Chapter 17
It was wonderful to see all the writers and the staff of both bookstores enjoying trays of lasagna together. Phoebe was telling a story about the most delicious spaghetti she had ever eaten. It was served out of a cooler, by Deadheads on Shakedown Street. That was a kind of unofficial vendor area the Deadheads congregated in prior to and after a Dead concert. For many of the Deadheads, the money that they made on Shakedown Street was the money they used to follow the Dead tour.
“Phoebe, you are lucky you didn’t die of E. coli," said Ezra, our resident science nerd. He just didn’t get the utter freedom of following a band for the summer, even if you had to eat spaghetti out of a cooler. Yet he could tell you chapter and verse what happened in every Star Trek episode that ever aired and many that had never aired, just been proposed. That’s the strength of the collective, the many varied viewpoints. Writers need variety and conflict, you can’t get that if they all share the same point of view.
I believe in Epicurus, Thoreau, and even a little bit of Buddha. While Bianca, the writer sitting to my right, writes woo-woo new age 'non-fiction.' I’m not sure how they justify treating the subject as nonfiction. The same way I don’t understand how religions of any stripe get away with it. But the older I get, the more I realize just how far out of step with the rest of the world I am. But I’m all right with that, because the world is fundamentally screwed up. If the worldwide population had been working towards building a utopian society instead of greedily collecting resources for themselves and those in their 'group,' we could have achieved it long, long ago.
My point being that my beliefs are radically different from Bianca’s, economically and spiritually. But we respect each other, and it’s a good thing too. Bianca saved the collective from economic ruin. Something my economics couldn’t achieve, I like to think that my skepticism helps keep woo-woo Bianca a little more grounded. A little less prone to believing outlandish lies, the grifter of the week is pushing.
But then Pappy defended Phoebe to Ezra. “Ezra, my boy,” Ezra is forty if he is a day, but to seventy-three-year-old Pappy, I guess he is a kid. “At Woodstock, I would have loved to eat spaghetti out of a cooler. The hippies from the Hog Farm commune were trying to keep us all fed, but no one expected half a million hippies to show up for three days.
Anais was rolling her eyes; Woodstock, the 'concert,' was not something that Anais would ever consider doing for fun. But she had risked a felony arrest for Pappy, so if she wanted to roll her eyes, I imagine that she is owed that. It used to be the greatest joy in my life to torture Anais. It was so easy to do. Just be five minutes late for a plan; that was enough to send her into toe-tapping annoyance.
Amy sat at the head of the table, not because she was the unofficial chief of our little tribe, but because as our cook she often had to hop up and run to the kitchen for more. She kept us fed and healthy; two days ago she had saved a guest's life. She’s awesome and has been my best friend since time immemorial.
At the opposite end of the table sat our youngest and brightest, Lucy and Willow. The nicest and kindest of us all, and my great hope for the future, when all I see are the forces of tyranny and Christian nationalism compounding the problems caused by oligarch rulers who think that simply denying a problem like global warming exists is dealing with the problem. When it is celebrated that government agencies like the EPA aren’t enforcing the environmental laws that Congress passed and are designed to keep us both healthy and safe.
No, all the previous generations failed, and we just heaped our problems onto Lucy and Willow's generation. But the reason that I do have faith in the future is because of the things Willow and Lucy just let alone. They are happy with what they have now; they are not resource grubbers, nor do they look to online influencers for validation. They know what makes them happy, and they are working to achieve it and, in some ways, have already achieved it.
Bianca grinned at me. "What's the next big project after the baking show mania?”
“I want to do some stuff with tech; Pappy actually inspired me. When he asked about reading the ‘Yippie’s Guide to Safe Protesting.’ I told him that he could read it on his laptop, but that might not be convenient, so it got me thinking about all the e-waste we generate. Wouldn’t it be better to donate old phones so that we could load e-reader software? It's the same thing with old tablets, laptops, Kobos, and Kindles. Most of them probably just need to be factory reset, then we could hand them out to people for free and also load them up with all of the e-books that we are currently giving away for free. Including the Yippie’s guide, the customer gets a free device, the Yippies get the credit. We keep harmful chemicals out of our landfill and make a political statement all at the same time. If Amazon was giving away free Kindles, they’d do it to sell e-books. We beat them twice, free device and free books. What do you think, and do you have any old unused tech lying around you’d like to donate?”
“I have an old laptop, but it's so slow that I stopped using it. It would make for a really poor user experience. Plus, I worry about someone extracting my personal information from the hard drive.”
