by Ed Helenski
I was amazed at this speech, and just sat there dumbfounded. Finally I realized I had to get the paper finished and asked Meg for my desk back. She relinquished it, and was on her way out when she turned to speak again.
“I might have something on that story I told you about. I’m going to talk to someone today. I wondered if I could borrow your little tape recorder.”
“Sure Meg, it’s right here in my desk.” I held out the mini-cassette and she took it. In a moment she was out the door.
On Tuesday night I went to the PTA Meeting, which is a pretty intimate affair here in The Corners. Run by Barbara Barker (say that four times really fast!) it was dominated by her current moral tirade, the crop top, or as she calls them, belly shirts. I wished I hadn’t loaned Meg my recorder, because I would have loved to get a direct quote of her speech, but it went something like this.
“In all the years our fine James Buchanan has been educating our youth there has never been such a threat, such a scourge, as these disgusting and whorish ‘belly shirts’. I have myself seen girls no older than twelve wearing them, brazen as hussies. We have already had to put up with the fact that some parents think lip-gloss and earrings are okay for schoolchildren, but I cannot believe we will continue to allow such vile attire to enter our hallowed halls. I move we petition the school principal to ban these clothes.”
Baldy Cooter had wisely skipped this meeting, no doubt tipped in advance as to what was on the agenda. And yes, she really used the word scourge. The motion was actually seconded by someone I don’t know, identified as Ralph Watts. A little investigation shows he is a toady for the Reverend, wants to save his money up and go to divinity school. Apparently he and Barbara get along real well. The discussion of the matter was lively.
A woman who identified herself as Terry Shumway took issue with the petition. Her daughters could wear crop tops, as far a she was concerned. They sold them at Wal-Mart. They were hardly the plague Mrs. Barker seemed to think.
Another woman, whose name I missed, said she agreed they were not to her liking, but that it hardly seemed a matter for the principal, more a personal taste issue for each parent to decide. Barbara seethed at that one, but she played fair and didn’t comment when she didn’t have the floor. A tight assed woman to say the least.
Finally a man stood up and identified himself as Mike Mistick. About 5’9” with dark hair, he wore jeans and a denim shirt. He said “Now you all know I don’t really care one way or another. I home school my daughter and she wears whatever she likes in my classroom. And she is older anyway. But it seems to me you are trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Kids will be kids.”
“And little whores will burn in hell” a voice from the back called out. I looked back to see Amy Vickers. “We all know what YOUR daughter is like.” Mike was about to respond despite the banging of Barbara’s gavel when another voice beat him to it.
“And maybe you just worry your hubby is looking a little too long, is that it Amy?” I was amazed to see the speaker was an older man, who I later found out was Jason Hurley, Old Man Hurley’s son.
Barbara again rapped for order, and after a brief spate of laughter people settled back down. There were some additional comments, the last of which was the most interesting.
“It seems that some of you are missing the point. We want our children to have good educations and go to school in a place that teaches respect and dignity. You don’t get that by telling them that what is in fashion is evil, and that what they wear will determine if they learn anything or not. For God sakes, do we have to putty over their navels like they did to Barbara Eden on “I Dream of Jeanie”? It seems like a little girl’s belly button is only evil in the eyes of a pretty disgusting sort of person.” Oh that Maggie. I liked her even more after she spoke her mind that way. There were some scattered claps and then the motion was voted on. It was defeated soundly. The rest of the meeting was pretty much boilerplate, but it would make for some good news in next week’s Gazette.
I got over to Maggie after the meeting broke up. I offered to walk her home, which was kind of funny, since she lives right next to the school. But she accepted, and on the way over I told her I was impressed.
“With what?” she asked me, her eyes sparkling in the cold night air.
“Well, with your willingness to stand up to Baba Barker for one thing.” I hesitated, then took the plunge. “The way the stars reflect in your eyes for another.” For a second I thought she was going to laugh, but she simply broke into a big smile.
