“Why would I do that? I have never been afraid of the dark.”
“It’s not the dark. It’s what’s in the dark.”
“There’s nothing in the dark but my house. Our house.” She fished her key out of her purse. “I’ve been locking my door if that makes you feel any better, although I can’t imagine anybody bothering me here.”
“Probably not, but some kid might think it was funny to try to scare you.”
“If you mean one of my students, I sincerely doubt that ever happening. They would know better.” She turned the key, pushed the door open enough to reach inside, and flipped on the porch light.
“Even one you give a bad grade?” Michael teased her.
“They get the grades they earn. I don’t give them anything.” She peered up at him with narrowed eyes. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, you should know better too.”
“Right. Sorry, Aunt Lindy.” Michael touched her shoulder to stop her before she went inside. “And don’t worry about Julie Lynne. She’ll never come to Hidden Springs.”
“You could be wrong there. She might very well show up here, but who said I was worried? I know you’ll do the right thing. You always do.” She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. “I’m proud of the way you saved that man out on the bridge. It could have so easily gone the other way.”
“It was just routine. I did what any other police officer would have done.”
“You kept him from jumping.”
“I didn’t keep him from wanting to.”
She frowned a little. “Wonder what would bring a man to such a state?”
“Who knows?” Michael shrugged. “Money trouble, drugs, women. Depression. It could be anything.”
“Your grandfather always said every man has his demons. The successful man is he who learns to control his.”
“I think this guy needed crowd control.” He remembered the look on the man’s face as he lay on the road staring up at Michael.
“Thanks to you, he will have a chance to work through his problems now. We should pray for him.”
After she went inside, Michael waited until the light came on in the window of his aunt’s sitting room and then headed home. As he drove through the woods to his log house on the lake, he hardly gave a thought to Julie Lynne chasing him down in Hidden Springs. He kept seeing the jumper and hearing his words. “You’ll wish you’d pushed me.”
It hadn’t exactly sounded like a threat. More like a promise.
5
The next day the weekly issue of the Hidden Springs Gazette hit the stands at the local Save Way grocery and the Hidden Springs Grill. Folks could also grab a copy off the front counter in the Gazette office, which operated on the honor system. Three quarters in the bowl on the counter bought a paper off the top of the stack.
On the day the paper came out, Hank Leland always stayed out of sight behind the partition that divided the offices from the pressroom until the first flush of buyers passed through. He claimed that was so people would read the news for themselves and not simply stand there wanting him to give a narrative report of what he’d written. Others around town claimed it was more likely Hank wanted a clear path out the back way in case somebody took issue with one of his stories and showed up ready to punch him in the nose.
Either way, Annie Watson kept guard at the front desk. Annie had worked on the paper through three different editors and knew exactly how many words would fit in a column inch and the difference between a nickel’s clink and that of a quarter in the payment bowl on the counter.
Michael didn’t bother picking up a copy on the way to work. Noon would be plenty early enough to see what kind of story Hank had come up with on the jumper, but when he went in the sheriff’s office, Betty Jean Atkins was already well into the middle pages of the paper. Behind her, the coffeemaker made its final gurgles to extract every drop of water out of its innards, and the computers hummed with their cursors flashing at the ready.
Betty Jean peered over the paper at him. “The hero in the flesh.”
Michael groaned and poured a cup of coffee. “How bad is it?”
“Not bad at all. Great pictures.” Betty Jean turned back to the front page. “Hank will have to print another run for all the girls to have copies to get you to autograph.”
“Yeah, right.” Michael sat down at his desk and thumbed through his phone messages. As usual, not much happening. A bicycle missing at the trailer park. Maybe stolen. Maybe borrowed. A rock through a window out at the high school. Some kid who must not have been straightened out by Aunt Lindy yet.
“Where’s Lester?” Michael looked up.
Lester Stucker was the other deputy in the office. Michael didn’t need to ask where Sheriff Potter was. He’d be at the grill loading up on caffeine and cholesterol for the day.
“School starts in a few weeks. He’s probably out checking his whistle and making sure the crosswalks are painted. Or maybe he’s patrolling the bridge, hoping for another nut to come along so he can be a hero too.” Betty Jean stood up to fill her coffee mug. “Heaven help the nut if one is out there. Lester would push him the wrong way for sure.”
“No way for you to talk about a fellow deputy.” Michael kept flipping through his messages. Buck Garrett, the state detective for the area, had called, but it didn’t sound urgent. A Dr. Philip Colson wanted him to call. Michael noted the Eagleton number and wondered why a doctor was calling him.
Betty Jean took a sip of coffee and then shook the paper at him. “Well, don’t you want to know what it says about you? Or have you already read it?”
“Nope.”
“Nope, you haven’t already read it, or nope, you don’t want to know what it says?”
“Both.” Michael kept his eyes on the notes in front of him.
Neville Gravitt, the county clerk, stuck his long, narrow head in the door on his way to his own offices. “You did a fine thing, Michael, and we’re all thankful you’re here working for us in Hidden Springs.”