“It gets slow because it has Windows on there, and the whole thing just gets bogged down by software and Windows updates, and Microsoft keeps adding ‘features’ to the operating system so they can mine your data and push ads to your desktop. As for personal data, you are right to worry, but you can scrub the hard drive yourself; I’ll give you the software, or you can trust that Lucy and company will do it for you before installing a new free operating system and Office suite and note-taking app. Lucy plans on offering free malware removal for people as well. It’s really a genius business model, at least I think it is. As a Wall Street broker, you might not agree.”
“Let’s hear the pitch; I’ll tell you if it’s a good idea or not. But I know you two; no matter what I say, you’ll want to try it anyway.”
“Alright, here’s the pitch. We advertise a free malware cleaning service. Usually a person would have to go to a big box store like Perfect Purchase and let their Nerd Squad repair it for a minimum hundred dollar charge. We do a malware cleaning while you wait for free. The clerk downloads the software or just installs Malwarebytes from a USB stick and starts the scan; it takes the clerk five or ten minutes tops to accomplish this. Then it takes an hour or more for the scan to run. If it’s Clare from across the street, she’ll just leave it and come back in an hour or so, but if you had to drive any distance at all, most people will wait instead of driving home and then turning around and driving back here. So the customers will browse, and even the people who leave the hardware and then come back give us two chances to sell them something.”
“Lucy came up with this on her own?”
"Well, it was my idea to actually fix the machines and accept donations, but it was her idea to advertise that we do it for free and while you wait. I thought the more people that we help, the more likely those same people will trust us enough to clean and install new operating systems on hardware that they donate.”
“She’s a born marketeer, which is ironic, since you hate marketing and I’ve heard you say that advertising should be banned. But you seem to love Lucy, so Laura, is your socialist brain actually ruled by a capitalist heart?”
“Nope, socialist brain and heart, Lucy’s scheme is total socialism. We are offering a free service; sure, we’re advertising that service, just so people know that their local bookstore is also now offering some computer tech services for specific pieces of hardware, namely Windows and Linux. Lucy is also going to give some classes down at the library to educate people on malware and how to avoid it. The best repair method is prevention after all.”
“Why no Apple products?”
“We’ll take donated iPhones, but Macs are proprietary nightmares, and if people had enough money to buy the overpriced thing in the first place, then they can go get it fixed where they bought it.”
Then Pappy stood up, smiled at us all, and said, “I’d just like to say a little something. Thank you all for welcoming Phoebe and me here into your home. Thanks to Willow and Phoebe for being there for me always. A huge thank you to Eve for clearing up a legal matter fifty-seven years old, and lastly to Laura, a real friend who went to a jail cell with me. That, my friends, is a real friend indeed."
That was the end. Pappy tried to start clearing the table, but we all protested it was his day, telling him to go into the living room and play video games, like it was his birthday. Because in a way, with the warrant now cleared, Pappy was born again in the best possible sense; he could go anywhere and do anything that he wanted without fear of someone checking his ID and carting him off to jail. Anais, Willow, and I cleared the table, while Ezra washed the dishes while Amelie and Clara dried. It wasn’t long before we were all in the living room watching Amy whip everyone in the newest platformer.
***
Tyler was knocking on the front door at nine am. He’s about six feet three inches tall and must weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds, almost all muscle. He wanted to meet me at seven am. But I convinced him that I was much too old and frail to be getting up that early. Compared to this bearded mountain of a man, I very much was old and feeble. He seemed to be a pleasant enough young man, even though he was a suspect for attempting to murder and/or hacking the organizer of the bake and committing sabotage, but now he has escalated to falsely accusing Roberta of the attempted murder.
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He looked far too chipper for this hour of the morning. I let him in and escorted him over to the reading nook.
"Tyler, would you like some tea and cookies?”
“No, thank you, Laura. I had my breakfast a few hours ago, when I fed the loggers.”
“I didn’t realize that you were still working during the bake-off."
“I have a contract that I need to honor, or else risk getting a reputation as a man that can’t be trusted. I won’t allow that to happen. Aside from the fact that it is the right thing to do," he grinned.
The grin seemed genuine too; burning the candle at both ends didn’t appear to be doing Tyler any harm. The sheer bulk of him would probably take quite a long time for him to waste away.
“I’m trying to figure out what happened Friday night at the party, and I’m also looking for background information that the production can include as color commentary for the show.”
That last bit isn’t true, but I want to get him comfortable before I start asking the questions that really matter, and I suppose if I did learn something compelling, I could share it with Bobby or the director.
