I pulled a water bottle out of its holder, took a drink and handed it to her. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, Betty.”
She drank, tasted the wine and drank some more. “Not likely. Sometimes I get the feeling I could walk naked through the station and none of those bad ass man cops would notice because they’re too busy fondling their weapons. So, since I’ve known you all these years it won’t put too much of a dent in my ethical standards if I accept a bribe from you. Just don’t let the word out that I can be had, the chief gets a tickle of that and I’ll be waitressing at Gretchen’s.” She struggled to her feet, brushed dead leaves off her butt, looked down at me and said, “Until tomorrow then.”
The wind picked up. Angry black clouds swooped in, skimming the rooftops, blotting out the sun, and changing the mood of my afternoon. I let Cat hobble after wind born leaves for several minutes while I sat against the maple, sipped wine and seltzer and debated whether to head back now and at least have daylight, or futz around town for a while. Since all I accomplished so far was cashing my first Social Security check and bribing Betty, futz won out and I started looking for Young Tommy.
… . .
I SPENT TWENTY MINUTES PEDALING AROUND town checking his usual haunts and didn’t find him. So I went to Gretchen’s and bought three large cheeseburgers and two large coffees, one with extra sugar. Gretchen’s niece wrapped it all in extra layers for insulation and I stuffed the bundle in one of the zippered pockets in the trailer. The pocket immediately became the focus of Cat’s attention, but Cat is frail, the pocket reinforced, and so the end result of her labors will be a little more cat drool on my ex wife’s quilt.
A few decades ago the railroad was a big deal in town. But now, in the Spring of the twenty first century, the trains are gone, the tracks are rusted and overgrown, and cross country skiers and snowmobilers fight over them for trail rights. And in the Fall and Spring college students wander along them, leaving a trail of crumbled beer cans, plastic bags with faded yellow and red labels, used condoms, and trees with nonsensical obscenities carved into them.
I followed the tracks out of town for a mile, turned onto a meandering trail that led deep into the woods, and pedaled along until I reached a steep hill. I leaned the bike against a stunted pine and removed Cat, who had her nose pressed against the pocket, grabbed the bag of food, and climbed the hill to a small plateau.
Masses of huge boulders, a gift from the last ice age, were piled helter skelter around the plateau, forming an intricate maze of gray stone. Deep in, set up beside a high granite face was the modern version of a Mongolian yurt. After Young Tommy found the plateau during one of his frequent trips into the woods he ordered it from some outfit out west, and over time carried in everything he needed to make the thing his home.
He was standing just inside the tree line that surrounded the plateau. When he saw it was me he stepped into the open and waved. His dog, a half Beagle mutt named Buster, ran over and pawed at the sling. Cat, uttering short frantic hisses, pulled back into it like a furry headed turtle and spewed forth with guttural yowls until I put a calming hand on her back.
Young Tommy is somewhere in his seventies, is maybe five-seven or eight, and resembles a goat. He shaves his skull, always wears a black watch cap, and glares at the world through squinty blue eyes that shine like marbles. To label Young Tommy a misanthrope would be an understatement, and like the rest of us with little money, he has a penchant for running suits and shoes purchased at thrift stores. I kept the coffee without sugar and handed him the bag. He grinned and pointed at the yurt.
The inside was a well lit circle some twenty feet in diameter. Several throw rugs were scattered around the canvas floor and plastic milk crates packed with books and magazines were stacked along the walls. Candles were everywhere, and a large metal fireplace with the chimney going through a hole in the top dominated the center of the structure. The air smelled of wood smoke and damp animals.
We sat in plastic beach chairs. I sipped coffee and stroked Cat, who had one ear and eye out of the sling, torn between keeping that eye on Buster or watching Young Tommy devour the first cheeseburger. When he finished, he smacked his lips and grinned at me. From a gallon bottle of rose he filled two large coffee mugs he’d borrowed from Gretchen’s and handed me one. We clinked mugs and drank. “All this, you must want a favor or two, although I can’t imagine what you’d want from a wine swilling old hermit.”
“You have a sister that works at the hospital don’t you?”