“This is my stop”. Far too soon we had reached her porch. Next door a shade whipped down in a window. Some commentary from Sarah perhaps. Maggie saw my glance and said “Don’t pay her any mind. Sarah is, well, she has had a hard life and is a little paranoid. But she does what she has to, like the rest of us. Thanks for walking me home, Tom.”
“Oh it was my pleasure. Will I see you again soon?”
“I don’t know, will you?” she teased, and then asked “Would tomorrow night be too soon? I just got a copy of “Strange Brew” from Amazon.com and thought I’d make some popcorn. Interested?”
“Strange Brew…is that Spike Lee?” I asked her.
“No” she said laughing, “I don’t know who directed it. It’s Dave Thomas and Rick Moranis as the Mackenzie Brothers. But what it really is, is a spoof on Hamlet. Don’t let the highbrow folks know Hamlet can be this funny. I can’t believe you never saw it”. When she laughed, well, this is going to sound terribly corny coming from me, but when she laughed it sounded like a million tiny bells to my ears, all of them calling me.
“Sounds wonderful. Around eight?”
“Can we make it seven-thirty? I have a long drive to Siegly for seven-fifteen homeroom.”
“Seven-thirty on the nose. Shall I bring anything?”
“If you can think of a wine that goes with popcorn.” More laughter. I was being drugged by it.
“I will think of something.” Maggie leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips and then she was gone. Her scent lingered on the porch, something tropical, like mangoes. I stood breathing it in, until a rustling in the bushes made me nervous.
As I walked along Langley towards my house I kept hearing little noises. I wondered if I was being followed. Sarah? She didn’t strike me as the hide and seek type. I got to my place without incident and had just taken off my coat when the doorbell rang. I looked out and saw nothing. Opening the door I was greeted with a small flaming mass on my steps. It looked like a bag on fire. Having lived in the city far too long I forgot my good country sense and stamped it out, thus smearing flaming shit all over my hundred dollar shoes. A boy’s chuckle came from the shadows across the street. It was joined by another. I had a feeling I had just met Sarah’s sons, Charlie and Nick. Meg had warned me about them. They sometimes hung around with her brother Josh.
The next day went by slowly. I thought about going to the Dinor for lunch, but that was out. I had to avoid Sarah. Come to think of it; I had to avoid the Reverend, I suspect Jeremy Solereski was still stewing about my supposed usurpation of his women, I wondered if there was anyone in town I was on good terms with. In a town this size a person could quickly run out of places to go.
I picked up some deli for lunch at the Paul Bunyan. Vera Carrone rang me up, and kept looking at me out of the corners of her eyes. I guess the gossip is getting around. In the afternoon the papers were dropped off. I loaded the bundles into my trunk for delivery to the bins in Siegly and Blanchard, and left the ones for Bobby’s girls to deliver in town. By now I had over a dozen racks set up in Siegly, mostly at grocery and convenience stores, and three in Blanchard. It was after four when I got back to the office. The papers were gone; the girls had already started their route.
I had just made a pot of coffee when Meg came in. She looked very serious. “Mr. Tharon?” she said as she came up to my desk. She was so cute, and never once did I want her to call me Tom.
“What can I do for my ace reporter t
oday?”
“Well, I have a couple things I want you to look at when you have some time. And I was hoping I could keep your recorder another couple days. I might just get someone to talk soon.”
It was clear I could kiss that recorder goodbye. I would pick up another one the next time I was out of town. “Tell you what Meg. You just hang on to that. A reporter needs tools. Call it a bonus.” She just beamed at that. She handed me a folder.
“That’s my notes and a couple things. Tell me what you think, ok? I have to get home and baby-sit, but I will come see you tomorrow. Thanks again Mr. Tharon.” She went to the front door and was just exiting when Reggie came in. He gave Meg a long look and then came over to me.
“Awful lot of young girls in and out of this place, ain’t there?” Reggie was smiling, but it was not the smile he had offered me at his house. This one was predatory and dangerous. The bottom fell out of my stomach. I had no idea why I was afraid, but I was.
