"Carlton,” she said again, more firmly this time.
"What?” he asked in a flat voice, still staring at the body.
"Listen to me. We need the police and the paramedics here immediately. I don't have a phone with me, and I assume you don't, either. I need for you to go back to the park office and ask them to call for the sheriff. The paramedics are in the parking lot, go get them."
He hesitated.
"Go!” she shouted and finally got through to him. He went back toward the stage.
Harriet turned to the body at her feet. A slight breeze gently ruffled his hair, overlaying the coppery scent of blood with the damp smell of pine trees and earth and briefly giving him the illusion of life. She didn't recognize him, but he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he went to Aunt Beth's church, or drank coffee in the shop she frequented.
She was still looking at him when Mavis came up behind her.
Harriet turned toward her friend.
"Don't come any closer,” she said. “There's been an accident."
It was too late. The blood drained from Mavis's face, and she crumpled to the ground, her full skirt billowing around her as she fell.
"Mavis!” Harriet grabbed at her, breaking but not stopping her fall. “Help!” she called.
A man dressed in the gray of the Confederate army was picking up debris left from the battle when he heard her call. He ran over and helped her ease Mavis onto her back.
"I'm a doctor,” he said as he started loosening the bodice of her dress. He felt for the pulse in her left wrist. “Her pulse is strong.” He continued loosening and checking. “Are you okay?” he asked Harriet as he straightened Mavis's legs and ran trained fingers along her shins to make sure she hadn't broken anything in her fall.
The doctor looked over at the man lying a few feet away.
"He's dead,” Harriet said before he could ask, and the doctor refocused his attention on Mavis.
Harriet held Mavis's hand. The older woman's lips began to move; at first, no sound came out.
"It's him,” she said finally in a garbled tone.
"What?” Harriet asked.
"It's Gerald,” Mavis said, and tried to get up.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to lie down for a few minutes until the paramedics get here with their equipment and we can run a couple of quick tests.” The doctor turned to Harriet. “I can't find any sign of injury, and I don't think its heat-related.” He felt Mavis's forehead with the back of his hand again. “She's not hot enough for that. She just seems shocky.” He looked back toward the body. “What's going on here?"
"I don't know. We were coming down the bleachers and noticed this guy hadn't gotten up when the rest of the re-enactors did. I came over to check it out and found him lying there with no pulse."
I know dead when I see it, Harriet thought. Her husband Steve had died five years before her return to Foggy Point—she'd crawled into bed after a late movie “night out with the girls” and rubbed her foot up his cold, dead shin. It took several years of therapy for her to just be able to sleep in a bed again—most of the time, anyway.
Yes, she knew dead.
"He has a chest injury, and there's blood everywhere."
"Will you stay with her and make sure she doesn't get up while I check him?"
"Of course,” Harriet said and rubbed Mavis's hand again.
Mavis pulled her hand back and was trying to sit up when the paramedics arrived. A thorough evaluation proved she had suffered a substantial shock and fainted but was otherwise unharmed.
Dried grass clung to her skirt as Mavis rose to her feet. Harriet put her hand on her friend's arm, but Mavis pushed it away.
"I'm okay,” she said, her voice sounding stronger. “This is just a bit of a shock."
"Who is that?” Harriet asked, lowering her voice as she looked over Mavis's shoulder at the crowd that was gathering on the battlefield a short distance away.
"That is, or was, my husband Gerald."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Of course, she's sure,” Aunt Beth said as she joined them. “You can't be married to a man for thirty years and not recognize him, even if you haven't seen him in a while."
"A while?” Harriet said, quickly adding the numbers in her head. “A while like a twenty-year while? How can that be? Besides hasn't he been dead all that time?"
"Apparently not,” Aunt Beth said. She patted Mavis on the back. “Do you think you can bear a second look? Harriet's right. It's probably best to be sure. I agree it looks like Gerald, but it has been twenty years."
