“Died? Charlie?” Paul said. “No, that can't be right; there must be a mistake.” The other men shook their heads.
“I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Barger,” the judge said, “but I've just come from making the official declaration. Sadly, there has been no mistake in the identification. The young man who discovered him was quite certain. Of course, we would appreciate your making a formal identification, but we are certain that it is Charles Graham.”
“What happened?” Paul said. “Did he fall from where he was working, or did someone forget to turn off the power? Charlie was careful; I can't imagine him doing something like that.”
The sheriff shook his head. “Right now, we aren't completely sure what happened. But it looks like he might have been in a fist fight not too long before he died – a lot of bruises and cuts. Was he part of the camp's boxing program? Or do you know if he had a beef with anyone?”
“No, Charlie wasn't a boxer,” Paul answered. “He played a little basketball now and then, and he played right field for the camp baseball team, but he didn't do any boxing. He had a little dust-up with one of the guys on Wednesday, but it was just a couple of punches – from Charlie – to defend one of the women teachers. As far as I know, nothing else happened.”
“Who did he get into it with?” the sheriff asked.
Paul looked up. “Joey Brossard,” he said. “But I don't think they've had anything to do with each other since then. They're assigned to different projects, so they wouldn't be working together.”
The foreman spoke up. “Brossard left camp yesterday afternoon, right after the Thursday safety meeting. He has an uncle in Edna who's sick, and he went to check on the farm and help his aunt out a bit over the weekend. He's not due back until Tuesday.”
“No one else that you know Graham had trouble with?” the judge asked.
Both Paul and the foreman shook their heads. “Charlie got along with everyone I had him working with,” the foreman said. “And, as far I could tell, everyone liked him.”
Paul agreed. “He's...he was a pretty popular guy. Even the thing with Joey seemed more like a one-time blow-up than a real problem with each other.”
The two officials thanked the other men and took their leave.
“Paul,” the foreman said, “why don't you knock off for the day? I know you and Charlie were close, and I'm sure the sheriff is going to call on you to help with communicating with his family back home. Take the rest of the day for yourself. We'll get along here okay.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Paul said. “I think I'll head to the newspaper room for a while. I can keep my mind occupied that way without having to worry about messing something up in the distraction. I'll be back on the job in the morning, if that works for you.”
Sam shook Paul's hand, offered condolences again, and went back to work. Paul headed to the building where the classes were held, where he found Grace working to prepare for that afternoon's classes.
“Mr. Barger, are you all right?” she asked. “Why are you here so early, instead of out there working?”
“I could ask you the same,” he smiled at her, weakly. “You're here pretty early yourself.”
“School was dismissed early today, so that the students could attend the county fair,” she explained. “I thought I'd work on plans for the camp classes and my school classes here, where I was less likely to be interrupted. Is something wrong, though?”
“Yes, I'm afraid it is,” Paul said, his voice thick with emotion. “Charlie Graham has died.”
“Oh, no!” she said. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Paul explained what the sheriff and judge had said. “They didn't mention it outright, but I don't think they believe he died from natural causes,” Paul said. “And I don't think so, either; it doesn't make sense that a healthy, relatively young man would just drop dead all of a sudden. Whatever caused it, I think it was connected with the apparent fight he was in.”
Grace looked at Paul for a moment, but she didn't speak. “What are you thinking, Miss Wells? I can see you have something on your mind.”
She smiled. “I think we should ask around the camp to see if we can figure out what happened. The men here know you, and some know me, and I think they'll talk more easily to us than to the officials. I think we should make a list of people to talk to and questions to ask them, and then solve this.” She reached for some paper from the table, “Oh, and, since we're going to work together, call me Gracie.”
Paul chuckled. “Let me guess: you've read a lot of detective novels, and you think you – we – know enough to solve a potential murder mystery. Miss Wells...Gracie...I don't know the first thing about it; I think we'd best leave things to the officials.”