“What can I do for you Reggie?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. His eyes bore in on me. “Something for next week’s paper? Not another missing kid, I hope”
He looked even more hostile at that. “Now what makes you say that Tom? Just a reporter’s nose for news?” He waited what seemed like an eternity before continuing. “There is a missing child. And I’m not here to see it put in the paper. This one’s local. Sioban Mistick.” He watched me for some reaction. He got one.
“Oh Jesus.” I said, sinking back into my chair. “I just saw her.”
“So I hear. So I hear. Truth is she’s been missing since Monday afternoon, though that hippie father of hers didn’t think anything of it till yesterday, and waited till today to tell me. Seems she has spent the night out before. That child is a bit wild, and that’s a fact.” He kept staring at me.
“Do you have any idea what happened? Did she run away?” My voice was a lot less steady than I would have hoped. Maybe I would be better off not saying anything.
“Well now, that’s a funny thing.” He pulled out a little notebook and made a show of consulting it. “Last she was seen was Monday afternoon. I would like to see where she went after that.”
I should have shut up, but the reporter in me kept asking questions. “Did you talk to the person who saw her last?”
Reggie kept staring at me and said “I’m doing that right now. See, the thing is her little friend, uh,“ he looked at the notebook, “Missy Fairchild was with her till around four-fifteen. You know Melissa don’t you? Rhonda’s littlest? Didn’t you go out with Rhonda back in school? I heard that somewhere and that’s a fact. Anyway. Missy says she left Sioban at four-fifteen. Now here’s the funny part. She left her right here with you.”
Jesus. What else had she told him? This was going to look bad no matter what, but it could look a whole lot worse depending on what I said. It dawned on me Meg had been here when Missy left. She might just save me. “Yeah, I did see them both that afternoon. They came in around four, I guess. Like I said when you told me she was missing, I had just seen her.”
Reggie made a show of looking at his notebook again, then back to me. “When Missy left, she said Sioban was in your arms, with her legs wrapped around you, and you were kissing. Is THAT a fact, Mr. Tharon?”
“Did she also mention Meg was here? You can ask Meg what happened. That girl came in here to cause trouble and she threw herself on me. I got rid of her as gently as I could.” I tried to stare down Reggie. Eventually he looked back at his notes. “You know the reputation that girl has. I think maybe she earned it. You might want to look at some of the folks she has supposedly been, uh, bad with. Could be something backfired on her.”
“You implying this little girl deserved to have something happen to her?” Reggie asked me. “You don’t mean to make this victim into a guilty party now do you?”
“No, of course not Reggie.” I said hoping to get things on a first name basis again. “I’m just telling you what I think. Ask Meg what happened.”
“Oh, I will do that, that’s a fact. Thing is, I see Meg in and out of here all the time. Makes me wonder. Fact is, a girl might say anything if she was protecting someone. If she had some reason to.” He stood waiting for some comment from me. I shut up. “Well, I will be in touch, Tom, you can count on that. I wouldn’t leave town just at the moment if I were you.” He sauntered away. When he was at the door I called out to him.
“I hope you find her safe and sound, Reggie. I’ll do what I can to help.”
Reggie paused at the door and turned back. He looked at me a moment longer as if he was going to speak, and then he was gone. I exhaled a long sigh. Maybe I should get a lawyer. It was a hell of a week. I debated reading Meg’s folder, but my mind was not on the job. I closed up and headed home for an early supper. A silly movie with Maggie was just what I needed.
Around the Corner Wednesday October 18
One thing I don’t miss from my days in Hartford are the almost daily doses of tragedy. Each story I covered seemed to reveal another layer of suffering, of deceit, of heartache. There was a story I worked on at the Courant. This was years ago, in the early nineties. It wasn’t just a one day thing, it was a long term story with lots of articles before it was done. It illustrates what life was like every day in the city, and what is different here in The Corners.
There was a fellow who worked for a big insurance company. Lots of insurance companies are headquartered in Hartford. This guy was pretty high up the chain, not on the board of directors, but a vice president. The names don’t matter, it’s what happened that’s important.