“Yes I do, been there what? thirty-five, thirty-six years? Anyhow, she’s got a few months left before she retires.”
“Get along with her?” I asked.
“Yep. Of course she doesn’t care much for my standard of living and that husband of hers thinks I’m a bum. According to him I’m a tad touched in the head living out here and it gets him truly angry when Anna gives me money. But yes, Anna and I get along just fine and her husband be damned.”
He pulled out the second cheeseburger. As he chewed he shook his head and grinned. “Damn I love these things. You’re a good man, Harry, to bring them out this far.”
“Hell, Tommy, it’s a bribe. I want you to talk to your sister for me.”
“Done. What do you want from her?”
“Would she do something that might be against hospital policy for fifty-sixty dollars?”
He smiled and nodded. “Probably, as long as you don’t want her to pitch babies into a dump truck or some such thing.”
“What I’d like her to do is make me copies of all the records the hospital has on Frank Jankey.”
Young Tommy chewed and nodded. “Frank Jankey, Eva’s husband. Long ago I lusted after that woman, but then she went and married a man who spent his days running up and down hills, so I drifted around this sorry planet for a bunch of years then came back and took up residence with the squirrels.” He topped off our mugs and said, “You’re chasing the five thousand Eva’s been dangling in that newspaper ad for the last eight-nine years.”
“I talked with Eva and she said that there wasn’t an autopsy. I’m not a lawyer, but I think there had to be one. By law any suspicious death requires it. And now things are getting a bit desperate, she’s dying.”
Dying? Damn. Must be breast cancer, from what I’ve read every woman on the planet is gonna get it one time or another.”
“It’s cancer, although I don’t know what kind. She’s down to about a hundred pounds. Her sister and granddaughter are taking care of her.”
Young Tommy stared at the floor and slowly shook his head. “If I get up the courage I’ll drop by and say hello… or rather goodbye. Hate to though. Hate to see old friends in pain and near death. Hate it.”
A light rain started pattering on the fabric roof. I sank lower in the chair and stroked Cat’s head. To get his mind off Eva I said, “Frank probably died of a heart attack and I don’t think I’ll get too far with it, but it makes an interesting time killer. It gets me out of the boat and keeps me active.”
“Man’s got to be that. Don’t stay active you end up like them bent over frail types that hang out in the park on sunny days, sitting on them benches and taking the sun like lizards.”
“I cashed my first Social Security check today.”
Young Tommy laid the mouth of the bottle on my mug, smiled knowingly and said, “Must be sixty two or three, though you don’t look it. He pulled his third cheeseburger out of the bag and looked at Buster whose entire being was lasered in on it. He gave a slight nod and Buster ripped the burger out of his hand, trotted to a dark section of the yurt, and started licking the cheese off the meat. “Harry, it sounds to me like you’re not too excited about getting old.”
“I felt better about it when I wasn’t an active participant in the process, when being old was theory and speculation.”
“Theory’s nice, Harry, but it has a way of keeping reality out where it can’t be experienced. Accept where you are and don’t give up. You’ve enter
ed the last stage of your life and there’s no light at the end of that tunnel, just an endless nothing. So make the best of it and don’t let it get you down because it’s damn hard to get back up.” He drained his wine and sighed. “Eva’s dying, damn!” He rummaged around near his bed and threw me a small cushion and a tattered army blanket. “Grab forty winks, the rain’s only gonna last an hour or so.”
I tried to get comfortable on the rug. Cat pulled herself up my chest, put a paw on my chin and glared at Buster. I wiggled and squirmed around on the floor but couldn’t find a sweet spot and knew I’d never get to sleep.
… . .
CAT WOKE ME BY LICKING MY face and purring in my ear. I sat up, stretched, and looked around the yurt. Young Tommy and Buster were small snoring bundles on an air mattress. I put four twenties in the book he was reading, and with Cat dangling from my hand, crept out of the yurt.
… . .
GRETCHEN’S WAS WARM AND QUIET AND thick with the smell of fresh baked bread. I leaned the bike against the back of the last booth and slid onto the seat. The woodstove cracked and popped, leaking wispy tendrils of birch smoke that melded with the aromas of just baked bread and fresh brewed coffee. Of wood smoke and fresh brewed coffee is how my heaven would smell.
