“Where did you get treatment, Simon?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Brian felt dejected. He tried to sound more concerned than inquisitive. “It’s okay, Simon. You’re safe in here. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Runck’s eyes kept moving around.
“Please tell me where you and Marshall were getting treated during those four years, Simon.” He didn’t think the man would respond, though Brian figured he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from Runck himself.
Finally the former assistant fire chief responded.
“The Wymbs Institute.”
Chapter 15
DUCKS IN A ROW
When Thursday’s edition came out, Brian thought it was even better than the previous week’s. He had two murders and the arrest of former Assistant Fire Chief Simon Runck as a serial arsonist. His story on the murder of Ruth Snethen even contained a first-person sidebar about his discovering the body. That was good enough to win a press award, he believed. He also included his exclusive interview with Runck, taking a peek into the disturbed mind of a firebug.
But to keep good faith with the State Police, he had contacted Steem after his interview at the county jail and shared the information Simon had confessed. There was no need to keep it to himself; it was all going into the newspaper anyway. Steem seemed either impressed or pissed that Brian had gotten Runck to speak so openly. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, the State Police captain appreciated Brian being forthcoming with the information and that he chose not to include the detail of the victims’ heads being covered with pillowcases.
It was difficult for Brian to leave that out, but he wanted to try to find out a little more about this Pillowcase character before automatically drawing the line to what was going on in Smokey Hollow. And he didn’t want any of the other media learning about that detail just yet.
Two things that Runck had revealed had most fascinated Steem. One was that the former firefighter claimed he didn’t know about the trunk being in Ruth Snethen’s house when he attempted to burn the place down. The second was the fact Simon Runck had spent four years as a patient in the Wymbs Institute.
That little tidbit fascinated everyone involved in the investigation. Brian discussed it with Noah that day. The most important aspect of it was they finally had someone connected to the Mustard House, even if it was ten years ago. Maybe he could recall some of the people on the staff. Maybe he knew some of the other patients. And most important, what if had heard anything about a patient who had been a serial killer known as The Pillowcase?
It was a proud day for Brian. He had put out another great edition. And even though he already had to start preparing for the following week’s release, he felt a sense of ease from the deadline stress and could breathe a little easier. He didn’t even feel the urge to smoke a cigarette. It was hard being a one-man show (not that Beverly Crump didn’t help out a lot, and Isaac handled all the boring sports-and-recreation crap), but he could relax for at least today before thinking about what he needed to do next.
He told Darcie she didn’t need to bother with cooking, because he wanted to take her out to dinner at Cully’s Pub. Heck, Brian even thought he could manage to eat a steak tonight. The thought of Hester Pigott’s knackering job didn’t bother him anymore. He wasn’t sure how many people would even read the old man’s story in today’s paper, given all the other juicy articles.
And of course there was the big Dump Festival this weekend. That was something Brian and Darcie could go to together, even though he’d be covering it for the paper. That was the kind of assignment where they could enjoy the festival like regular patrons while he took some notes and photos for The Hollow News.
When he got home from work, Darcie was on the telephone.
“I’ve got to go now,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “It was so nice to hear from you, and we’ll talk again soon.”
His feeling of elation sank a little, and that craving for a cigarette crept back. His immediate urge was to ask her who she was talking with, but he didn’t want to sound intrusive. Not after how awful he felt about the flower incident. But as her husband, he wanted to know who she was talking to. It was normal for him to be curious; that’s what made him a reporter. It was in his nature.
So he put his smile on when she came into the living room.
“Your day must have been good.”
He held up the paper. “A banner day,” he said, flashing the large-type headlines about the two murders.
She hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. “I know how much it means to you. I picked up a copy myself today.” Her smile faded slightly. “I almost didn’t want to read about those poor women. So tragic.” Her eyes looked moist.
Don’t, he thought to himself. Don’t ruin this for me.
“Then we won’t think about it the rest of the night,” he said. “Let’s just be a man and his wife going out on the town.” He thought for a second. “Or at least what amounts for a night on the town in Smokey Hollow.”
This meant the only restaurant in town, not counting the pizza joint and the breakfast diner. Cully’s Pub was the only place that served alcohol in Smokey Hollow besides the Odd Fellows Hall social club. It had only opened ten years ago, when the selectmen rescinded a longtime ordinance banning the serving of alcohol in the town. Thank god that had changed, Brian thought. He didn’t know if he could have lived in a town without at least one beer joint. And the fact that it was directly across the street from the newspaper office made it even more of a bonus. A nice cold beer always balanced off the stress of deadline pressure. Not that owner Hale Cullumber kept his beer very cold. And not that a weekly newspaper deadline was that much pressure compared to what Brian had been used to on a daily. But it’s different when you’re the one doing most of the work, and even a lukewarm beer made it worthwhile.
At Cully’s, the hostess sat the Keays in the center of the dining area. They looked over the menu, Brian going right to the beef section. He had crunched down a couple antacids to make sure his stomach would be ready for whatever he decided to send its way. He eyed the listing of the porterhouse steak and set his menu down.