“We don't have to do all the solving,” she responded. “We can ask questions that the men might not answer for the sheriff, and then we can give him the answers we get. He can use what we learn to figure things out. We won't be taking his place – just offering a little assistance.”
She smiled at him. “Besides, we have a ready-made excuse for asking. We are, after all, in charge of the camp newspaper, and this is news. And people will expect you to ask; we all know how close you and Charlie are...were.”
Paul thought about it. If this really wasn't natural causes or an accident, if someone really did hurt Charlie deliberately, he definitely wanted to know. And, in addition to getting justice for his friend, he'd like to be sure that the rest of the camp residents were safe, too.
“All right,” he said. “I'm in. Let's start with that list you mentioned. But there needs to be a ground rule or two. Most importantly, you don't ask anyone any questions unless I'm with you. We don't know how dangerous this person might still be, so we need to be careful.”
Gracie agreed, knowing that she wasn't physically strong enough to fight off most of the men in the camp if they felt threatened by her questions. She was pretty good at taking care of herself, and part of that was knowing her own limitations. At 5'4” and less than 100 pounds, she simply wasn't a physical threat.
They began the list, making plans to start talking to people right after the day's classes ended.
7
Later, when I got to the grocery store, I decided I would make Oatmeal Scotchies; Ben and I both ranked the old-fashioned cookies in our top three favorites. I turned onto the aisle with all the baking supplies and stopped short at the sight.
“Norah, how are you?” Mrs. Jackson, Mariette's mother, asked. “And how is Ben?”
“Um...we're both doing well,” I stammered. How do you respond to the mother of the person you blamed for a family member's death? My brain froze; I couldn't think of anything to say.
“I've spoken with Dot several times,” Mrs. Jackson continued, “and I'm glad to have the chance to speak to you. I wanted to offer my condolences; Randy and I already miss Pete so much.”
“Thank you,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “I know he thought the world of you and your husband. And I know your friendship means a lot to my grandmother, and she can use all the support she can get right now.” I was proud that I didn't say what I was thinking: She wouldn't need that support if your spoiled daughter hadn't decided to get drunk and then drive her fancy car.
She hesitated. “Norah, there are some things I'd like to talk to you about, some things that the police discovered after the accident. Could we meet for coffee?”
I shook my head. There was nothing she could tell me that I wanted to hear, but I couldn't say that to her. She and her husband had done everything they could to change Mariette's behavior, including teaching her right from wrong as a child. But I still wasn't ready to hear excuses for the wild child.
“I've got another appointment today, and I'm awfully busy right now. I'm writing a new book; it's a novel about my great-grandparents, and it's keeping me pretty much tied to the computer. Maybe when I finish the first draft of the manuscript?” I heard my voice shake as I tried to stay polite and still turn down her invitatio
n.
“A novel?” she said. “That's wonderful, dear! And I certainly understand that you are busy; I'm sure what I want to tell you can wait. We'll talk again when you have more time.” Her eyes were sad, but she was still smiling.
I agreed and thanked her again for her kind words about my grandfather, then I hurried away to collect my groceries. Once I'd gathered butterscotch chips, oatmeal, popcorn, and a couple of pints of Bluebell ice cream, along with a six-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper, I rushed through the self-check lane and got away from the store as quickly as I could.
“It was so awkward,” I told Ben over fresh tofu spring rolls, shrimp cones, and golden moons. “I know what happened isn't Randy and Jeannie's fault. Shoot, deep down, I know it wasn't even Mariette's fault. But I didn't know what to say to her. I don't want to talk about her out-of-control daughter, but I don't want to hurt her more than has already happened. I couldn't think of the right words. I told her I was busy writing; how weak an excuse is that?”
Ben took a minute to chew and swallow a bite of spring roll. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Jeannie's not stupid; she knew you were making excuses. She's also got a kind and understanding heart, so I'm pretty sure she understood your reasons, and I'm betting that she felt bad for making you uncomfortable.” He stopped for another bite, clearly stalling.
