by Jonni Good
“Sure.”
“You know how to get a decent video, don’t you? Holding the camera sideways so it looks good on YouTube? A lot of people don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know how to do it right.”
Emma and Mildred got out of the SUV, and Angie, Mort and I got in. The two cars drove the five blocks back to Josie’s trailer. It’s set behind the grain elevators, and can’t be seen from the parking lot in front of the museum.
Josie got out of the SUV at the trailer, just as Emma pulled her car into the driveway. Then Gavril drove the rest of us back to Main Street. He turned right and went half a block to the museum.
The parking lot was full of vehicles with national media logos on the side. There were even a few rigs parked across the street, next to the diner.
“They’re all going to be hungry,” I said to Angie.
“They can wait ‘till they get back to Randall. I’m taking the day off.”
Gavril pulled up to the curb because the parking lot was full. Sam, Gabe and Molly were only half a block behind us, so we stayed in the vehicle until they arrived. The reporters were just figuring out who the silver Explorer belonged to when we piled out.
Sam and Mort took point, pushing the crowd of reporters apart so we could get through the crowd to the front porch of the museum. The mammoth blocked some of the reporter’s camera shots, so there was a lot of jockeying and pushing while reporters called out questions to Gavril.
Angie moved in under the mammoth and stood between the thick concrete legs with her phone’s camera pointed at the crowd.
We stepped up onto the porch, to be slightly higher than the reporters. Gabe stood on one side of Gavril, holding Molly’s leash tightly. The old dog sat down on his feet. I stood on Gavril’s other side. Mort stood in front of the mammoth with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his feet planted wide apart in a no-nonsense attitude. Sam did the same in front of the museum door, behind us.
Angie hissed at Mort to move over. He was blocking her shot. He winked at her, and moved a few feet to the side.
Sabina Greene, the local reporter from Randall, managed to push herself in front of the national crews. The aggressive blonde was wearing a fleece-lined black leather jacket and sexy black calf-high boots with five-inch heels.
Sabina shoved her big black mic in front of the musician’s face. “Gavril Constantin,” she said, “why did it take you two days to get here after you were told your wife was dead?”
“You’re mistaken,” he said. “I met with the sheriff yesterday in Randall, as soon as I could there. We had a blizzard yesterday morning, if you recall, and the Interstate was closed for a few hours. I came here to be with my children yesterday afternoon.”
“We were at the sheriff’s office,” Sabina said. “We didn’t see you come in.”
The musician said, “The sheriff directed me to the back door of the building. He is a very nice man. Under the circumstances, so soon after my wife died, he felt it was best if I could meet with him in private. This has been such a shock for me and my family.”
Sabina’s mic swung in my direction. “Utah O’Brien, you’re the mayor of West Elmer and the owner of the natural history museum here. The sheriff told us you found the body of Sonje Neilina McCrae. Did you recognize her when you found her?”
“No, not right away,” I said. “I should have, of course. I’ve read all of her books.”
“Ms. O’Brien, a number of news reports have come out in the last few months concerning Sonje Neilina McCrae’s marriage to Gavril Constantin and their divorce. Do you think that could have anything to do with the author’s depression?”
Gavril stiffened beside me. I kept my mouth shut.
Sabina moved the mic back in Gavril’s direction, but another reporter called out over Sabina’s head. “How did your children get here?” he said, “and why did your wife come to West Elmer?”
“My children came with their mother, of course. As I’m sure you understand, this has been a very difficult time for my son.” He turned his head so he could smile at Gabe, and put his arm around his shoulder. “Gabriel has been very brave through all of this. I’m very proud of him.”
“You’re Gabriel McCrae, Sonje McCrae’s son,” Sabina said loudly, to be heard over the shouted questions from the pack behind her. “How did you feel when you were told your mother committed suicide?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mort moving, but not towards the reporter. He blocked Sam, who had left his position at the door. After a few words, Mort convinced him to stand down, but Sam’s face was red and his hands were drawn into fists.
I nodded to Gabe, telling him to go ahead and answer the question. He turned to the reporter and said, clearly, with a voice that would carry all the way to the back of the pack, “My mother didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”
This brought on such an onslaught of noise that no individual reporters could be heard for several minutes. Molly started to get restless, but Gabe held her leash tightly. I looked around to make sure Angie was in a good position with her smart phone. She was. I pointed at Molly, and she nodded.