He looked around the other tables, to see who else he might know in the place. He saw Eldon Winch and Leo Wibbels, along with their wives, at one table. That probably meant that the selectman would stop by their table to either praise him or damn him about the placement of the Dump Festival preview. It was on the front page, even though it was at the bottom. What could he expect? There was big news in town, no matter how much some people wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.
Fire Chief Shives and his wife sat at another table, reminding Brian he wanted to ask the chief why he and his firefighters tried to post bail for Simon Runck, considering how poorly his arrest reflected on the department. Jonas Fitchen, the taxidermist, sat at a table by himself. Also sitting alone was the woman who always wore an obvious wig. This time it was chestnut. It looked like too much hair for her age. Brian had asked Beverly Crump about her earlier today, and she had told him that the woman’s name was Ivy Mockler and that she owned Wigland. Taking her wigs out for a test run must be her way of advertising her products, he thought. Though the creased, aged look of her face beneath all that youthful hair did not make for a pretty picture.
Hale Cullumber tended bar as usual, pouring drinks for the waitresses to pick up and for the handful of men sitting at the bar. Brian recognized Isaac Monck, his sports editor, and Sherman Thurk, who was no doubt enjoying a beer or two before his nightly sleepwalking adventure. Hopefully he wouldn’t stumble upon any dead bodies tonight. Brian knew what that was like and could sympathize with the man. Maybe the beers would help Thurk sleep deeply enough to remain at the rooming house.
Not a bad crowd for a Thursday night. People in town probably couldn’t afford to eat out too often. The waitress came to their table and introduced her name as Gwen, asking if they had a chance to look over the menu. Her lon
g hair, pulled into a ponytail, had streaks of gray. She looked to be in her forties. Brian was surprised, since most women that age colored their grays.
Darcie ordered fish and Brian stuck with his steak, the large cut.
“Aren’t you Mr. Keays, the newspaper editor?” the waitress asked.
“Yes,” he said smiling. “Brian Keays.”
“I recognized your picture in the paper today.”
Brian had included a headshot of himself with his first-person piece. He thought it important for the community to recognize their newspaper editor. It was a way to be in touch with the readers.
“Thank you,” he remarked, flattered by the recognition.
She dropped her smile. “Such terrible things happening in town these days.”
So much for forgetting about it for the night. He looked at Darcie, figuring she was reading his thoughts. She tried to keep an upbeat expression. “Yes,” he said to the waitress. “Really terrible.”
“Makes you wonder if anyone is going to the Dump Fest,” Gwen said. “I know I probably won’t feel up to it.”
“There’s no need to let bad news spoil things,” Brian said, wishing she would leave and put in their orders.
“You must understand, considering what you two have gone through these past couple weeks.”
Darcie looked down, grabbing her water glass and taking a sip. She looked up at the waitress. “We’re being strong,” she said.
The waitress frowned. “It’s hard to be strong sometimes. Believe me.” Her smile reappeared. “I’ll go put in your order.” She spun around and headed toward the kitchen.
Brian looked at his wife, who managed a half smile. “It’s hard being a celebrity in town.”
She laughed, the effect he was hoping for. It was nice to see her laugh. The two of them hadn’t been doing much of that lately. It was good to hear her voice when she was in a good mood. But then he thought about the tail end of the phone call he had walked in on earlier. She had sounded in a good mood then, too, and it was bugging him. Just ask, he told himself. You know you won’t rest until you find out.
He knew there was a chance it would ruin the mood of the evening, but if he kept it in, he’d need either another cigarette or more antacids. Just ask.
“So, the phone call today?”
Her lips flatlined. “Yes.”
“Anybody I know?” She was reading his mind, but it didn’t matter. It was out.
“It was him,” she said, locking her eyes on his. Her lower lip fluttered slightly.
He collected himself, careful with what he wanted to say next. “I guess I didn’t realize you’ve been keeping in touch.”
She frowned. He had done it now. “We’re still friends. I’ve explained that to you.”
He had to admit she had. “I know,” he said. “It’s just—”
“It’s just nothing. There’s no need for you to think anything more of it.”
She reached her hand across the table and their fingers interlocked.
“I’m here with you,” she said, again reading his mind. “I’m going to have a nice dinner with you, and then we are going to our home and we will lie in our bed next to each other.” She squeezed his hand. “And maybe if you’re not too disgusted by this bulge in my belly, we can make love before falling to sleep.”
He smiled, looking into her sweet, pleading eyes. He couldn’t help it. He should feel lucky she had chosen to be with him. Brian wasn’t sure he had that much to offer her. Maybe that was why he still felt bitter, because he was sure she had made the wrong choice and he felt guilty for it. Brian wanted to think she came back because she deserved him. Even though he really didn’t think he deserved her.
He squeezed her hand back. “I won’t think about it anymore.”
At home, Brian was admiring Darcie as she got ready for bed in the bathroom. It would be nice to make love tonight, and the thought got him a little excited. Then she made a weird noise and vomited into the toilet.
“Okay, no more fish while I’m pregnant,” she said, the skin on her face pale and clammy.