Michael looked up, so surprised by Neville’s speech, he couldn’t think of a response. Neville’s face disappeared and his footsteps went clicking on up the tiled hallway. The phone rang and Betty Jean picked it up. “I’m sorry he’s not available for comment at this time. Would you like to leave a message?” She jotted down something and hung up.
When it started ringing again almost immediately, she punched the hold button. She did the same with the second line on the phone on the sheriff’s desk. Then she slapped the newspaper down in front of Michael. “If you’re going to be a hero, you’d better read up on what you did to get there.”
“I was just doing my job, Betty Jean.” Michael pushed the paper away.
Betty Jean pushed it back. “Maybe so, but newspapers make heroes, and Hank has hit the jackpot with this bunch of pictures. That’s the second call from a reporter, and it’s not even eight thirty yet.”
“Reporter?”
“The Eagleton Herald and Channel 22 news. Channel 22 is sending out a camera truck to film the bridge and the hero.” She waited a second for that to sink in. “I think you’d better get ready, Mr. Hero of the Day. Things must be slow in the big town this week.”
Michael reluctantly looked at the paper. Four photos covered half the front page. The first showed the man on the edge with Michael reaching toward him. In the next, the man had turned loose of the railing and was leaning toward the water. The third showed Michael hauling him over the railing, and the last was of the man being loaded onto the stretcher. The headline screamed in bold block letters, DEPUTY SAVES JUMPER.
“Not a very imaginative headline,” Michael said.
“I thought about ‘Deputy risks life to save stranger.’” Hank was in the doorway. “But headlines are better short and concise.”
“I’d think they needed to be true too.” Michael looked over at Hank. “I was never in any danger.”
Hank shrugged a little. “Readers favor the dramatic over factual any day.�
�� He sneaked a look at Betty Jean, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. “Hi, Betty Jean,” he offered warily, not crossing the threshold into the office. “What do you think?”
“You don’t want to know.” Betty Jean sat back down at her desk and hit a few keys on her keyboard.
Hank had used up his welcome at the courthouse long ago. “That’s where you’re wrong. I always want to know what my readers think.”
“Who says I’m a reader?”
“Betty Jean, you injure me.” He started to step into the office.
Betty Jean’s glare stopped him in his tracks. “How can we help you this morning? Do you have taxes to pay? Want to report a burglary? A missing person, perhaps an editor?”
“How about a hero interview?” Hank offered.
“Sheriff Potter doesn’t allow media in the office area.” She narrowed her eyes on the editor. “You have been apprised of that rule previously. It has not changed.”
“Come on, Betty Jean. I hardly said anything bad about the sheriff this week. Why, I mean he beat the ambulance to the scene yesterday. I gave him credit.”
Betty Jean got up from her desk to yank the paper out of Michael’s hand. She opened it to an inside page and read, “‘Sheriff Potter, who showed up on the scene after the crisis was over, was very effective in keeping back the curious. After allowing Deputy Dawg to leave the scene, the sheriff graciously gave a statement to this reporter. No, he didn’t know the man’s name or why he wanted to jump. No, he had no idea why the man would pick this bridge or where the ambulance was taking him, but he was sure it would be somewhere where the man would get the care he needed. If the reporter wanted to check back with his office tomorrow around noon, more information could be available at that time.’”
“I didn’t write Deputy Dawg.” Hank looked a little worried. “Did I?”
“Deputy Dawg. Deputy Keane. Close enough.” Michael laughed and stood up. “I better take a turn around the block and make sure all the stores are still there. Tag along, Leland, if you want some exercise.”
“He could certainly use that,” Betty Jean muttered as she took the phone lines off hold.
Hank didn’t let her get the last word. “Hey, Betty Jean, I’m thinking about starting up a love connection section in the want ads. If you want to send in an ad, I’ll give you a special rate.”
Michael grabbed the editor’s arm and pulled him through the doorway before Betty Jean threw something at the man. Betty Jean’s consuming desire in life was to be a bride, but so far she hadn’t met anyone with a consuming desire to be her groom. She was into her thirties. Michael wasn’t sure how far, since her age seemed to go up or down to match whichever man she had her eye on at the time. She had all kinds of excuses when the men she picked didn’t call. She needed to lose weight. She talked too much. She didn’t talk enough. She was too smart. Working for the sheriff, who also happened to be her uncle, scared men away.
Michael used to tell her she was too picky, but all that did was make her mad. Nowadays, he pulled out his sympathetic look and merely nodded when she related the trials and tribulations of husband catching. Except of course when she said she was too fat. Then he was quick to assure her that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to come in one morning and find his desk out in the hall.
Hank fell into step beside Michael. He fingered the little notebook in his shirt pocket but left it there. “You get the feeling Betty Jean doesn’t like me?”
“She’d like you better if you weren’t married.”
“Sometimes I think I’d like me better if I wasn’t married.” Hank glanced over his shoulder to see if anybody was close enough to hear him. “I didn’t say that.”
Michael laughed.
“Yeah, you can laugh.” Hank sighed. “Single. Handsome. A hero. The girls will be lining up for a smile from you.”