"I don't need a second look. He's grayer and a little fatter, but look under his chin. See the scar on the left side, right at the beard line?"
Harriet and Aunt Beth leaned closer and looked.
"He did that when he stepped on one of Gerry Junior's little metal cars. He stumbled and hit his chin on the corner of the tile counter in the kitchen."
Beth put her hand on Mavis's arm and gently led her away from the body that had once been her husband. Mavis pulled a tissue from the pocket of her skirt and dabbed at her eyes.
"So, where's he been for twenty years?” Beth asked.
"That would be the question, now, wouldn't it?” Mavis answered.
A man in khaki shorts and a green polo shirt walked up to the paramedics, who were standing next to the body.
"I'm the deputy coroner; Neil Drake.” He shook hands with all three. “What have we got here?"
Harriet drifted over to the group. A chubby paramedic with short blond hair and a sunburned nose answered.
"He was dead when we arrived. This here is Dr. Stahl. He was a participant in the re-enactment and heard this lady call for help. He can tell you the rest."
The paramedic stepped away and started gathering his tools and stuffing them into the large plastic box he'd carried to the scene.
"As the young man said, I heard this lady call for help.” Dr. Stahl gestured toward Harriet. “Her friend, the woman in gray over there...” He pointed at Mavis. “...was in distress. The younger lady pointed out the man and told me she'd found him like that. The older woman was in mild shock, and the paramedics verified her vitals were acceptable when they got here. As for him—he was dead when I came over to help the ladies. He appears to have a large, blunt-force trauma wound in the middle of his chest. I have no idea how he received the blow."
The coroner bent down on one knee next to Gerald's body. The blond paramedic returned and stood a few paces away.
Washington State uses a medical examiner/coroner system for death investigation. In smaller counties like Clallam, where Foggy Point was located, the prosecuting attorney is also the coroner, with deputy prosecuting attorneys also being deputy coroners. The larger counties have medical examiners or forensic pathologists who are medical doctors with specialties in forensics and death investigation.
It would be the coroner's job to decide whether Gerald's death was explainable or suspicious.
"Can you cut open his shirt for me?” he asked without looking up.
The blond paramedic pulled disposable gloves from his shirt pocket and put them on. He then plucked a pair of bandage scissors from a loop on the right leg of his pants. He bent down on the opposite side of Gerald and gently cut through the blood-soaked fabric.
"I don't see a bullet hole,” the coroner said, “do you?"
The blond tilted his head a little and looked from several angles, then gently probed Gerald's chest with his gloved fingers.
"There's no hole.” He was quiet for a minute. “There were a lot of horses on the field at the end. Do you think someone riding out of the woods could have knocked him aside without realizing it? Maybe drove him onto one of the big tree stumps?"
"Anything's possible, I guess,” the coroner said and stood up. “In the absence of a bullet wound or sword wound, it doesn't seem likely he was a victim of foul play. Did I hear correctly that you could see him from the bleachers?” he asked, looking at Harriet.
&nbs
p; She nodded. “He was in our view, but with all the action, I can't say I was looking at him the whole time. I mainly noticed him because he didn't get up when the other dead soldiers did. I didn't see what happened to him."
"I'm going to talk to the local police as a precaution. They can investigate and see if they can find anyone who saw what happened. I'm declaring him dead and for now writing it up as unknown cause or causes. I'm afraid he's going to need a ride to the ME's office in King County when the forensic people are done taking their pictures."
The paramedic signaled his team members. One was in the back of their truck rustling supplies around, and the other leaned against the back of the vehicle, chewing on a piece of grass. He explained the situation and asked each one to stand guard on either side of Gerald's location until the police arrived.
* * * *
"What happened?” Carlton asked when Harriet passed the stage on her way to the quilt booth. He and Bebe had hovered there while the police arrived and then the paramedics left.
She quickly explained about finding Gerald's body.
"Oh, my gosh,” Bebe said, covering her mouth with her hand. “How awful for Mavis."
"It's been quite a shock for her,” Harriet agreed.