“Look, Norah,” he said. “I know this isn't what you want to hear, but we mean too much to each other to be anything less than honest. I think you need to talk to her, to hear what she needs to say.” He held up his hand when I started to interrupt. “Hold on! I'm not saying you need to meet her now. In fact, I think what you told Jeannie is about right. It's going to take you at least a couple more weeks to finish your first draft, right?” I nodded, and he continued, “I know you pretty well. I think that, by that time, you'll be ready to handle anything she needs to say. I also think that you'll be feeling guilty, until you talk to her. By putting it on your mental calendar for after the draft is done, you'll be able to push that distraction to the back of your mind.”
Shoot, I thought, why does he have to read me so well? I can't argue with him; he'll know that I realize he's right, no matter what I say.
“Okay, yeah,” I finally said. “I guess I do owe her that much, if only because she's been there for my grandmother through all of this, even as she dealt with the latest crisis in her own family. I'll call her as soon as I type 'The End' on the last page.”
“And no dawdling as avoidance,” Ben teased. I threw a sugar packet at him before we paid our checks and headed back to my house for oatmeal-scotchie ice-cream sandwiches, guacamole, salsa and chips, and Italian-seasoned popcorn to go with a couple of 1950s musical comedies.
Later that evening, I got a text from my grandmother. Talk to her, dear, but only when you are ready. She understands, and she'll wait for you.
I showed the text to Ben, and we both laughed. “She knows you all too well, doesn't she?” Ben said. “And you know she's not going to let you get away with ignoring it, either.”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “And I also know that small-town living will mean I can't avoid her knowing whether I have or not. If I sneeze on one end of town, someone will call and tell her I'm dying in the hospital before I get to the other end – and town's only a half-mile from one side to the other!”
“And, with that in mind, I'd better go,” Ben said. “Your neighbors will talk, either way, but I'd rather not make it too easy for them.” He gave me a light kiss on the cheek and left for the night.
Hmm, I thought. Tonight was a lot of fun. I wonder if...when...we'll be ready for more than a friend's cheek kiss.
8
Murder in the Park
by Norah Sewell
Chapter Four
“So,” Paul said, “where do we start? Is there anything we already know that would help us narrow down the list of people to talk to?”
“Well, we know that Mr. Graham and Mr. Brossard had an altercation a few nights ago,” Gracie answered. “I suppose we should speak with Mr. Brossard.”
“Joey's away from the camp until early next week,” Paul said. “But I agree; he definitely goes on the list. And Willy Weber overheard Joey throwing a tantrum after Charlie punched him, so we might be able to learn something from Willy, too.”
Grace started to say something and stopped. Paul tilted his head and raised his eyebrows to encourage her to share what she was thinking.
“I'm sure it wasn't anything important,” she said. “But I overheard Mr. Weber and Mr. Graham having what sounded like a bit of an argument.” She thought for a moment. “No, that's not quite right. Neither of them sounded angry, but the discussion did sound very serious.”
“What did you hear?” Paul asked.
“I heard Mr. Weber say something like, 'You can't say anything, please.' Then Mr. Graham said, 'Willy, your secret is safe with me, but, if I figured it out, how long do you think it will be before the brass know? You need to talk to someone higher up and get this fixed.' Mr. Weber replied that he couldn't, because he'd be sent away from the camp if they found out. Mr. Graham told Mr. Weber again that he wouldn't tell anyone, and then they walked away, so that I didn't hear anything else.”
“That sounds pretty bad,” Paul said, “but I can't think of what kind of secret Willy might have that he would think was worth killing someone over. Still, I guess we'd better ask him. Anyone else?”
Before either of them could say anything else, the door slammed open and Jimmy Cook rushed in. His face was red, and his eyes darted wildly around him.
“Jimmy,” Paul called out. “Jimmy, what's the matter? Are you okay?”