Gretchen put a mug of wine in front of me, slipped into the opposite seat and waved a small slice of roast pork under Cat’s nose. Cat hunkered down as much as she could and snagged the meat with her good paw. Gretchen put her on the floor and she hobbled over to the stove and started playing with her kill.
She gave me a tired smile and said, “Got the recording part of that gizmo set up last night. I swear, you gotta be a rocket scientist to figure those things out. But I did it, and tonight I’m gonna be watching my soaps and using that remote thingy to whip right past the goddamn commercials. Imagine, I’m here working and that contraption is home recording the programs I’m gonna watch tonight. All the soaps I missed just because I didn’t want to spend a few dollars.”
I nibbled at the wine and shook my head. “Gretchen, real life is enough of a farce without watching actors pretending to be dysfunctional and emotionally stunted.”
“Harry, you just don’t know class when you see it. Now, you’d watch The Learning Channel or Discovery or some damn thing like that and miss out on all that good entertainment.” Her eyes glinted with laughter and I shook my head and pretended disgust at her viewing habits. To avoid a lengthy wait for Clara Kosko, Gretchen’s waitress, I ordered a plate of stir fries and more wine direct from the source. Gretchen waved at her daughter and pointed at me. Daughter waved a spatula at us and nodded.
“Did Frank Jankey spend much time in here?” I asked.
“Frank? No, he wasn’t a regular. He and Eva would come in for supper every now and then and sometimes he’d stop in for a beer.” With the question on her lips, she looked at me. Then she went, “Ha!” and reached over and stabbed the top of my hand with a fingernail. “You sonofabitch, you did it. You went and saw Eva about that ad she has in the paper. Thank you, Harry, thank you much, now I got one less thing to fret about.”
I smiled and shrugged. Gretchen’s daughter lumbered up to the booth and put a steaming plate of stir fries and half a liter of wine in front of me. I slathered the stir fries with honey mustard sauce and started eating.
Her eyes bright, Gretchen leaned across the table and in a loud whisper said, “So what did she say? I know she thinks something wasn’t kosher but I always thought that was just grief messing with her mind. I mean Frank ran like it was an order straight from God. I’d see him after he got through with a run and he looked like a warmed up dog turd. Everyone said heart attack and that’d be my vote too. He was getting on and a body can only take so much.”
“Perhaps, but Frank seems to have been a pretty healthy fellow. At any rate it’s a change from chasing dogs and bagging groceries. He socialize with anyone in particular?”
“He was a friendly sort and would talk with just about anybody, but most of it was just weather and stuff. I guess he did talk the most with Charles Watson and Joe Ackerman, and that wasn’t too often because none of them came in that much.”
I wrote the names in my notebook. “Know where they live?”
“The Ackerman’s live over on Union Street. Mrs. Watson I don’t know, don’t think I ever did. Maybe after Charles went missing she moved somewhere else.”
“Charles Watson went missing?”
Gretchen nodded and said, “Yep, about nine, ten years ago. He went out one Saturday to do some errands and hasn’t been seen since. There was a big investigation but nothing came of it. They never found his car neither. He probably drove to Arizona to live with the Apaches.” She nodded toward the stools where several old women were drinking coffee and talking. “Word has it that Mrs. Watson is a bit of a bitch.”
“Anybody else?”
“Don’t think so, like I said he was friendly but he spent a lot of time running or getting ready to run. Outside of Eva his whole life appeared to be geared around running, which seems to me to be a foolish way to spend the only time a body’s gonna have on this damn planet. Anyways, all that running tends to cut down on hanging around with the fellas.” She slid out of the booth and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Next time you see Eva, tell her I’m coming up real soon and not to croak till I do. Now I’ve got to get ready for the evening supper, and after I close up I’m gonna go home and watch my soaps. Ice cold beer, no commercials, and no husband, I tell you, Harry, life is good.”