I touched Gavril’s sleeve. He leaned closer and listened to me for a second, then passed on the message to Gabe. The boy looked at me, and I nodded. He let the long working leash drop, keeping his hand on his end of it, but giving Molly permission to move at will. She looked up at Gabe when she felt the tension released from her harness, but she remained sitting.
Gavril held up his hands, asking for silence from the reporters. After a few more seconds, he was given a chance to speak.
He looked directly at Sabina Greene, and said, in his gravely voice and slight eastern European accent, “You, madam, have no compassion, you have no soul. To say what you did to a young man mourning his mother’s death is unconscionable. You should be ashamed, but clearly, you are not.”
He looked away from the local reporter and up to the reporters crowding around. “Now, all of you must listen to my son with respect. If you cannot listen politely, we will go inside and I will call a reporter who knows how to treat people with dignity. Will you listen? Or will you leave?”
They decided to listen—and Molly decided to move. She couldn’t go far because she was so closely surrounded by the legs of the reporters and cameramen.
Gabe started to talk, and all the mics and cameras swung towards him. “Dad’s right. You’ve been really mean. Some of the things you’ve written and put on the Internet really hurt my mother’s feelings.” He looked at his step-father, who nodded. “Well, anyway—this morning we helped the sheriff arrest the man who killed my mother.” Gasps went up in the crowd. Gabe waited for silence. “It was Utah’s idea. She’s the one who figured it out, because of something my mom said in her last book.”
Cameras swung in my direction. When I didn’t speak, they swung back towards Gabe. “And it was Sam who helped us prove it.” He looked behind him, and asked Sam to come forward. He did.
“Sam asked his bloodhound to track my mother’s movements on the night she died. That’s Molly.” He pointed towards the dog, who was currently inspecting Sabina Greene’s highly polished boots. Angie was getting a nice shot of the slobber dropping slowly from the bloodhound’s lips onto the expensive leather. Cameramen pushed through the crowd to get a shot of the dog. A few of them almost lost their balance.
When Sabina felt the dog’s nose pushing against her leg she was startled, and bent over to push Molly away. Her movement jostled the reporter behind her, who pushed back a little too hard. Sabina fell forward. Molly moved out of the way just in time.
Angie was getting all of it with her phone.
The reporter who pushed Sabina Greene was pushed, in turn, by reporters trying to get a shot of the dog. He went down, and a few more people went down after him.
When everyone was finally back on their feet and all the equipment was sorted out, someone called out, “OK, so who did it? Who killed Sonje McCrae?”
M
ort stepped forward. “The sheriff wants that kept quiet until the suspect has a chance to get legal council. You’ll have to talk to the sheriff. He’s transporting the suspect back to Randall now, as a matter of fact. He left West Elmer …” he looked at his watch, “… about twenty-five minutes ago, so he’ll be at the station soon. I’m sure there’s still a few reporters outside the sheriff’s office. He’ll make his announcement to them.”
The mad rush to leave would make another great shot for YouTube. “Gabe, you know how to edit video, don’t you?” I asked.
“Sure. It’s easy. Elementary, really.”
We went into the museum. When everyone was inside, I turned the bolt and locked the door.
TWENTY-FIVE
We gathered in the kitchen. Josie, Emma and Mildred were already there with the baby, and all the breakfast dishes were washed and put away.
Gabe told Jocko how great Molly was, and how smart she was, and how good she was a tracking. Jocko thought all that praise was going to the wrong dog. He pushed in between Molly and Gabe, trying get his share of the love.
Mort’s cell phone rang. It was Wally. Mort listened to the sheriff for a few moments, and ended the call. By this time, most of us were sitting at the big table in the middle of the room.
“The preacher confessed in the car on the way to Randall,” Mort said. “They typed it up when they got to the office. It’s already signed. There won’t be a trial unless he changes his mind.”
Emma asked the obvious question. “Did he say why he did it?”