“Let’s begin with something simple, Tyler. Do you have any hobbies besides baking?”
“Yes, I love to hike and snowshoe in the winter. In fact, my favorite time of the year to go into the woods is the winter. The harsher the conditions, the better.”
“Why, do you like the harsh conditions? Don’t most people enjoy the late summer and early fall?"
“Yes, most people do, but I love a good challenge, and nothing is more challenging than a heavy snowstorm. Plus, I’m big and run hot, so I am most comfortable hiking in the winter. If it’s a particularly sunny day with little wind, I have been known to go topless," he grinned again.
It’s July and fairly warm, but when he just described going hiking in the winter without a shirt, I felt a chill go up my spine. Now my hands feel cold. A side effect of age.
“Tyler, I’m cold just thinking about that.”
He laughed, like he meant it. He thought it was funny that a person could feel an air temperature through a description. He must not be a reader. Descriptions have thrilled, terrified, and traumatized me when written by a compelling author.
“Alright, let's talk about something a lot warmer: baking. How long have you been baking, and how did you get started?”
“I first started baking about three years ago, when I started working for the logging outfit. I was hired as a logger, but it soon became apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to keep up with the other loggers physically. So the gang decided to try me as a cook before just voiding my contract. I hadn’t done a lot of cooking before that, but I could watch a YouTube video and obey instructions. Baked goods don’t last out in the woods no matter how many preservatives are stuffed into the store-bought cookies, pies, and cakes. So to keep my job, I started to slowly learn how to bake things to accompany the somewhat ordinary meals that I had been cooking.”
“So you really are more of a professional baker, right?”
“Well, I do bake as often as I can for work, but that is still more a treat, for the loggers. I’ve seen the Great British Bake Off and technically I get paid to bake. But, I’m self taught from YouTube, no formal cooking or baking education, not even a mentor to show me the ropes. Roberta and Bobby, know all of this, I never tried to hide it, or cheat anyone.”
“No, I’m sorry, Tyler, I didn’t mean to imply that you were, not at all. I find it interesting, though, learning through YouTube. So what is your process? Do you watch a video and decide, "That looks good; I’d like to make that," or do you decide, "I want to make a cherry pie," and then search YouTube for a cooking demonstration on baking cherry pies?"
“I do both I enjoy watching the videos, so I do it in my spare time, and if I see something that I really want to try baking, I just go ahead and do it. The logging company pays for the ingredients, so it really is risk-free baking. My crew would probably eat the soles of their boots if they were boiled long enough. Logging is still hard, dirty work that takes an enormous amount of calories. So I have had plenty of baking disasters, but my crew ate them all without complaint.”
“You sound like a family.”
“Yeah, a big smelly all-male family.”
“No women at all in your outfit?”
“No, not a one. Not that women can’t be great foresters. Many that I went to school with have their own forestry companies, and more than a few became rangers. Our crew is twenty-two through twenty-nine; we had a thirty-year-old retire last year because he could no longer keep up. I thought I was a great logger until I joined up with these guys. But from day one it became apparent that I just didn’t have the strength that was needed. This crew works strictly on commission; that’s what keeps every one of them busting tail all day, every day. Three weeks a month, then a week off. They are all trying to earn as much as they possibly can before they age out. Besides, even if you could find a woman with superhuman strength that could keep up with these guys, would she really want to spend three weeks in a bunkhouse with eight smelly men? I’m not a dainty flower, but some nights as I lie in bed and hear the snores and the farts, I wonder if the money is good enough. So far I have been greedy enough to go back after every break.”
I wonder just how greedy you are, Tyler? How far would you go for the one hundred grand? “Actually I spent a few hours in the town lockup, and I know exactly what you mean about the smell, and no, I can’t imagine that I would put myself through that just for the money. Have you met any of the other bakers before the party Friday night?”
"No, the first time I spoke to any of them was during that ridiculous limo ride. By the time I got into the thing, I could have walked here twice. Limos are supposed to be so high class and comfortable; it is nowhere near as comfortable as my truck is.”
“How about Bobby and Roberta? When did you meet them for the first time?"
“I met them when they interviewed me for the show; I’d never met either of them before that. Bobby is pretty cute, though. Do you know if she has a significant other?”
Now we were getting to the meat of the interview, the things I really want to know about. A guy who spends weeks of time in the woods must have access to bees, especially bumblebees. I don’t know if western honey bees, one of the bees I found in the bake-off tent the night of the party, are native to the Adirondacks. I’ll need to ask Nora that.
