Behind the Boater's Cover-Up

by Etta Faire

  “Were you coming into the woods to spy on me?” Nettie asked.

  While Gloria tried to convince her cousin she was just following Bertha’s screams, I listened in on the other conversations around me.

  “People are already afraid of these damn birds. And we can’t afford to lose any more tourists,” Aunt Ethel said in a cigarette-induced low voice, probably to her photographer. “Focus on the dog, the hero perspective. Comb the girl’s hair and get a close-up of her and the dog. Don’t show any of that blood. Not a drop.”

  Gloria was still trying to placate her cousin, reassure her she wasn’t going to say anything. Her attention was nowhere near the dog and the girl, so I couldn’t get a close look at the Lab like I wanted to.

  “Did the boys really show you a dead body?” Gloria asked.

  Nettie’s cute hairdo was a disheveled mess and her swimsuit was turned to the side, all wrong. She twisted it right and giggled. “There wasn’t a dead body anymore, no. Just the spot where the boys found one a couple weeks ago or something. They’re not supposed to say anything about it. You know, so the police can keep some details secret. But they told me because I’m an out-of-towner, so it didn’t matter.”

  “Congratulations,” Gloria said.

  Nettie continued, oblivious to the sarcasm. “The paper said the man had been split in two, right down the middle, but the boys said the man had actually been decapitated. His head was on one side of a log, body on the other. Can you believe it? Someone sliced his head off.”

  “I want to leave right now, go back to California,” Gloria said. “And never, ever come here again.”

  “The man was a transient…”

  “So?”

  “So, that doesn’t happen to normal people. Besides, one of the boys said the bum came into some money, some sort of great investment, and a jealous relative did him in. So, it’s not like there’s a crazy person on the loose.”

  “This whole place is crazy,” Gloria said, looking all around. Her gaze stopped on the police officer who was grilling Bertha on the incident.

  “If you don’t mind, we’d like you to come down to the station to make an official report, Miss…” the police officer said. His voice was familiar, but I knew there was no way I could possibly have known the man.

  “Hawthorne. Bertha Hawthorne. Call me Bertie,” she said, still holding onto the dog.

  “This is about the same spot ole Richard was found in last week,” the police officer said, and I realized it was the same voice my ex-husband used.

  “Mason, you’re not suggesting birds did that to Richard, right?” Aunt Ethel said. “Any fool knows a bird couldn’t split a man in two. And the last thing we need is for that to get around.” She turned to her photographer. “Don’t put that connection in there and don’t get any of these mangled, dead birds in the shot either.”

  “But they’re huge.”

  “Exactly. Everybody knows Richie died from one of his drug deals gone wrong. Being split down the middle is what happens when you lose your moral compass,” Ethel said loud enough for the crowd around her to hear. A couple people nodded. A few others winked at her.

  Ethel had called the sheriff Mason, which I knew was Jackson’s father’s name. Fortunately, Gloria’s attention went to him so I could get a better look at the man I’d never met and didn’t know very much about.

  Even though I’d seen him in many pictures, he wasn’t nearly as tall as I thought he’d be or as thin, and he seemed to have a perpetual hunch in his shoulders and a faraway look. Other than his full beard and mustache, he didn’t look very much like my ex-husband at all. And I couldn’t help but wonder why Jackson never mentioned his dad had been the sheriff of Landover before.

  But the biggest question running through my brain was who was Richard? And what in the hell had split him in two? Was it a drug deal, a jealous relative, or a wild animal? That was definitely one for the research pile.

  The paramedic had a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he bandaged Bertha’s leg.

  Bertha pointed all around as she told Jackson’s dad what had happened. “I normally don’t cut through the woods,” she began. Her brown hair was cut short like Elizabeth Taylor’s, her make-up almost as perfect. And after a bird attack. Was I the only one who could never look polished? She continued. “I only took the shortcut because I was coming from school…”

  “What kind of school is that?” Ethel asked, looking up from her pen and paper.