"I'm glad I wasn't there,” Bebe said. “I've never seen a dead body before, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Let's hope this is the closest you ever come,” Harriet said.
"What shall we do?” Carlton asked.
"For Mavis?"
Carlton nervously shuffled his feet. “I was thinking about our guests,” he said and nodded toward the tent encampments.
"I don't think we need to do anything with regard to them. As far as activities go, we only have the barbecue tonight and then the goodbye brunch tomorrow, and while it's a sad occasion for us locally, the death of Gerald Willis, even if it turns out it was the result of incidental contact with a participant's mount, really doesn't have anything to do with the re-enactment. We need to quietly help the police talk to the mounted re-enactors who were on the far edge of the field. Other than that, we kiss them goodbye and invite them back next year."
Carlton looked relieved. “Well, if you think that's best, we'll go with it. Since you have police experience, I think it would be best if you let the involved people know who needs to talk to them."
"Sure,” Harriet said, her shoulders sagging slightly. He hadn't done anything useful yet. Why did she expect it to be different now?
"Carlton, baby,” Bebe said. “My feet are just killing me. Can we go home now?"
He looked at Harriet.
"Sure, you kids run on home—you must be beat,” she said.
"See you at the brunch tomorrow,” Carlton said. Harriet's sarcasm was lost on him.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 9
Harriet waited until after the barbecue was well under way and the caterer had assured her they wouldn't run out of food before she joined the small group at Aunt Beth's house.
"Hey,” Aunt Beth said as Harriet came in the front door. “We saved you some pizza."
She and Mavis were sitting on one side of the oak-topped kitchen table. Robin and DeAnn sat on the other side with Lauren at the end. Connie was in a wooden rocker by the window, her black-rimmed reading glasses on the end of her nose, her appliqué project lying idle in her lap.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm sure glad that's over with,” Harriet said and collapsed into the chair opposite Lauren, neatly avoiding the topic on everyone's mind.
"They made us wait until you got here,” Lauren said, and she wasn't talking about food.
"We didn't want Mavis to have to tell her story more than once,” Robin said.
"I've tried to tell you all—there's no story to tell. Gerald died almost twenty years ago in Malaysia. I received his ashes, and they're sitting on a shelf in my bedroom. How he came back to life only to die again during a Civil War re-enactment is beyond me."
"You don't need to talk about this right now,” Connie said. “Take some time to catch up with everything that's happened."
"I don't need time, I need answers,” Mavis said, some of her old fire showing at last. “I need to know what happened today, and I need to know what happened twenty years ago. And,” she said and paused, “I need to know who or what is in that urn in my bedroom. I don't want to talk about it—I have to talk about it."
"Okay,” Robin said. She pulled a yellow legal pad from the quilting bag hanging by the handles from the back of her chair. Aunt Beth got up and rustled the pens and pencils in the cup on her phone table by the back door. She selected two and tossed them onto the table in front of her.
Robin drew a vertical line down the middle of the page. Now she wrote on one side and Then she wrote on the other half.
"What do we know for sure?” she asked.
"Gerald's dead under now,” Harriet started.
"And Gerald's not dead under then,” Lauren added.
"Good point,” Harriet conceded.
"His disappearance was planned,” DeAnn offered. “We don't know if he planned it or someone else did, but the fact he ‘died’ the first time while he was in a foreign country can't be a coincidence."
Robin noted DeAnn's comments on the Then side of the page.
"Gerald didn't come forward when he returned to town,” Aunt Beth said from the working area of the kitchen. She pulled a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. “Anyone want tea?"
Several raised their hands, and she began filling glasses.
"What sort of work did he do?” DeAnn asked.
"Yeah, and who did he do it for?” Robin asked.
"Well, he worked for Industrial Fiber Products,” Mavis said slowly. “Now it's called Foggy Point Fire Protection."
"Carlton Brewster's company?” Lauren asked.