“Friday night, Tyler, did you see any bees flying around the tent?”
“No, I didn't, Laura. In fact, I think I have never seen a bee out at night. But I also have never seen anyone keel over like that man Niall did. I thought those pens were supposed to save you if you got stung. Did his malfunction?”
“Yeah, something like that; it just wasn’t effective.” Technically not a lie, an EpiPen isn’t effective against a fentanyl overdose. Now comes the big question, the important one: will he tell the truth or lie? I think he’s been truthful so far. “What kinds of bees can be found around the logging camp?”
His eyes went wide for a quick second. “I don’t think that we have any bees around the camp; the noise or the camp smell might keep them away.”
That sounded like a lie; in my experience bugs and insects are attracted to smells, not repelled by them. I could be wrong; I have no idea what attracts bees. “Tyler, come on, we both know that anyone who goes into the woods sees bees all the time. If there weren’t any bees, nothing would be pollinated, and we’d be living in a desert, not a forest. Lying makes you look suspicious; lying about bees, the weapon used against Niall, well, that makes you look doubly suspicious. Please explain.”
He sat there not saying anything, just staring at me. So I stared right back. Eve said in an interrogation a cop will wait and let an uncomfortable silence just hang in the air. In the hope the person being interrogated will attempt to fill that silence. It’s supposed to be the easiest way to get a person to overshare and maybe divulge a clue. I thought he was going to outwait me.
“Fine, yes, I lied, but not for the reason that you think. All of the bakers have been talking about bees since Friday night. I had nothing to do with bringing any bees into the tent, and I didn’t want you to know that we have a nest of bumblebees just outside our bunkhouse door. But I have never captured any bees, nor would I play that kind of prank on the other bakers.”
Honestly, that sounded like an honest reply. I’m not thrilled that he lied, but it is understandable that he would not want to get involved if he felt that he didn’t have any information that would be useful. I might as well ask him the rest of the questions I’ve asked all of the others.
“Alright, if it wasn’t you and it was one of the other bakers, which one would you pick as the culprit? Bearing in mind that Niall might not have been the target. The target might have been Roberta.”
He took a deep breath. “I really like my fellow bakers; I’m not going to throw one of them under the bus just to stop you from suspecting me. That’s not the kind of person that I am, sorry Laura.”
“Alright Tyler, how good a computer hacker are you?”
“I have a gaming laptop if that’s what you mean, and I’m a pretty good player.”
“Not exactly what I meant. If I handed you a Linux laptop and told you you need to break into my network, or you were going to be sent home from the competition, could you do it?”
“I wouldn’t give up; I’d give it a try.”
I got up and walked into the storeroom and took an old laptop I had installed a base Arch Linux distro on. It has no desktop, so he’ll need to do everything from a terminal. I know that he could be faking that he can’t do it, but what I’m hoping is to enlist his help. I don’t really believe he is the culprit. I booted the laptop and handed it to him. He scrolled around for a little while. “Um, there is no web browser to click on.”
“Tyler, I really need your help. There is nothing to click on because that is a terminal, not a desktop. You might be lying, but I really don’t think that you are. Whoever attacked Niall Friday night is now trying to pin the blame on Roberta. The police and I are fairly certain it is one of the bakers. If Roberta goes to jail for a crime she didn’t commit, then this contest will be over. Someone has hacked her computer twice now. Please try and help us; if you had to pick just one, who would it be?”
Come on, Tyler, throw me a bone here; you are not being a tattletale. You are aiding an investigation.
“I don’t know, Laura; I don’t have any proof, and it has nothing to do with the bee attack. But a few times when any baker has said anything positive about Roberta, Danyl has made some remarks about her and her family and how they can’t be trusted. But nothing about bee attacks.”
It made sense; he bought a well-known hacking book from me just a day after I had removed the njRAT. So it could be him. But that book wouldn’t help much with the physical attack. But he could have gotten a newer book on hacking from Anna’s Archive or zLibrary, avoiding suspicious book sellers.
“Thank you, Tyler. You've been a lot of help, and I just have one final question for you, not about the hacking or the bees. This is just for color, for the show. If you win, what do you plan to spend the money on?”
He grinned. “I don’t have much chance of winning, but if I did—I know this sounds silly—I would go to Paris and try to become a better baker.”
“I think that would be a great way to use the money. It would enrich you for the rest of your life, Tyler. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me. You’ve been a big help.”