The story began simply enough. There was a murder. What turned out to be a murder/suicide. This guy was found dead in his office. His secretary was found shot at her desk. The people down the hall heard a shot, came running, found the secretary dead and heard another shot. They went in and found this guy had blown his brains out. No one had any idea why. The guy was in his fifties, well heeled, nice wife, no rumors of any hanky panky. The company was doing great, in another ten years he could have retired on a really good pension.
The secretary had been with him for almost twenty years, she was a fixture at the place. Seemed like a real mystery, so I dug around for a few days, as did the police. We were ready to chalk it up to the gods when a little guy in accounting says he found a little problem. It turns into a big problem. Looks like our fellow had been pushing through a few fake claims over the years. He apparently went into the computer before each month’s audit, and cooked the books. This month he was a little ‘late’ to do that.
By the time it was all tallied up it was clear he had taken nearly fifty million dollars over almost fifteen years. But where was the money? And why did he give up what seems to be a perfectly foolproof scheme? And why kill the secretary if he was going to kill himself?
For weeks no one could find a damn thing. It was the sheerest of luck when the story broke, if you could call it luck. The nice old wife killed herself too. But she had the decency to leave a note. And a key. To a safe deposit box.
The money was in a Cayman Islands account. In her name. Well, partly her name. It was jointly held by her and the secretary. Seems there had been the age-old love triangle. The Mrs. and the secretary had been lovers for all these years, unbeknownst to hubby. She had been getting her husband’s password, giving it to the secretary, and the secretary was making the changes to the books. At some point hubby caught on and confronted the secretary. Learned the ugly truth and killed her. And then killed himself. The Mrs. couldn’t live with the guilt or without the money. Seems without the security code from both parties, the account couldn’t be accessed. She was left with nothing but a nice home, a lot of insurance money, a pension, and a dog. It apparently wasn’t enough.
The moral you ask? Be happy to live in a town where scandal is defined as the latest tale of an affair out on Vine Street. Where the worst your kid can grow up to be is the same as you. Where tragedy is rare, and horror unknown. Be happy you live somew
here safe, sheltered, protected, where the nightmares of the world pass you by unnoticed.
Tom Tharon.
Chapter 8
My last column seems rather ironic considering all that has happened. Horror has come home to The Corners. Of all the things that came to light in this past week, I think what I read in Meg’s folder was the most awful. And that took a lot, considering the way this week has gone. The nicest thing has been Maggie, so let me start there.
Our movie date was the saving grace to last Wednesday, that’s for sure. She could tell I was upset, and asked me what was wrong. I told her the whole story of Sioban, and Reggie’s visit. To her credit she was not the least bit skeptical of my version, and sympathized with my predicament. She bade me to sit with her on the sofa. She kissed me softly and then just held me for a long while.
I am very lucky to have found a woman like this. When she felt I was calmed, she kissed me again, this time a little less softly, and told me that when the time was right, she would show me just how sure she was I liked my women mature. Then we ate popcorn and watched the movie, a rather bizarre adaptation of the Hamlet story. It was terrible, but did have its funny moments, and Maggie swore she would develop my taste in films given a chance. I promised her ample opportunity.
By Friday the whole town was abuzz about Sioban’s disappearance, and it seemed less and less likely that she had run away. None of her little friends had any inkling of her whereabouts; and they would definitely have heard, Sioban was not known for keeping her tongue. Word was, after the local teens had been questioned by parents and Reggie; that the finger had been pointed at two local men, whom all the kids agreed Sioban had been sleeping with. Suspicion as to their identities ran from the ridiculous to the personal. Names bandied about included Jason Hurley, who was in his 60’s and hardly a likely candidate, Josh Tastler, who should be excluded if suspicions of his preferences are true, and Jeremy Solereski, who claims he has dated every woman in town. More likely names were Chuck Peters (who really has dated nearly every woman in town), Mac Taylor, who probably did sleep with Sioban, myself, who definitely did not, Jack Buckley, always supposed to be a ladies man, and Tommy Slicdale, who I doubt slept with Sioban, but whose reputation is plain.