The Ides of Matt 2015

Iced Chef!-4

“I would never—”

The Secret Service agent ignored the Governor’s protests as he cuffed him to the clawfoot tub.

“They’ll have to go to trial for—” Patrice started but the not-so Secret Service man cut her off.

His look of disgust gave him away. Rikka knew from experience that the U.S. Secret Service would never reveal any judgment about the people they protected. Well, if he wasn’t Secret Service…

“We are not going to have the two Chairmen of the Congressional Armed Services Committees and a dirty Governor besmirching the news nor the next Presidential election with their petty rivalries. Now if you would all kindly leave.” He sounded more like a special troubleshooter for a political party—perhaps the one that all three men had shared. He rousted the military man and sent him stumbling out to get in their car. The man sounded dangerous and borderline psychotic.

Rikka checked in with Sam.

Sam and the troubleshooter squared off and eyed each other for a long moment. There was no question Sam would win if it came down to a fight, but she also knew that no one loved his country more than Sam. Getting his hands dirty in its name was not a foreign concept to a Marine Force Recon soldier, retired or not.

His slight nod of agreement was enough for her. If Sam thought it was best to stay out of this guy’s way, she wouldn’t argue.

Kate was going to hate this, but Rikka shut down the camera and pulled out the memory card. Then she reached into her boot and pulled out the second copy she’d made as they came back out on the ice this morning, and handed them both to the agent.

Patrice drove Marilyn, Sam, and Rikka back to Patrice’s ice shack where she made them all freshly-brewed coffee. It was as cozy and feminine inside as it was cute outside. The Police Chief had faced her shack so that the view wasn’t polluted by the three ridiculous buildings grouped at the outer edge of safety. Instead, the windows faced the distant shore and the sun climbing above the dark tree line.

Rikka wasn’t overly surprised by the loud thump behind her. She ignored the groan of protest that echoed briefly through the ice beneath the ice shack.

By unspoken agreement they waited until the Not Secret Service agent’s vehicle had passed by on its way to clear out the morgue and Patrice’s coroner files. They finished their coffee before they went outside to look at the empty horizon to the north across Lake Winnibigoshish.

No three fishing shacks. No crystal red Cadillac SUV. No three men at war over the Presidency of the United States by whatever means necessary.

Something had broken the ice, perhaps the papers would attribute it to the excess weight of the extravagant fish-shack palaces and massive SUVs out on the deep ice.

Whatever the actual cause, everything had disappeared from view. By tonight, the ice would be refrozen over the shattered chunks that now filled that area of the lake. In a week it would be walkable. A team of special divers would surely be called, but a thorough investigation would have to wait until spring and melt-out.

The four of them went back inside to prepare for the Lake Winnibigoshish Northland Chowder-Off that would be starting in a few hours.

7

“You know,” Kate Stark sat back in her chair after tasting the four dozen chowders that had been entered in the contest, “that’s quite some story, Rikka.”

“I know. I almost didn’t tell you, but Sam thought you’d like to know.” She’d filled Kate in on all of the details she could remember while the chowders had been cooking on portable stoves, in between when Kate had wandered from chef to chef for “on the ice” interviews.

The Chowder-Off was a near-shore event, with a section of the ice polished for an ice skating rink, Genuine Lake Winnibigoshish Ice snow cones, and a fairway of game booths and crafts. Everyone was bundled up in heavy parkas and making merry of the sunny day that had reached a balmy ten degrees above zero.

Rikka was definitely going to put in for an equatorial assignment next time.

“Odd that all three men thought to use the same method,” Kate remarked.

“Maybe one thought it up, told it as a joke to the others, and then they each decided to give it a go.”

“Could be,” Kate admitted and started flipping through her scoring notes again. “Could be.” She began handing losers to Rikka.

Rikka read the tasting notes and was once again awed by Kate. There were nuances and subtleties marked down that Rikka didn’t even know about, never mind might have noticed.

For her, there was one pretty clear winner, but maybe she was biased.

Kate finally winnowed the stack down to the top three, and flicked one of her perfectly manicured but unpainted nails against the winner. Well, Rikka was pleased to have been right about that.

“Maybe,” Kate said quietly as the crowds gathered to hear the final judging and prize awards, “a fourth person suggested it to each of them individually. Though there’s no way to tell who now.”

Rikka blinked at that, then Kate gave her a nudge toward a good camera position as she moved to the carved ice podium and began speaking. Rikka got the camera aimed and gave her friend a nod that she was recording.

Kate was funny, of course, and charming. There was a reason the woman ran the Number One food network on television with the most popular shows being the ones she did herself.

A fourth person, Rikka considered.

Marilyn Maxwell, the dead-Congressman’s wife, had given each of the “boys” one of the toy submarines.

And slept with each one, though clearly not as freely as the Governor’s wife had. Maybe just once or twice, to suggest the idea of the trap.

Kate awarded third place amid a large round of cheers and applause.

Rikka tracked a great bearded man in her viewscreen. He was on the verge of weeping with joy as he lumbered forward and wrapped Kate in a great hug that drew laughter and more applause from the audience.

But what would make all three men set their traps on the same day? Perhaps because of it being the day before the Chowder-Off? It still didn’t sound right.

What if Marilyn had slept with each merely in order to convince the men to give her a key so that she’d have access to each of their cabins?

Kate called up the second place winner. A tiny elderly woman came trotting forward with her gray braids flapping about her. She was clearly well loved and also garnered much heartfelt applause that made Rikka feel more kindly toward Minnesota than she had since reading the first weather report of her latest assignment.

And then Rikka remembered one fact she hadn’t thought to tell Kate.

Who had tugged on the back of her coat and stopped Rikka from sticking her neck into the trap set at the Governor’s shack?

No one had admitted to it, but only one person had come to check on her after she’d sprung the trap and lost her lens down an ice hole.

She swung the camera to locate her as Kate called out the winner.

There was a roar of approval as the name was announced.

The camera caught Police Chief Patrice Smith’s radiant smile, the first Rikka had ever seen cross her features. And the look bloomed further a moment later when Marilyn Maxwell threw herself into the victor’s arms and kissed her soundly.

Rikka captured their moment—one that she’d edit out later and perhaps send to them privately—then panned into the cheering crowd capturing some great footage for the television show.

Rikka herself wouldn’t miss the three men from the upcoming Presidential race and she doubted if Patrice or Marilyn would miss them in the years to come.

Patrice Smith, who—Rikka finally recalled from her prep work—had placed a consistent fourth over the years, came to the podium to collect her First Place prize for the best Ice-Caught Fish Chowder.

And the cheering continued as the cooks and fans of the Annual Lake Winnibigoshish Northland Chowder-Off proved that they definitely weren’t going to miss the three men at all.