  “Secretarial,” the girl said proudly. “Mrs. Hetterman’s, the best in the county.”

  “They have school on the Fourth of July?”

  “I get a discount on tuition if I come in and correct papers. It took longer than I thought, and I wanted to catch the whole ski show, so I took the shortcut. I don’t know what would’ve happened if it weren’t for this dog,” she said, pointing to the Lab still by her side. “He’s my hero. I’m calling him Normandy on account of the way he stormed in and saved the day. Like the allies in Normandy.”

  The dog barked at her and she laughed.

  “Sounds like he likes his name,” the photographer said, clicking photos.

  “And you said crows did this to you?” Jackson’s dad asked.

  The girl looked up at the trees like they might come back.

  “No,” Gloria interrupted. She marched over to the sheriff. “They were birds, and some were crows, but some were different, larger and with weird beaks. I saw the whole thing and my aunt’s an amateur ornithologist.”

  “A what?”

  “A bird watcher. She says she’s never seen anything like them before. We just got in yesterday, but they’re all over the lake. They growl.”

  The wrinkles around Aunt Ethel’s eyes grew thicker as her face contorted from a scowl to a smirk. “Growling birds? Ain’t that something, sheriff? These kids pulling your leg?” The cigarette fell from her lips, and she stomped it out with her sandal. “I’m not putting any of that crap in my story and I suggest you keep it out of yours too. No sense scaring the town over a kid’s joke.” She stared at him long and hard, drawing large x’s over some of her notes.

  Mason ignored his aunt and turned his attention to Bertha and Gloria. “Just tell me exactly what you saw.”

  “Hey Clyde,” someone yelled from the crowd. “Looks like your dumb brother actually believes this crap. Dumbest sheriff ever. That’s what my parents say.” It was the kid I was guessing was Freddie Linder, elbowing the chubby younger Bowman. Clyde’s face grew red under his freckles.

  “Sheriff Moron Bowman, that’s what they call him,” Eric chimed in. “They wonder if you’ll ever solve a case.”

  Mason blinked over and over, looking down at his shiny black shoes and back at his pen again. He looked everywhere but in anyone’s eyes. “Young lady, are you sure that’s what you heard and saw? I just want the truth.”

  Gloria nodded profusely. “One-hundred percent. Yes, sir.”

  “One-hundred percent. Yessss, sirrr. I’m a fancy ornithographer, so I know. Those birds growl. Grrrrrrrr,” Clyde mocked, and the group burst out laughing. Nettie laughed too.

  Gloria’s eyes stung and her nose stuffed up. She pushed past the kids while they pointed and laughed at her. She pushed past the group of grown-ups that had formed a circle along the outskirts, studying her with skeptical eyes and hushed whispers.

  Nettie was right behind us. I could tell.

  “I’m sorry, Gloria. I shouldn’t have laughed,” she yelled, but Gloria kept running, never even turning around.

  The announcer’s voice was still projecting in the background from the ski show. “Let’s hear it for another fine demonstration of athletic ability and showmanship,” he said to the sound of applause. “That concludes the ski show this year, but stick around for the barbecue and fireworks…”

  Nettie caught up and pulled on Gloria’s arm, apologizing again and again. “We need to keep our stories straight, okay? We both saw the bird attack. We were together watching the ski
show when we heard the girl scream. Got it? We need to stick together on this…”

  Gloria’s head throbbed along her temples, but I couldn’t tell if it was Gloria’s headache or my own. I closed my eyes, or Gloria did, and let Nettie’s whines drift into the background. She was telling us she would never let this happen again. They were going to stick together from now on. She promised.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in my own living room. My head still throbbed and I slowly turned my neck this way and that to try to loosen my muscles and relieve my headache.

  Jackson hovered nearby, watching me. It was creepy and endearing all at the same time. “I was very worried about you,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, my voice raspy and dry from channeling for hours without drinking anything. I slowly got up and made my way to the kitchen for some water. My legs moved but I barely felt them. I had no idea how I’d woken from the channeling. That was one area I seriously needed more control over.