“I hope you weren’t planning to interview me about my love life.” Michael pulled open the courthouse door and stepped outside.
“That wasn’t my intention, but I’m sure it would increase circulation. So come on. Give me all the juicy details.” Hank grinned and pulled his notebook out of his pocket.
“It would put your readers to sleep. I just work and fish and read.”
“And play hero.”
“Let’s drop the hero tag.” Michael gave Hank a look. “Who knows? That man might not have jumped even if I hadn’t come along. He had a pretty tight grip on that railing.”
A pencil stub appeared in the editor’s hand. Michael admired the man’s ability to write on the run. While nobody else could make heads or tails of his notes, Hank rarely misquoted anyone. That was why the city and county officials preferred not to talk to him. It wasn’t that he got what they said wrong, but he did have a talent for getting them to say the dumbest things.
“You get the guy’s name?”
“He said Jack Smith, but that’s pretty generic. Probably not his name.”
“The hospital admitted him under Jack Jackson. He had some kind of ID, and then there’s the car, of course. The sheriff had T.R. tow it in. You could probably find out plenty from checking it out.”
“I’m sure the sheriff has taken care of that. Why don’t you ask him?”
Hank touched the lead of his pencil to his tongue. “I figured I’d ask a friendly source first and take my lumps with the sheriff later.”
“You could try not being so antagonistic. At least in print.”
“Sweet and cuddly news doesn’t sell papers and I got to sell papers. Rebecca Ann just went to the orthodontist. They want to do braces. Kids cost a bundle. You remember that if you ever take leave of your senses and consider getting married.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Out on Main Street, Jim Deatin was propping up some tires in front of his auto supply store. When Michael spoke to him, Jim straightened up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a near salute. “Way to go, Michael. We’re proud of you.”
After they walked on up the street, Michael said, “I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this, Hank. How about printing a retraction? Say Deputy Dawg was in Eagleton yesterday and actually Hank Leland was the hero of the day.”
“Nah, nobody would go for that. Besides, it’s your big blue eyes in the pictures. Good shots if I do say so myself.”
“Too good. I sort of wish you’d been on the other side of the county at that hog calling contest or whatever.”
“Don’t worry, Mike. It’ll just be a couple of minutes of fame and then the big-town boys will find a new hero.” Hank frowned down at his notebook. “But you owe me the first interview and you aren’t telling me a thing.”
“I don’t know a thing. The man was on the outside of the railing when we got to the bridge. He said his name was Jack Smith. He didn’t give any reasons he wanted to jump. I was talking him back from the edge when some crazy photographer came along and tripped the poor sucker’s trigger and he turned loose of the railing.”
“You don’t mean me?” Hank looked up from his frantic scribbling.
“The description fits, but actually it was two photographers. Sue Lou Farris and Judith Phillips snapping shots of him with their little camera phones. They’re what set him off for some reason.”
“That could do it for sure. Those old girls are scary. They’re always bringing in pictures and wanting me to print them in the paper.” He shook his head as he reviewed the scribbles in his notebook. “Okay, we’ve got up to him turning loose. Then what?”
“You don’t need me to tell you that. You were there. I grabbed him, yanked him back over the railing, gave him a concussion.”
“Did he say thank you?” Hank peered over at Michael.
“Suicides don’t thank you for saving them. At least not right that day. Sometimes later they might be grateful, but mostly they tend to go out and try again.”
“He said something. I heard him.”
“Then why ask me if you heard him.” Michael wanted to forget what he sa
id. He wanted to forget the whole thing. Move on.
But once Hank grabbed hold of a question, he wouldn’t turn it loose until it was answered. “I wasn’t close enough to make out all the words. Something about pushing him. You didn’t push him, did you?”
“You think I would push him?” Michael frowned over at Hank.
“No way. A hero saves people.”
“Stop with the hero stuff,” Michael said.
“Then tell me what he said.” He had his pencil poised over the notebook.
Michael gave in. He didn’t know why it mattered anyway. They were simply the words of a desperate man not thinking clearly. “He said I would wish I’d pushed him.”
“Huh?” Hank scowled at Michael. “What do you think he meant by that?”
“How should I know? I’m no psychiatrist. The man obviously had problems or he wouldn’t have been ready to make a dive into Eagle River.”
“There hasn’t been a suicide there for years. Not since I’ve been here in Hidden Springs and that’s been . . .” Hank paused a minute to think. “My golly, that’s been thirteen years next month. How many do you think have jumped there?”
“I remember two, but I’ve heard stories about others years ago.”
“Maybe I’ll do a history piece on all the jumpers.” He scribbled in his notebook. “How many do you think there might be?”
“Beats me. You’re the reporter.”
“Yeah, and you aren’t giving me much to go on with this Jack guy. You think you’ll be investigating into who he is or why he wanted to jump?” Hank peered over at him.
“I don’t look for the sheriff to make it a high priority. The man’s being taken care of. Nobody else was hurt. Case closed.” Michael was tired of talking about the jumper.
“There’s his car.”
“He can claim it when he gets out of the hospital.”
“You think they’ll keep him in very long?”
Murder Comes by Mail Page 3