“Are you all right?” he asked from the doorway.
“I’ll be fine,” she said through a grimace and shut the door in his face, though not in a rude way, just in a ‘give me some privacy’ gesture that he completely understood.
His phone rang, and he was grateful for the distraction.
It was Noah Treece. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?”
Brian looked at the closed bathroom door. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“I’m out at Hester Pigott’s place,” he said. “Got something I’m sure you’re going to want to see.”
Brian felt a wave of panic swamp him. Not the old guy. Did something happen to him? He could picture a pillowcase pulled down over the old man’s owl-like face. God, no, please. “Is Hester—”
“No, no. Hester’s fine. He’s right here with me”
Brian’s heart relaxed. Was this going to keep on, him worrying every night about who in town might fall victim to the strangler? “Then what is it?”
“You really have to see it for yourself. And I know you’re going to want to.”
That tweaked his curiosity. He glanced at the bathroom door. “Honey?” he said.
“Go,” came a muffled voice.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. Do your thing.”
Driving up the winding dirt driveway to Hester Pigott’s farm, Brian could see two town police cars parked near the barn. There was no sign of the State Police, which meant Steem and Wickwire either weren’t here yet or this case didn’t involve them. That kind of disillusioned Brian, and he felt some of his excitement deflate. If the State Police weren’t here, then whatever Noah wanted him to see wasn’t part of the strangling investigations.
He parked near the cruisers and got out. A spotlight over the doorway to Pigott’s barn illuminated the area in front. He could see the Knackerman standing between Chief Treece and Night Shift Alvin. Hester wore his tractor cap, jeans, and a white tank top. The tank top had splatters of red, and Brian thought maybe the old man had been attacked after all. Leave it to his gusto to have thwarted the culprit.
Noah held a flashlight, though it wasn’t turned on.
“So what’s going on?” Brian asked Noah, then looked at Hester. “Are you okay, Mr. Pigott?”
“Course I am damnabbit,” the old man spat. “Been out all night fetchin’ a cow carcass over in Vermont, only to come home to this damn thing.” The man’s face was flushed with rage.
Brian realized that the blood was probably from his knackering and not any scuffle he had been in, and he was glad about that.
“Alvin,” Noah said. “Why don’t you take Mr. Pigott inside and finish getting his statement. We’ll be right along.”
The patrolman led the old man into the brightly lit barn.
“So?” Brian said, once he was alone with Noah. “What gives?”
“You have to see this.” The chief turned on his flashlight, took a few steps toward the side of the barn, and pointed the beam of light at the ground.
Brian came up beside the chief and stared, not believing what he saw.
Seven sets of duck feet stuck out of the ground.
“What the hell?” was all Brian could think to say. He bent to get a better look.
“There were eight,” Noah said. “Hester dug one of the ducks up when he got home, then decided to call us before touching anything else.”
“Why would someone do something like this?”
“The worse thing is,” Noah started to say. “Judging from the one Hester dug up, he figured they were buried alive.”
Brian put his hands on his knees and bent his head. He closed his eyes for a second, picturing those ducks kicking their little webbed feet as they suffocated. He thought of Darcie vomiting and thought about doing it himself. The steak he had stuffed himself with tonight felt unsettled. He straightened a
nd turned to Noah.
“Who would even think of this, Noah? And why?”
“Did you notice how the ducks are in a straight line?” He scanned the flashlight beam along the trail of feet.
“All in a row,” Brian muttered. “Do you think that means something?”
“Maybe someone came looking for Hester, and since he wasn’t here, left him that.”
“Like a message?”
“Or more like a warning. Telling Hester he better keep his ducks in a row.”
Brian looked at the chief. “You think our killer did this?”
Noah shrugged. “Entered my mind.”
“But what affairs would Hester need to keep in order? Does he have some connection to all this?”
The chief locked eyes with Brian. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that this happened the day your story about the Knackerman appeared in the paper?”
Brian thought about that for a moment. “It was just a harmless story about an old man’s unusual occupation. How could that—”
Brian didn’t get to finish his comment. Hester’s voice rang out from the barn and Brian and Noah ran inside, seeing the old man and Alvin standing near the counter on the side.
“It’s gone!” Hester yelled.
“What’s gone?” Noah asked as they approached the old man.
“The pot of human rib bones!”
Chapter 16
INCIDENT AT A FESTIVAL
Most of the town turned out for the annual Dump Festival on Saturday at the field on Blackberry Road. The attendance surprised Brian as he and Darcie strolled along the grass past booths offering a variety of crafts and food. Maybe this was what the town needed. People could come and enjoy themselves and their fellow town folk without worrying about what had been happening. It was a release everyone deserved, especially Darcie and himself.
Most of the people Brian knew were there, some running vendor booths. Mrs. Picklesmeir had a booth for her flower shop, selling floral arrangements and bouquets. Leo Wibbels had a stand displaying a selection of fruits and vegetables. Other vendors offered handmade crafts, knitted clothing, or homemade canned jams, jellies, and pies.
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