See Also Deadline

by Larry D. Sweazy

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. I set the plates down next to my ankle, then rubbed my gloves together and flexed my toes to warm them up.

  Darlys smiled. “I appreciate your help.”

  “I haven’t done much.”

  “More than you think.”

  “To be honest, I’m not used to being around so many people.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “Only when I had to.”

  Darlys smiled. “That’s why I think you’ll be good at this.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. You’ll see. I’m always right about things like this. Well, let’s get moving before this food gets too cold to be proud of.”

  I reached down to pick up the plates that I’d carried over. Darlys was through the door, heading for the dispatch desk before I was vertical. If I had half as much energy in my little finger as that woman did, I could index fifty books a year and run two farms. I hurried to catch up with her, making sure I didn’t slosh the food off the plates.

  George Lardner had worked as a dispatcher with the Stark County Sheriff ’s Department for as long as I could remember. He’d worked under the long-time sheriff Hilo Jenkins since he’d returned home from World War II, and he obviously had survived the recent upheaval in the department.

  “We’re over at the Jacobsens’ house and thought you and the boys would appreciate some dinner,” Darlys said to George. Dinner was the noon meal for all of us, and supper the evening meal. Lunch was for schoolkids.

  “Oh, that’s mighty nice of you, Darlys. Them skies out there are about to unload again. You be careful on your way home.” George looked nearly as old as Helen Greggson but not as well preserved. His skin was mottled with age spots, and his hair was as gray and unruly as the clouds in the sky. “Watcha got there? Smells real good.”

  I stood back and let Darlys do the talking. There was no one else beyond the dispatcher’s desk. All of the doors were closed. I figured all of the planning or investigating was going on in offices, hidden away from everyone’s sight.

  “Oh, some Fleischkuekle that Theda made, some salads, and a nice variety of pie for you all to share,” Darlys said.

  “Fleischkuekle sure does sound good about now. Theda only makes that dish for special occasions. I’ll have me some of that,” George said.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that George and Theda had dated on and off over the years, but for some reason marriage had never come for them. I didn’t know why that was, and I wasn’t real interested in finding out.

  “You know Marjorie Trumaine,” Darlys said, reaching back and pulling me forward to the desk.

  “I know Marjorie,” George said with a frown, then looked at me. “I heard you was helpin’ out with the Ladies Aid, Marjorie. That’s a good thing.”

  “I guess so.” A cold draft pushed in from the door, running straight up my back. I didn’t like George’s tone, but I tried not to show my feelings.

  Darlys glanced at me, then back to George. She leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Any word on who did this horrible thing to Nils Jacobsen?”

  “Now, Darlys, you know I can’t tell you anything like that,” George answered.

  “Well, what about that Rinkerman girl? Have they found her?” Darlys persisted.

  “No, they haven’t found her yet.”

  “Does one thing have to do with the other? Everybody’s wonderin’ that very thing, George.”

  “Can’t tell you that, either, Darlys Oddsdatter. You got wax in your ears?” George said.

  “Not even for an extra piece of sour cream and raisin pie?”

  “Nope. Sheriff Reinhardt said we shouldn’t talk about this investigation to no one. Not even our friends or families once we go home. He meant what he said, and I don’t need no trouble, Darlys. None of us do these days, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t think I do, George,” Darlys said.

  “People get nervous when someone new comes into office. We worked for Hilo for a long time. Most of us didn’t work for no one else except for Duke that short period of time. Sheriff might be lookin’ to make changes with his own people, that’s all. I really like bein’ a dispatcher.”

  “Oh, George, Guy Reinhardt isn’t going to fire you. Nobody knows your job any better than you do,” Darlys said.

  “Well, I’m not gettin’ any younger.”

  Darlys smiled again, then reached out and tapped George’s wrinkled hand. “You tell the sheriff we brought him some dinner, George, and I put an extra piece of pie on your plate anyway.”

  “Thank you, Darlys. Always a pleasure to see you.” George left his hand in place and looked Darlys up and down in a way that made me uncomfortable. There was no question that Darlys was a beautiful woman. She didn’t seem offended by George’s appreciation of her appearance. Maybe she was used to men looking at her like she was something to have and to hold. I sure wasn’t.

  Darlys pulled back and turned to go. I followed her lead.

  “Oh, and you, too, Marjorie. Good to see you, too,” George said as we walked away. He didn’t sound like he meant it. That didn’t surprise me, either.

  CHAPTER 14

  Instead of returning to the Jacobsens’, Darlys pulled me around the corner of the courthouse. “I sure could use a cigarette before we go back in there. How about you?” she said.

  I didn’t see that I had much choice, but a cigarette sounded like a good idea to me. I wished I was dressed to be outside. We ducked into another vestibule to escape the bite of the cold wind. The temperature hadn’t climbed above zero if I was to guess.

  The vestibule was a three-by-eight-foot cube. Wind pushed through the cracks, bouncing off another set of double-glass doors that led into the courthouse. The doors were locked, and all of the lights in the foyer were off.