"Yes, but Carlton's father was alive back then. He actually knew what he was doing,” she said with a wry smile.
"What was Gerald's position?” DeAnn asked again.
"I don't remember what his official title was, but he was a chemist. He figured out formulas for synthetic fibers that could be used in various types of protective gear,” Mavis said. “Just before he ... died, he developed the formula used for the fireman's turnouts."
"What did they make before that?” Robin asked.
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Carlton's daddy Marvin was a salesman at heart. He'd go out and sell a product before they'd even created it. Poor old Gerald would have to go to the lab and make it. Sometimes he could, sometimes he couldn't. More often than not, Gerald could make whatever Marvin thought up, but the company couldn't produce it for the price the customer wanted."
"What kind of things?” Lauren asked.
"Everything,” Mavis said. “You know those suits people wear in fencing competitions? They sense when a blade touches the fencer and record it as well as protect the person from blade strikes? And they made fireproof cocoons for forest fire fighters, and oven gloves for both house and barbecuing needs.” She paused and looked at the ceiling. “They made bulletproof vests, chainsaw chaps—you know, in case you drop the chainsaw, they keep you from cutting your leg off."
"I think they still make those,” DeAnn said.
"Do we know who invents new products now?” Harriet asked.
"I don't know.” Mavis said. “After Gerald died, I had nothing to do with the company."
"But you do get widow's benefits?” Robin asked. In addition to teaching yoga, she was a lawyer. She hadn't kept regular office hours since she'd given birth to her first child, but she kept her license current in case anything came up. It had come in handy recently when Lauren had run into trouble.
Mavis looked uncomfortable. “I do get a pension,” she said. “Do you think they'll want the money back, now that Gerald wasn't dead all that time?"
Robin pulled a small leather-bound notebook from her bag and wrote a few words before shutting it.
"I'll check
on that,” she said.
"She didn't know he was alive!” Lauren said. “That's ridiculous."
Mavis glanced at her with a weak smile.
"Let's not get excited until Robin checks it out,” Aunt Beth said. “We don't need to borrow trouble."
Robin turned back to the list on the tablet. “Let's get back to what we know about now and what we know about then. Mavis, can you remember anything unusual about how your husband was acting before he left for Malaysia?"
Mavis sighed. “Harry and Ben were in high school, Pete was in college, James was in graduate school, and Gerry was working with his dad at the factory. I was working as a cook at the senior center to help pay tuition, and when I wasn't there, I was volunteering at the high school so I could keep an eye on Harry. He felt like he had a reputation to uphold. Even when his older brothers tried to explain most of what he was hearing about them was myth, Harry felt like he had to prove he was the worst of the lot."
"So, about Gerald,” Lauren prompted.
Aunt Beth put a quelling hand on her arm. “We don't have to do any more tonight,” she said. “Mavis has had quite a shock today. She needs some time to digest it."
Robin laid her pen down. “Beth is right. We don't need to do this tonight."
"I'm fine,” Mavis said. “That doesn't change the fact I can't remember what was going on with Gerald back then. I should have been more attentive. Don't think I haven't thought about that a thousand times in the last twenty years. I was just wrapped up with the boys and money and Gerald had to deal with his own stuff."
"Hey,” Harriet said. “No one is suggesting you should have done anything different. Even if you'd been hanging on his every word, he still would have gone to Malaysia, right? You weren't driving the car that hit him or whatever happened to him...” She trailed off. Wow, she thought.
She couldn't keep on top of the fact that Gerald hadn't died twenty years ago and she'd found his body today. She could only imagine how hard this was for Mavis.
"Enough,” Aunt Beth said in a firm voice. “I'm taking Mavis home now. You ladies can stay or go, but we're leaving."
She picked up Mavis's purse and held it while her friend stood up then handed it to her. Mavis was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a pink T-shirt Harriet recognized as belonging to her aunt. Mavis looked toward the bedroom where she had changed out of her costume. “We can deal with the costumes tomorrow,” Aunt Beth said.
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