Book, Bludgeoning, & Beyond

by H L Bur

  I once again slowly turned my gaze on her. “Well Quinn is dating Brent again and he is up to something criminal,” I retaliated.

  “Cady found a dead body!”

  This time I did kick her good foot under the table.

  “Ouch, you bitch.”

  “Me a bitch, what about you?”

  “WHAT?” Jean shouted. “You don’t mean that girl they found up by Littlefield Park, do you?” she said in horror.

  My dad stayed eerily silent, but his gaze never left me.

  “I was on a jog and I found her body. It’s actually a good thing because who knows when she would’ve been found if I hadn’t. This way, the police have the best chance to find evidence.”

  Seeing the looks of concern on both of their faces, I added, “It’s fine! Really, I’m fine.”

  “I had a missed call from Myron Kowalski yesterday, but I haven’t had a chance to call him back yet. I’ll bet that’s what he wanted to tell me,” my dad speculated.

  “You know, it’s probably time you two get your acts together, don’t you think?” Jean questioned.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a common occurrence for Jean to tell us what screw-ups we were, so we were used to it and didn’t take it to heart. Jean actually thought very highly of us, and if we were being honest, she was one of the only people who would actually hold us accountable for our own mishaps. It was kind of refreshing, in a self-deprecating sort of way.

  “Do you really think this is funny?” Jean asked again.

  “No, of course not. It’s just that besides us having bad track records with our love lives, it’s not like we’re total screw ups,” I bit back at her a little.

  “Oh, you know I don’t mean it like that. Of course you’re not screw ups. You know your dad and I are both so proud of you girls. We’re proud of all of our kids, aren’t we, honey?”

  “You better believe I’m proud of all of you,” my dad answered. “We just worry about you two. The world’s a dangerous place these days.” He shook his head as if this was weighing on his shoulders.

  “Oh, Dad. You don’t have to worry about us. Besides, if I ever need anything at all, you know I’d call you in a second.” I halfway stood up from my chair and leaned over the table to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Good, that’s what I like to hear.” He smiled at me.

  “Okay, who’s hungry?” Jean got up from her seat to take the lasagna out of the oven.

  We dug in like we hadn’t eaten in days. It was so good! Jean was a great cook, but her lasagna was my favorite. After dinner, my dad dished everyone up a slice of homemade peach pie and vanilla ice cream.

  “Donuts, gourmet hot dogs, lasagna, and pie all in one day! Talk about a birthday weekend,” I joked. I was stuffed beyond belief and was in desperate need of some physical activity to stave off the diabetes that was surely headed my way.

  We all took our desserts and went out to the back deck to eat them.

  Their backyard was one of my favorite places to be. The deck overlooked a small pond that Jean had built, complete with a water fountain and stocked gold fish. Giant maple trees scattered the yard, the largest of these housing our childhood tree fort that my dad had built. A welcome sign hung over the tree fort door. Painted in red fingernail polish was the name of our fort, ‘FORT KNOCKS, Est. 1992’. Beyond that, stood the red barn where we used to keep our horses and ten acres of pasture lay behind the old wooden fence. I always felt a sense of peace and nostalgia when I was there.

  We sat on the back deck until the sun went down and then moved back to the kitchen. We visited for a little while longer, but I was starting to get antsy about getting out to the sawmill. One glance at Quinn and I could tell we were on the same page. We feigned that we were tired and needed to rest up for the second day of Autumn Fest.

  We quickly did up the dishes and then Jean and my dad walked us outside.

  “Be careful you two…and stay out of trouble,” Jean called out as we got into my SUV.

  “Always.” I smiled back at her.

  As I backed out of the driveway Quinn asked, “Should we feel bad that we are pretty much lying to them so we can go sneaking around chasing bad guys tonight?”

  “Meh, it’s for the best really. And way to think about that now. It’s your fault they even know about what’s going on! What got into you tonight?”

  “I said I was sorry - I got nervous.”

  “What on earth did you get nervous about?”

  “I’m not really sure. Sometimes Jean just scares me.”

  “Fair enough.” A vision of Jean locking us out of the house when we were little kids, forcing us to play outside all day in the freezing cold snow popped into my head. At least she let us put on snow pants first.

  We drove on and I noticed the sky seemed extra dark that night. It was a full moon, but there was so much cloud cover that it effectively blocked out the glowing orb. It didn’t help that this far out of town there weren’t many streetlights, making it that much darker. I shivered as another chill ran down my spine despite the mild temperature that evening.

  Chapter Ten

  Ξ

  On our way to the sawmill we drove by The Beacon, the lighthouse/restaurant that Fletcher and his grandfather were dining at tonight. I glanced toward the parking lot as we passed to see if his truck was there. I was hoping he was already home for the evening and we wouldn’t risk being spotted while we were - what to him would be considered - up to no good. I didn’t see his truck and breathed a sigh of relief.