  “George Lardner was in a mood,” Darlys said, taking off her gloves. She stuffed them into a deep pocket, then produced a small, black purse. Hidden pockets were one of the many advantages of wearing a parka. I couldn’t help but be a little envious.

  “I think this last election soured some people,” I said.

  “Nobody likes change.” Darlys pulled a pack of Winstons out of the clutch and offered me one. I took it. My purse was stowed away in the cupboard at Anna’s house.

  Darlys pulled a cigarette out for herself, then produced a Zippo lighter and flicked the little wheel with her thumb. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, painted with an understated flesh tone nail polish. I wondered what else she had in that little purse.

  She offered me the flame, and I drew in on the cigarette. I coughed like it was my first time inhaling. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I smoked Salems—menthols. Winstons weren’t flavored in any way; they were harsh and strong and tasted like burnt straw, which was okay if you were used to smoking them. I wasn’t.

  “Are you all right?” Darlys said.

  “Winstons.” I coughed again, then took a gentler draw on the brown-tipped cigarette. This time I was successful.

  “You might be right about the election,” Darlys said, tucking the cigarettes back where they belonged. “But I think this murder really has everyone on edge. Who would have ever thought someone could kill Nils Jacobsen? There are some other fellas around this town that I could see something bad happening to, but not Nils. He was a decent, hardworking man. The Red Owl won’t be the same without him being there.”

  “I can’t imagine him not being there.” I rarely spoke with Nils when I was in the store. I’d wave hello and hurry on about my business. I took his presence for granted. We all did.

  “I’m baffled by all of this.”

  “Not everything is as simple as it looks.” We both knew that I had some experience with murders.

  “I think you might be right, Marjorie.” Darlys took a long drag off the cigarette and stared out the door. “But I can’t make sense of any kind of violence.”

  This vestibule had a heater in
the wall like the one at the Sheriff ’s Department entrance. The warmth helped, but I was still cold. I let some silence settle between us, then said, “Can I ask you a question, Darlys?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “I really don’t know how to ask because what I want to know is really none of my business. I don’t want to be a gossip, but maybe if I’m right about what I’m thinking, I can help.”

  Darlys let her hand with the cigarette drop to her side, and a concerned look fell over her normally cheery face. “Nobody will think you’re a gossip, Marjorie.”

  I hesitated, then blurted out the question. I’d had my suspicions since the most recent Ladies Aid visit to my house, and I was hoping Darlys knew the answer. “Is Anna pregnant?”

  Darlys studied my face closely. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she took a deep, shivering breath before she answered me. “That would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?”

  “You don’t know ?”

  Darlys took another draw off her cigarette, then blew the smoke out slowly, breaking my gaze. “I have my suspicions, but you’ve been around Anna enough to know that she doesn’t talk much about her life outside of taking care of the kids and Nils. Anna and I are not the best of friends, you know. We work well together, but that’s all.”

  “She seems to ignore the things she doesn’t want to deal with.”

  “Exactly,” Darlys said. “I’ve been trying for years to get her to open up to me, and she won’t budge. I’m surprised she agreed to come out to your house on your regular visits with me and Lene. I’ve got a feeling that she doesn’t like me much. I do know she had problems taking the pill. Made her sicker than a dog. Didn’t work at all for her and Nils. I guess they had to resort to the old-fashioned way of doing things.”

  I felt my face flush a little bit. Me and Hank never worried about birth control. We figured out pretty quickly that a child wasn’t going to come our way. The topic of birth control had become a hot and sensitive topic over the last few years, giving a woman the choice of having a baby or not. I guess I hadn’t thought about the pill having a bad effect on some women. Small talk like that was one of the things I missed working at home as an indexer and taking care of the farm. I was around men and dogs more than I was women.

  “Maybe she feels like an outsider being from Stanley,” I said.

  “She’s been in Dickinson long enough to claim this town as her own.”

  “You know how people are.”

  “I guess I do.”

  The wind gusted a little harder, rattling the entrance door. I looked away from Darlys to the blank white world outside and wondered what I was doing standing there.

  I had another question to ask that was none of my business. I was as concerned about Darlys’s state of mind as much as I was about Anna’s condition. “You’ve been busy with everything. Are you all right?”

  “What do you mean?” Darlys said.

  “You seemed annoyed at Henrik when I first arrived.”

  “Oh, that. He was engaged with you, but if that was me talking to another man, he would have had a fit once I got home. Sometimes I can’t breathe around him is all.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Henrik is very good man. He just needs to control everything around him, including me, and sometimes I don’t like it. That’s probably more than you wanted to know, right?”

  Henrik was jealous. He knew how men looked at Darlys, how they treated her different from everyone else. He was a smart man, he would see that. I suppose I understood, but I was uncomfortable knowing what Darlys had told me. “I thought I saw a strain, that’s all. This is hard on everyone.”

  “Can you come back tomorrow?” Darlys said.

  I wasn’t expecting her to change the subject. I hesitated with my answer. I had indexing work to do. “Yes, I can come back. Is Lene going to be here?”

  Darlys shrugged. “I don’t know. She called this morning and said she had to help Ollie clear the roads. It was their turn, or something. She didn’t say much other than she was sorry she couldn’t be there for Anna. I guess she’ll be here tomorrow. I hope so. Anna could use her comfort.”