  “Your great aunt was horrible,” I said to my ex as I grabbed a large glass from the cabinet and filled it from the tap. “So was Clyde. Your father seemed all right. Why didn’t you tell me he was sheriff of Landover?”

  Jackson’s transparent face grew slightly paler. “I forgot you’d see that. He wasn’t sheriff for very long. Apparently, he quit right around the time of Gloria’s accident. Told my mother she could have the baby she always wanted.” He framed his chin with the back of his hands. “An adorable son, well worth the wait. And they just lived off the inheritance from then on.”

  I nodded, looking up at the ceiling. It was strange how Gloria’s accident had changed the town, from who the sheriff was to the library being built.

  “You should’ve told me sooner,” I said.

  Rex ran up to me and stuck his head in my lap as I scribbled. “And you, young man,” I said to my dog, cupping his head in my hand. “You were quite the hero in my channeling.”

  He walked away like he had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Whatever, Normandy,” I yelled to him. I turned back to my ex. “The birds were very coordinated in their attack…”

  I grabbed my notebook and wrote as I talked, circling Look up Richard. Decapitated or split in two? Find out about the investment.

  Jackson glanced over my shoulder as I wrote. “Not that I’m your secretary, but someone called and left a message on the answering machine while you were channeling. A university student, works at the paper.”

  “Lynette,” I said, dropping my pencil. I knew she hadn’t really been listening to that police scanner. “Go Bears,” I said.

  Chapter 22

  Duly Noted

  The next day was one of those days in Wisconsin when the news lectures nonstop about the importance of having an emergency kit in your car in case you get stranded.

  I shivered my way into work, scarfing down both granola bars I’d brought with me as emergency rations even though I’d already eaten an early lunch. I wiped the crumbs from my sweatshirt, kicking myself a little for eating rations for no reason. Now if I got stranded, I’d probably have to Donner-party my own arm to survive. I glanced over at my left one. We both knew which one was going down first.

  Almost as soon as I arrived, Lynette bounced under the glitter unicorn that adorned the front entrance of the Purple Pony. I could tell immediately she had the kind of positive energy I was going to have to stop myself from wanting to smack out of her.

  “I could not believe my luck when you walked into the newspaper office,” she said, barely pausing to breathe. “It was like, what do you call that, kismet or something.”

  Rosalie rushed in from the backroom when the wind chimes clanged.

  “Not a customer,” I said to her. She limped back. At least she was getting exercise. The doctor was always on her about that.

  Lynette looked around the shop. The gemstone section seemed to catch her eye and she sifted through one of the bins as she talked. “Anyway, I’ve been searching for a story to investigate for this nightmare investigative journalism class I have to take this semester. I was like, ‘How do you just make up something to investigate?’ And then, there you were.”

  “There I was,” I repeated, wondering briefly if this girl was trying to step in and take credit for my investigative work, something I probably should’ve been okay with.

  She went on. “So, when I overheard you talking about the Gazette’s botched reporting job and a possible cover-up on that accident, I looked up the old archives the next day as soon as the Herndons left for lunch. Because they always go out for lunch. Dinner too. They barely work, actually. I searched every file every day until I found something.”

  I leaned in. “Okay, what’d you find?”

  She threw a small, gray notebook onto the counter, and I recognized it immediately. Aunt Ethel’s.

  This particular notebook covered almost five years of Aunt Ethel’s notes, from 1953 to 1958. And trying to sift through the mountain of bad handwriting was too much for me to sneak in during work, but I still tried.

  Lynette was making it almost impossible, though. Sitting on a stool by my side, she went on and on about her ridiculously hard classes and how disappointed she was that the seance had been canceled because she really wanted to film it.