  I drove about a mile farther and started slowing to find the old two-track that led to the sawmill. It had been years since I had been out this way and it was hard to spot in the dark. Somewhat surprisingly, we found it on our first try and made a left onto the path. It was a bumpy ride due to years of nonuse. The path consisted of two soft dirt tracks on either side of raised grassy clumps of earth that wended its way through the woods. I noticed multiple sets of tire tread marks visible in the glow of my headlights. “Someone’s been driving out here,” I remarked. My pulse quickened and I switched my headlights off and turned the fog lights on to reduce the chances of us being spotted…not that I would expect anyone to be lurking out here at night, but better safe than sorry.

  I pulled into the small dirt parking area and dug out two flashlights from my center console. I killed the engine and turned to Quinn.

  “Are you sure you want to come with your ankle the way it is? You could stay here and be my lookout or get in the driver’s seat in case we need to make a quick getaway,” I suggested.

  “What do you think this is, a Liam Neeson movie?”

  “I just have a bad feeling,” I said, ignoring her quip.

  “It’s fine. We’re just doing some research. It’s not like we’re going to get in trouble. Last time I checked, there’s no crime in being out after dark.”

  “It’s not the law-variety of trouble that I’m worried about.” I bit my lower lip in worry.

  “We’ll be fine. I’ve known Brent forever. I’m sure whatever he is mixed up in can’t be that bad.”

  I definitely had my doubts about that, but decided to keep it to myself. “Fine, but if something happens and we have to make a run for it, I’m not waiting for your limping butt. I will leave you - just saying.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  We climbed out of the SUV and switched our flashlights on, starting down the trail. The path through the woods was thick and long grown over, so we picked our way carefully down the dirt trail. I guessed it would be about a quarter mile to the sawmill. Most of the lumber in this area had arrived by rail, so it wasn’t necessary for main roads to reach the sawmill. The men would park in the dirt lot and walk the short distance to the mill.

  “I just remembered I don’t like being in the woods after dark,” I whispered to Quinn. “Why did we come at night? What if we come across a bear or a mountain lion…or a raccoon? Oh my God, what if we come across a raccoon?” I
whisper-shrieked to her, freezing in my tracks.

  I’ve always had an unnatural fear of raccoons. Don’t judge me.

  “Shh! You’re fine!” Quinn spat back at me.

  I took a few deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, like we did in yoga, to try to calm myself. I couldn’t let my irrational fear of raccoons keep me from finding out what was going on out there.

  I pressed on, suddenly thankful I wore my running shoes today. Quinn was doing pretty well and so far her bum ankle didn’t seem to be slowing her down too badly. We walked on, only spooking occasionally at a rustle in the leaves above us or a twig snapping deeper in the woods, but I was able to convince myself that it was just a deer or squirrel and that there were no raccoons around right now. Quick scans of the area with our flashlights didn’t reveal anything alarming. Although Quinn did freak out once when her leg brushed against a fern on the side of the path. Thinking something had grabbed at her leg, she jumped into me and pushed me toward the offending fern in a sacrificial manner.

  “Gee, thanks!” I glared at her. “Nice to know you would offer me up as bait in order to make your getaway.”

  “Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing,” she scolded.

  I thought for a second. “You probably have a point,” I agreed.

  About ten minutes into our walk, the trees opened into a clearing and there stood the old, abandoned sawmill. Its large silhouette was outlined in the faint moonlight. We moved closer, crossing over the old railroad tracks that headed toward town. I pointed my flashlight up the tracks, thinking about how many miles of railroad there must be around here. The tracks ran parallel to the shoreline towards town, crossed the Holbern River via a train bridge, and continued north along the shores Lake Huron. Many of the railroad ties were worn down or missing from years of abandonment. I remembered walking along these same tracks when we were little.

  “Okay, now what?” Quinn whispered, bringing me out of my reverie.

  “I don’t know. Look around, I guess.”

  “Yeah, we really should’ve come out here in daylight.”

  “Oh well, deal with it,” I hissed.

  Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew she had rolled her eyes.

  The beams of our flashlights lit up the old barn wood that made up the sides of the building, faded and worn from years of rain, snow, and sun. Dried fallen leaves scattered the ground, adding to the old musty smell that surrounded the area. We shone our lights over the structure, not knowing exactly what we were looking for, but hoping to find anything that might lead us in the right direction.

  I directed my light up what I was assuming was the infeed, also known as the log carriage, that was used to guide the logs toward the head saw, and felt a sense of relief wash over me when I realized there was no saw blade at the other end of my beam. I guess unconsciously I was afraid the sawmill was being used to dispose of dead bodies. What? My sister used to force me to watch horror movies as a child. There are some things that you can never unsee, things that probably helped to mold me into the paranoid, sometimes delusional, being I am today.

  Next, we made our way over to the main barn-like structure that would have housed the saw and protect it from the elements. There were four stone steps with an old rusted out handrail leading up to a small door. I thought about all of the men who had worked at this mill so long ago. I pictured the men guiding the logs into the infeed, the sawyer making sure the planks were cut properly by the saw, the edgers making the final cuts, then guiding them out through the outfeed. From there, as far as I knew, the cut lumber would be loaded onto carts that would go by rail or water to the next destination.

  I hesitated at the top of the steps before turning the knob…half expecting/half hoping it would be locked. The door swung open easily on its hinges without so much as a squeak. This confirmed my suspicion that someone had been out here recently, and by the sound of it (or lack of sound, rather), they had been here quite frequently.