After a cup of coffee to settle the stir fries I bundled Cat in the trailer and we headed home. It was cold, but at least it wasn’t raining. Running on the dry blacktop the bike’s knobby tires created a monotonous hum that lulled me into a semi trance that made the trip seem fairly short.
When I reached the boat I built a fire and had a second supper of oatmeal and Zinfandel. Afterwards I settled by the stove, made some notes on Jankey, and read for two hours. After a final mug of the grape and several minutes of Wrestle the Hand and Kill the Sock with Cat, I burrowed under the covers. For reasons known only to her, Cat decided to turn in early and I fell asleep to the sound of her purring in my ear.
… . .
I WOKE UP TO A MORNING that was bright, windy, and cold, standard fare for the end of November in New Hampshire if it isn’t snowing or raining. I fortified myself with coffee and went outside to do my weight routine. I have a weight set stashed in the leanto and try to get in at least three sessions a week to prevent the loss of muscle mass so prevalent in us older types. Declining muscle mass is symptomatic of the slide to geezerhood and the accompanying frailty, and doing weights is another part of my battle to remain upright and functional.
I didn’t make it through stretching out. The wind sliced through me like a scythe, killing all motivation and bringing me to a stiff legged standstill. I left the weights in the weeds and stomped back inside to escape the cold. As I huddled over a cup of twice warmed coffee, Cat scolded me for leaving her alone and demanded a treat to ease her existential angst. Thus humbled I pulled on long underwear, a black sweatsuit with white piping, grabbed an expectant Cat, and tromped back outside. When only Cat’s nose was sticking out of the quilt I zipped up the trailer and headed across the pasture.
… . .
I HAD THE PARK TO MYSELF and slumped against my favorite maple. I took quick nips of hot chocolate from my thermos while watching the townspeople scurry from store to store, apparently doing their bit to stimulate the economy. It took only minutes for the ground to ice my butt, so I lurched upright and stalked to a bench and plunked down and discovered that the bench was just as cold as the ground.
With the frustration level spiraling ever upward, I grabbed the bike and headed for Gretchen’s where I’d have a cup of coffee to warm me up. I’d do the weights when I got back to the boat. I’d do twice as much as I usually do as I certainly can’t afford declining muscle mass.
Betty Worthen caught me by Kreb’s Hardware. She ga
ve me a smile, patted her stomach and said, “If you’ll stop scowling we’ll find a quiet alley and I’ll deliver the goods.”
We walked down the alley past Gretchen’s to the back side of Main Street. The store fronts on Main are attractive and neat, leaning heavily toward red brick and large windows that allowed unobstructed views of overpriced merchandise. But the back side of Main Street is a tattered slum of dead weeds, litter, a view of the new courthouse down by the river, and a large undulating parking lot. We stood on the dirt road that runs behind the stores and Betty pulled a large brown envelope out of her blouse and handed it to me. “Not a whole hell of a lot in there, Harry. According to the records, Officer Rundle was on patrol, came across Jankey dead in the road, and carted him to the hospital.”
“Well, maybe something will come of it. At any rate I had to cover it.” I put the envelope in the trailer and gave Betty three twenties. “Thank you, Betty. Do you think Rundle would mind if I talk to him about it? Naturally I wouldn’t mention that I have his report.”
She carefully folded the twenties and with two fingers pushed them into the depths of her breast pocket. She pulled on Cat’s ear and said, “Anytime Harry. As for Rundle, he’s gone, drank himself off the force and moved away.” She gave Cat’s ear a final tweak. “Now take care and find some place to drink besides the park, it’s getting too damn cold and I wouldn’t want to wander by and find you all iced up and have to cart you to the morgue.”
“Well, if you do take good care of Cat.”
She grunted, put a finger between Cat’s eyes and said, “Poor beat up hunk of fur, why don’t you just leave her home? Why drag her around everywhere you go?”
“Because she demands to be taken along.”
She looked at me, smiled gently, and shook her head. Then, her broad rump swishing back and forth like an old mare’s, she marched up the alley and pulled out her ticket book.
Bentley Dadmun - Harry Neal and Cat 09 - Dead Dead Dead, the Little Girl Said Page 3