  “I would’ve been able to use that footage for two classes. Two. Ohmygod, how amazing would that have been? Investigative journalism and broadcast journalism,” she said, her voice rising for added emphasis and enthusiasm. “And it’s such an interesting angle, right? The ghosts coming back for revenge.”

  I nodded. “They’re not really coming back for revenge. It’s more like closure.”

  Her face dropped.

  “But last time all the windows did get blown out at the bed and breakfast,” I said to cheer her up. “And that would’ve made for some awesome broadcast journalism.”

  Her face brightened, and I realized I had just used the word awesome.

  “Unfortunately,” I continued. “The town’s too afraid to come out for this seance because if they did, it would look like they supported my investigation into the good ole boys club around here.” I smoothed in a little post-it note on the page I just found in Ethel’s notebook about the split-in-two body in the woods, squealing a little to myself about finding that.

  “You could do it for free,” Lynette said. “I’ll post the seance in the Daily Bear.”

  I turned my head to the side, no idea what she was talking about.

  “Landover University’s campus newspaper. It’s called the Daily Bear, but we don’t release it daily, not sure why it’s called that. If I call now, I can make it into the next issue. I’m one of the editors there.”

  “Do it,” I said. “Put the seance in for a week from Saturday, here at the Purple Pony. For free.”

  Rosalie hobbled into the room, making me realize she’d been listening at the entrance to the back.

  “For free?” she said. “You said we were going to make money off this?”

  “Good thing you don’t need money.” I teased her. “But it’s great for the long run. We’ll be tapping into a whole new local market, one you can use in winter. College students.”

  “Oh yeah,” Lynette said, looking around at the long tie-dye dresses and vintage clothing. “They’ll probably buy tons… and tons of… stuff.”

  Rosalie twirled one of her dreadlocks around a finger. “I can’t do the seance here, for free. Sorry.” Her voice was unusually quiet, and her limp extra pronounced as she turned and headed to the backroom again. I’d never seen her act so strange before.

  “I’ll talk her into it later,” I said as soon as she was out of earshot.

  Lynette shrugged and looked at her watch. “Well, let me know before seven if you guys change your mind. I’ve gotta run or I am going to be late to class. And I need to sneak that notebook back into the Herndons’ files after that.” She held out her hand like she expected me to hand over the notebook, that I’d barely had time t
o look through because she wouldn’t stop talking.

  I shook my head so hard and fast I pulled a neck muscle. “I’ll return it tomorrow when they’re out for dinner. I promise. In the meantime, look for more. There has to be more than this notebook. Look for an article about the Linders. I want to know if their remains washed ashore or if just a couple of shirts and shoes did.”

  Lynette’s face turned almost as red as the highlights in her auburn hair. She bit her lip.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll never know you’re doing this,” I said in that confident tone I was getting far too good at faking. “Plus, think how amazing this is going to be for your career.”

  I had no idea how whistleblowing and a seance were going to be amazing for anyone’s career, but she seemed to buy it. And as soon as the talkative girl left, I went back to the notebook.

  I took a deep breath and leaned over it, finally able to look at the small, black leather notebook in peace, when it occurred to me it really was in peace. I hadn’t seen or heard my ex-husband all day. I patted the pocket that held a couple of Rosalie’s stinky sachets. Score one for privacy.

  Ethel’s notebook seemed to be divided into what was put in the newspaper and what was x’d out. I went to the bird attack first to see what it was she had crossed out that day.

  Near the same spot as Richard. Bertie Hawthorne, growling birds, thick beaks, fifth bird attack

  Instead, the notes about the dog had been circled, and even though the headline read “Another Bird Attack in Landover,” the article never mentioned that this was the fifth one.

  That was a lot of bird attacks.

  But the strangest parts of Ethel’s notes that day were scribbled almost illegibly into the margins, so I concentrated mostly on those areas. Things like:

  Check on cut of R rumor. I KNOW I sent more leads than was paid for. People winking and nodding at me all over the place. He better deliver. Get L to call his friend in DA office. Crime or society pages — D’s choice. He already owes me.