  “Are you going to church tomorrow? I almost forgot tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “Yes, but Anna’s not.”

  “Why don’t I come while everyone is at church? I can help around the house, get things ready.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll check with Abigail, but I think she’ll welcome your company.”

  “I think Anna will really need us all after the funeral,” I said.

  “I hope we have some answers by then.”

  “Yes, I hope so, too.”

  People came and went from the Jacobsens’ house all day. I stayed busy in the kitchen making sure plates were picked up and everyone was being served. The four of us had found a rhythm in our shared duties. Connie was in charge, even though Darlys was the director of the Ladies Aid. Me and Theda only dealt with each other when we had to. Helen Greggson stood sentry at the dish sink, wearing yellow plastic gloves that reached up to her elbows. She had eczema, and mentioned the irritable skin condition every five minutes, but wouldn’t give up her spot at the sink once she had relieved Connie from that post.

  The air in the crowded house smelled of rich, sugary food meant to ward off grief and fear, and mixed with cigarettes and sweat it only served as a reminder of the need to gather in the first place. Someone had brought a bouquet of carnations as a gesture of hope. The long-stemmed flowers were an unusual sight in winter, the promise of better days ahead consolidated in a bright pink bloom, offering a simple fragrance that was meant to be comforting—like the food—but instead it was the smell that I most often associated with funerals. There was no escaping the subject of death in the front room, in words, actions, or smells. The questions I heard most often were the same as Darlys’s and mine:

  Maybe it was a hunting accident?

  Nils doesn’t have any enemies that I know of. The person who did this must have been a stranger to this town. Right?

  Should I be afraid?

  Who do you think the killer is?

  Who would do such a thing to such a nice man?

  Why haven’t they caught the killer yet?

  Beyond that, there was talk of the weather, of politics—President Johnson’s Great Society program was a thorn to most of the older anti-New Deal men in the room—the Vietnam War, hockey scores, and of course, grain prices and the predictions of the coming growing season. One word blended into another, and before long all of the conversations meshed into a singsong of sadness and fear.

  I started to get the itch to go home late in the afternoon. The front room had thinned, and Darlys and Connie had signaled that they would stay on through the evening, leaving me, Theda, and Helen Greggson to consider our own schedules for the rest of the day. I had already committed my service to Darlys for the next day. I wasn’t sure of the other two women.

  “Well, then,” I said, peering out the kitchen window, “I think I’ll get myself ready to go. I’d like to get home before the snow starts flying again.”

  I inserted the key into the ignition with baited breath. There was a good chance that the Studebaker wouldn’t start. The truck had sat along the street for more hours than I cared to count, with the plug to the block heater dangling out of the grill unattended. I pumped the accelerator at the same time I turned the key. The engine whined, I’m cold, I’m cold, I’m cold, warning me to back off and try again before I ran down the battery. I exhaled, and my breath filled the cab with vapors that turned to crystal as soon they hit the windshield. I thought I was going to have to search for someone to give me a jump, but then the gas in the carburetor sparked and the engine coughed and chugged, then started to shake and run. I would have to sit there for ten minutes, babying the accelerator to keep the engine going while all of the oil, grease, and parts warmed up enough to drive home.

  My mind wandered away from the Jacobsens
and their troubles, but not too far. I thought of an old argument that I’d had with Hank, one of the few times I could remember that he was angry enough with me to consider going to bed mad.

  Our life had been moving along at a normal pace a few years before the accident, with Hank working the farm and me learning to index books. Harvest season was coming on, a busy time for everyone. After that came readying for winter and all that entailed.

  Hank came walking into the kitchen with greasy hands and bloody knuckles. He slammed the screen-door behind him. I about jumped out of my skin.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, Marjorie, but now’s the time for me to go buy that new combine,” he said. “I don’t care what you say, I’m going over there today and that’s that.”

  I was standing at the sink, my hands deep in lukewarm dishwater, washing up a roasting pan that I had used for our noontime dinner. I didn’t like the sound of an ultimatum before I had a chance to have my say. “You’re sure Farley Kaander over at the implement store doesn’t have a part that will work on the old one?”

  We’d been having this talk for a couple of years. The old combine was on its last leg, but every year Hank had managed to repair whatever was the matter to survive the season. The economy was bad as the Eisenhower years ended, and the price per bushel had dropped to a dangerous low. And, of course, the weather had not cooperated. More like conspired against us, if I could say such a thing aloud. I didn’t dare. Between the wind and dry weather, it was a wonder that any soil remained on top of the ground at all. There was never a good time to take a loan out on any kind of equipment, but I could tell by the look on Hank’s face and the blood on his hands, that he’d had enough. He meant what he’d said.

  He had his heart set on a new Allis-Chalmers Gleaner Model E, and there was no way we could buy the combine outright. We’d have to take on more debt, and I wasn’t keen on that. Neither was he, but, without saying so, he thought my indexing money was a windfall for us to use to keep the farm going. I thought my winter earnings were a nest egg for a rainy day.