  Quinn hobbled up the steps behind me and we both walked through the small door. The inside of the structure felt larger than I would have expected. There were remnants of great wooden gears that the waterwheel must have powered, but time and probably some vandalism left the gear and pulley setup incomplete.

  My light landed on something orange in the far corner, almost completely hidden behind a worktable.

  “Hey, over there.” I pointed, directing Quinn’s gaze to where my light shone.

  We walked over and found several bright orange 5-gallon buckets stacked together, with the Riverton Lumber Company logo stamped across the front. These were obviously new buckets that had been purchased from the RLC. RLC was our town’s version of Home Depot and has been around since the 1960s, but the modern logo and the vibrant, non-faded orange, coupled with the fact that the sawmill had long been shut down by 1960 told me these were relatively new buckets. We peered into the stacked buckets, unsure of what we would find. There was some coiled rope, bungee cords, some gallon sized Ziploc bags, and a pair of work gloves. Behind the buckets was a large bag of cement that was about a third of the way gone and a shovel leaning against the wall.

  “What could all of this be for?”

  “I don’t know, maybe they are just repairing something,” Quinn offered.

  “But if they were restoring the sawmill, why all the secrecy? And, there would be a lot more supplies out here than just some buckets and concrete,” I added.

  “True, but it doesn’t exactly mean they are doing anything nefarious,” she added.

  “Let’s keep looking.”

  I scanned the rest of the floor with my flashlight and noticed something dried and dark red, almost black, next to the shovel.

  “Look!” I knelt down closer to get a better view. There were several splatters of the dried liquid. “It’s blood,” I said confidently.

  “What? No way,” she countered skeptically.

  “I’m positive.”

  “How could you be positive?” she scoffed.

  “Well I forgot my luminol,” I said sarcastically, “so unless you want to taste it, you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

  “Okay, well that still doesn’t mean anything. Someone could have cut their hand or scraped it on a jagged piece of wood. You don’t know for sure.” The slight raise in the pitch of her voice betrayed the conviction in her statement.

  I scanned the buckets again, this time looking closer at the shovel, and noticed some dried blood on the blunt end of the blade. I pointed to it and Quinn followed my gaze.

  “Maybe it’s ketchup,” she said hopefully. Her quickening breaths told me she was starting to get scared. “That’s it. It must be ketchup. They ate a hotdog and some ketchup spilled is all,” she yammered on.

  She bent over to pick up the pair of gloves.

  “What are you doing? Don’t touch them!” I swatted at her hand.

  “Maybe we can get some DNA off of them and find out who they belong to.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t exactly have a DNA lab that we are tight with and you can’t exactly take them to the police. I can see it now…’Oh by the way, we were snooping around the old mill and found a pair of gloves, would you mind doing me a solid and test them for DNA?’…I don’t think so. And don’t you think whoever they belong to will notice they are missing and get suspicious?”

  She scowled at me, but she knew I was right.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shot me a death stare, but then sighed. “You’re right, that would never hold up in court. Okay, can we go now?”

  “We have to check out the back of the mill first, then we can go. I don’t want to leave before we’ve seen everything.”

  She groaned, but followed me back down the steps and toward the back of the sawmill. The exit for the logs was still intact and came to rest by a small bank. At the edge of the bank, there was a little inlet of water from Lake Huron, meager waves lapping at the walls of the bank.
The large waterwheel loomed up against the east side of the structure. Despite years of nonuse and climate exposure, it still looked surprisingly sturdy. There was a small wheelbarrow resting against one of the thick beams that supported the structure, but closer inspection didn’t reveal much besides the fact that it was clean and definitely from this era.

  I sighed, a little disappointed that we didn’t find more, but relented to Quinn’s pleading glances to go now.

  We started back toward the path when we both stopped dead in our tracks. We could hear voices. It didn’t sound like they were coming from the way we had come, but rather they were coming from further up the railroad tracks, towards town.

  I clicked off my flashlight and Quinn followed suit. We ducked back behind one of the large beams supporting the mill. I strained my ears to hear which way the voices were headed and what they were saying, but the soft lapping of the water behind us was enough to obscure the sound. I took a few steps away from the water, hoping to hear them better. Quinn grasped at my arm, but I waved her off. She slowly crept up to join me. I was pretty sure - but mostly just hopeful - that we were still hidden from view. The sounds of their voices were definitely drawing nearer, but were still too far away to make out what they were saying. All I could make out was that it sounded like two men. I saw the warm glow of a lantern dancing between some bushes.

  The glow of the lantern finally emerged from the railroad tracks and stopped in the clearing. The faint glow of their lanterns was not enough to make out their faces or even tell how many there were for certain.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” a man’s voice spoke.

  I was certain the voice was familiar to me, and although I suspected it was Brent, I couldn’t be sure. Quinn squeezed my arm tightly, which told me she also thought it was Brent. Having dated him on and off for so long, I didn’t question her judgment for a second.

  “I want you to fix it and clean up your mess,” a gruff voice demanded.

  “And just how do you suppose I do that?”

  “That’s your problem, buddy, not mine.”