can tell her that she can't read in the newspaper?" Casey's father asked, looking sternly at his son.
"Beats me." Casey shrugged, praying Tammy would bring their food soon. He thought he had better say something more, so he added, "Look, guys, Sarah's really nice and pretty and smart. A part of why I want to get to know her better is so I can somehow have Hank meet her. Honestly, I think they'd really hit it off. And then maybe Hank would come out of himself and … and, well, you know …"
His mother nodded as Tammy put a large plate of ribs with baked potato and coleslaw in front of her. "I know what you mean, Casey. I hope you can make it work."
Casey's father nodded his agreement, too.
"She reminds me so much of Cindy," Casey told them. "I have this feeling Hank will think so, too."
Eating ribs wasn't something you could do and talk much at the same time. Casey finished first and gazed out the big window, watching what counted as crowds strolling down Main Street. A long line was forming both inside the restaurant and out. Two couples at the front of the line kept glancing anxiously at the Templetons' table. Casey hoped Tammy would stop by with their bill so his dad would get the hint and hurry it up a bit.
Finally, they were done, the bill was paid, and Casey was free to do his research at Sanford's Hardware. "See you at supper," he said as his parents started walking arm in arm toward their house.
"At six," his dad said. "And don't be late."
Casey's dad always said you could tell a lot about a small town by its hardware store. He said a well-stocked shop would bring in townsfolk and farmers, mechanics and hobbyists, gardeners and fence builders, gadget lovers and cooks, and all the others, both men and women, who just liked to look at all the different stuff.
The building housing Sanford's Hardware was a hundred years old. It was built of brick and was cool inside even on the hottest days. It smelled pleasantly of dark plank floors, saws and hammers, hedge clippers and spades, drills and wrenches, all rubbed with a film of oil to keep them from rusting. Long ropes of different thicknesses coiled down from the embossed tin ceiling, and huge black scoop-shaped vats held heaps of nuts and bolts. Casey loved it. You could go in the front door, take a shortcut through to the side door, and see a million interesting things en route. It seemed to have everything. Never mind that the bigger towns had big box stores. The Sanfords had owned their shop for eighty-four years, and their customer service was legendary.
Some people said Sanford's would hire a taxi within a radius of a hundred and sixty kilometres to pick up something if it were needed in Richford the next day, but Casey's dad told him that wasn't true. The Sanfords were such a big family that they had relatives in every town and village for kilometres around and would start a grapevine going among all their kin to look for a desired item. When it was located, and it almost always was, the finders would, if they couldn't mail it or ship it by bus for arrival the next day, be invited to bring it and their family to Richford for a meal.
Customer satisfaction was so high that Sanford's had expanded into four other stores on Main Street. Even so, it was always full, especially on a fine Saturday in any season.
Casey pushed his way through the crowd to Mr. Sanford's office and waited his turn to speak to the "boss." Mr. Sanford didn't recognize the picture of Elsie Tavich, but he checked on when the other six screws had been sold. He called his salespeople up one by one in case anybody recognized the face in the picture.
No one did, but Casey did discover that one employee might have served Elsie Tavich but was no longer with the store. Millie Anne Brighton, who now lived in White Rock, British Columbia, had worked at Sanford's during the time in question.
Casey returned to Mr. Sanford's office to thank him personally, but two men he didn't recognize were talking to the boss. Casey was near enough to hear and curious enough not to move away.
"Yeah," one of the men said," I heard it not ten minutes ago. Ole Hanson's had a stroke."
"My God!" Mr. Sanford said. "Not Ole. He's been mayor of Richford how long now?"
"Sixteen years," the second man said. "Of course, he's still mayor, stroke or no stroke, but if he's incapacitated, who is there to take his place?"
"Well, we all know who wants to be mayor," Mr. Sanford said. "He ran against Ole years ago."
"Yeah, and got about a dozen votes," the first man said. "B.B.O. Ogilvy bought every one of them, too."
"That's what he'll try to do this time, too," the second man said. "We've got to get another candidate who can beat him the way Ole did."