“They're going to say I did it,” Jimmy shrieked. “They're going to blame me, I know it. I didn't do it. I didn't hurt Charlie.”
“Whoa, there, Jimmy,” Paul held up his hands. “Slow down, friend. Who is going to blame you, and why would they think you hurt Charlie?”
Jimmy gulped, clearly distraught. “The bosses and the sheriff, Paulie. They're going to think I hurt Charlie, but I didn't. I would never have done that, no matter who he told.”
Grace stepped next to Jimmy and placed her hand on his arm. “Mr. Cook, why don't you sit down over here and tell us what has happened. I'm sure we can help you; we won't let anyone blame you for anything you didn't do.” She gently led him to a chair and encourage him to sit down.
Paul waited for a moment to allow the man to collect himself before speaking. “Okay now, Jimmy, tell us what's going on. Why do you think someone will think you hurt Charlie?”
Jimmy took a deep breath and hung his head. “I did a stupid thing, Paulie. I should have known better, but I believed him. I was stupid.”
“You're certainly not stupid, Mr. Cook,” Grace soothed. “You are one of the best students in my friend's math class, so you can't be stupid. Perhaps you made a mistake?”
“Yes,” Jimmy nodded. “I made a big mistake, and Charlie found out about it. I was in the wood shop last night, and he came in. He caught me...” the man's voice cracked, and tears filled his eyes.
“He caught you doing what, Jim?” Paul asked quietly. “You can trust us.”
“He caught me taking boards and other supplies out of the shop,” Jimmy admitted.
“What?” Paul exclaimed. “Jimmy, that doesn't...why were you doing that?” Stealing was about the last thing Paul would expect from Jimmy.
“Thom told me that Sam wanted some things moved to a storage shed. He gave me a list that he said he got from Sam, and he told me that he'd give me a couple of dollars if I'd move them for him. He said he had a date and wouldn't have time to do it himself. Charlie said that Sam wouldn't have asked for that, and that Joey must have been stealing the stuff and selling it somewhere. He promised that he wouldn't tell Sam that I was helping Thom, but that he would have to tell him about Thom.”
Thom Wilson was another of the men's cottage mates, Paul explained to Gracie, who hadn't met the man. “He's what they call 'Black Irish,'
” he told her. “He's pretty bitter about the war, too. He had a twin brother who was killed, and he carries a lot of hatred for the Germans because of it. That caused some problems in the cottage early on, with Willy, but it seems to have calmed down. Hearing that Willy's family came from Bavaria several generations ago was apparently enough to make Thom okay with sharing the place with him.”
Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, he said that he hates all the...well, he used a word I can't say in front of a lady...but he said he likes Willy. He said that Willy's as American as he is now, so they're friends. But he was sure mad when I told him about what Charlie said about turning him in.”
The three talked a little longer, until Jimmy had calmed down, and then he wandered off, planning to watch the movie showing in the camp later that evening. Paul and Grace went over their list of potential suspects and discussed what they'd need to ask each one.
“Well, we need to talk to Joey, but we'll have to wait,” Paul said. “We can start with Willy. I think we have to ask all of them when they last talked with Charlie, but we need to find out what secret he promised to keep for Willy. We need to know if it was important enough to Willy for him to kill over it.”
“And Mr. Wilson?” Grace asked. “Will you turn him in, like Mr. Graham planned? Can you do that without getting Mr. Cook in trouble, too?”
Paul rubbed his hands over his face. “I don't know. I understand that the right thing is to report them, but I really believe that Jimmy thought he was doing what the boss said. Maybe if we talk to Thom and find out why he was stealing supplies, and then we can decide?”
“I think that's reasonable,” Grace said, “even if it isn't technically 'right.'” She gathered her purse and the tablet with their list on it, and they headed out to find Willy Weber.
9
Just as the last drop of coffee hit my cup, "Rock Around the Clock" rang out from my cell phone.
Murder at the Mission Page 4