Mort shook his head sadly. “He won’t tell them. He doesn’t mind everyone knowing he’s a murderer, but whatever he did all those years ago, it’s too shameful for him to say. Probably wasn’t much, really. Maybe what they’re calling ‘inappropriate touching’ nowadays. If it was worse, she would have told somebody. It’s a damn shame, is what it is.”
Angie handed her phone to Gabe, and he edited the video. The way he was giggling, we were sure it would be a big hit, but he wouldn’t let us see it until he hit the upload button. He asked me for my laptop, and I brought it. He pulled up the new video on YouTube, and we stood behind him, watching and laughing.
Both Gabe and Gavril got out their own phones and sent the link to to all the people in on their contacts lists. It would be an instant hit.
Angie wanted to know what was going on when she and I were kicked out of Gavril’s car so Josie could talk to Emma and Mildred.
Gabe said, “Grace will live with Aunt Emma,” he said. “Dad will get joint custody, and maybe Aunt Emma will adopt Grace, but I’m not sure …”
He looked at Josie for a technical explanation. She said, “I looked it up on the Internet yesterday. I don’t know for sure if the court will allow Emma to adopt the baby, but it shouldn’t be hard for her to get guardianship, because she’s so closely related. The situation with Gabe is a little more complicated. Paul Haase can help us figure out the legal part of it.”
Mildred said, “I already called Paul, while you were talking to the reporters. He expects us all in his office tomorrow morning.” Mildred was back to normal, taking charge and calling the right people, fixing things. It was good to have her back.
“Aunt Emma says I can see Grace any time I want,” Gabe said.
Emma was smiling so hard, it looked like it would hurt. “Of course you can, Gabe. Little Grace will need her big brother. And Gavril, you come as often as you can, OK?”
Gavril looked at Angie and smiled. “I think I’ll be coming back quite often,” he said. “To see the kids, of course.” Angie smiled back.
Mort shook his head and scowled. “She could do better,” he whispered to Josie, loudly enough for all of us to hear.
Gavril grinned. He was going to fit in just fine.
Epilogue
The funeral for Sonje Neilina McCrae took place later that week, at her church in the city. Mort, Josie, Sam, Gabe and I drove there in Sam’s big pickup. The back seat was a little crowded, so the dogs had to stay home. Pete Hansen offered to take Mildred and Emma in his car, with the baby.
The members of Blue Malachi got together one last time to play some of Sonje’s favorite tunes at the service, and the church choir invited Gavril to sing the solo parts of Sonje’s version of “You've Been a Friend To Me.” The pews were filled with Sonje’s friends and business associates, and the eulogies made me wish I’d known her. It was a beautiful service.
Laura Rey was the only one who showed up that Saturday to protest the Devil’s work in the museum. We invited her in for a cup of coffee and a slice of Josie’s nut bread. We had a nice little chat, and I invited her to volunteer at my after-school drama classes. She came the very next week, and she’s been helping ever since.
Photos of Gabe and Grace have been added to the growing display of grandchildren behind Mildred’s desk at City Hall, and new ones show up at least once a week.
I finished my sculpture of the Clovis people and moved them out to the front of the museum. The sound of hammers and saws can be heard in the old studio, and Josie is already planning how she’ll use the new greenhouse. Gabe is still sleeping on the couch, but he’ll move into his own bedroom in a week or two.
And last week, Pete and Mildred announced their impending marriage. The ceremony will take place at the Methodist church, because the General Baptist church is closed. We hope they’ll send a new pastor, but we’ll have to wait and see.
In other words, things are getting back to normal—but ‘normal’ is going to be very different from now on.
About the Author:
I'm a sculptor, and the author of four popular non-fiction books for artists. I grew up in a small town in the state of Washington (a town even smaller than the fictional town of West Elmer), and I now live in Minnesota with my two dogs and a demanding cat who insists on helping me when I make my YouTube videos.
Jocko, the Border collie in this book, is based on several rescue dogs I’ve lived with over the years. One of them is sleeping under my desk as I write this note.
You can find me almost every day on my blog at UltimatePaperMache.com
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The Owl Thief
Gossip, blackmail and murder in a small Minnesota town ...
If you missed The Owl Thief, the first book in the Utah O’Brien Mystery series, you can find it here: http://amzn.to/22CcYSa
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Before You Go:
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