"Ole's a straight-up guy," Mr. Sanford said. "Honest as the day is long."
"Right," the first man agreed. "Sure hope he comes out of this okay."
Casey didn't want to be caught eavesdropping, so he went right up to the office door and waved a hand at Mr. Sanford.
"You want something, Casey?" Mr. Sanford asked.
"Just to say thanks for taking the time to help."
"No problem. It's very important that we find out what's going on around here. It's a black eye for the whole town."
Casey left the shop and stood outside on the sidewalk, his mind racing. He had the answer to how his dad could stay and be happy in Richford: Chief Superintendent Templeton could be the mayor! His father would be a natural with all his experience and people skills. And Casey was certain almost everyone in town would vote for his dad. It sure didn't sound as if many would vote for Mr. Ogilvy. Casey wondered how a person could "buy" votes in a town like Richford.
Now all he had to do was plant the seed. He would get his mother onside. She would know the right way to suggest running for mayor to his father. Brilliant!
Casey spent the time after the visit to Sanford's Hardware assembling his costume for the Halloween party. He had taken a photograph of the portrait of old C.W. Willson that hung in the school library, a picture of the old boy with a black frock coat and black trousers, a tall hat, a high white wing collar with a silk cravat held in place by a large diamond stick pin, a vest with a heavy watch chain across it, grey hair, a thick moustache, and a large black mole on his chin.
For a couple of dollars at a second-hand store in Richford, Casey bought a black suit that had a vest and cut the back to look like tails, then trimmed the sleeves so that they were the right length. He also picked up a lady's black silk scarf for his cravat and a single phony diamond earring for his tie pin. There were no wing-collar shirts at the second-hand store, of course, but there was one with a stiffly starched collar. Casey studied it for a long time until he figured how he could cut and fold it so it would look just right. He made a silk hat out of black construction paper, bought a huge moustache and a grey wig from Grant's Variety Store, and experimented with sticking a piece of licorice to his chin. Now all he had to do was put the business cards inscribed with Clarence Wilberforce Willson, publisher, Richford Weekly Mirror, in his pocket and hide everything in the back of his closet. Hank, whom he had sworn to secrecy, had made the cards for him.
As the Templetons were finishing up a light supper of soup and sandwiches, the telephone rang.
"It's a female for you, Casey," Hank called from the hall. "Nice voice."
It had to be Sarah, Casey thought as he got up to take the call. Why was she calling him now? He had left her a voice mail message after lunch at the Snick Snack, saying that he would call her in the evening. Casey left the kitchen, went into the hall, and took the portable phone from Hank. "Casey Templeton here."
"Hi, it's Sarah. I'm going to a movie, so I thought I'd call now. I've got a good news, bad news message."
"What?"
"First the good news. Only two customers bought that fabric from us. We had a huge order for drapes in that fabric from the Bible Institute a year ago. That's one. The second order, and here's the bad news, was paid for in cash. There's no record of any name. All we have is a telephone number to call when an order's ready. We're going to have to talk about what we do if you find out who it is."
"Yeah," Casey muttered.
"Somebody listening?" Sarah asked.
"Yeah."
"Call me right at noon tomorrow," Sarah said. "I'll be leaving at 12:15." She hung up.
"Nice voice," Hank said again, "but she sounds a little old for you. Anyone I'd like to know?"
"Maybe," Casey told him.
"Let's see. You used exactly three words with the lady if I don't count your name. Here, what, and yeah. You're some conversationalist, bro'."
Casey didn't say anything. He was too busy trying to figure out how he could call Sarah at noon tomorrow with everyone hanging around the house for Sunday brunch. "Mom," he asked as he cleared the table, "why don't you take it easy after church tomorrow instead of making brunch? I'll leave for home right after the sermon, cook brunch for a change, and set it all up in the dining room."
Hank and his father stared at Casey in surprise, but his mom just smiled, gave him a hug, and said, "I'd really like that, Casey."
"No problem." Casey hugged her back.