Rafe looked down at the floor, then back up at me. He cleared his throat. Before he could offer an explanation, the doctor stuck his head into the room, gestured with his thumb toward the hallway, and mouthed the word, “Out.”
Rafe shook Jake’s hand, and I kissed his mouth, fussed with his pillows, and then followed Rafe out into the corridor.
“Well?” I stood with my hands on my hips, awaiting Rafe’s explanation for Bernie’s shenanigans.
“Bernie knew I’d get the message. Once he made himself known, I put it all together, as he knew I would. He didn’t have to threaten me for more money. His activities made it clear to me what he was capable of. All of my friends were in danger unless I came through, and I did. Then I stopped paying him, and he blew your well, another demonstration of his seriousness about being paid. By then, I knew the only way to handle him was to get Jake to put him behind bars. So I came out with the truth, knowing it might put me in prison, too.”
“Let’s get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria,” I said. As we walked toward the elevators, I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “It must have been awful living in fear of Bernie appearing in your life.”
“To be honest, the guilt over what I had done, taken a man’s life, was often overpowering, but Bernie had my number. He knew I was a weakling, that I hadn’t the integrity to turn myself in. He counted on my cowardice.”
“In the end, you weren’t a coward. You did tell him no.”
“And look what he did. Blew up your well.”
We paused in front of a window.
“Will you look at that? It’s still raining. So you see, I really don’t need that well after all.”
He reached out and touched my cheek, a gesture my father often used when we were making up after a fight. “You’re being terribly nice about that, you know.”
“I know, so I guess you owe me a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Be a reference for me when I go to the bank for a loan, will you?” I held up my hand as he tried to speak. “Uh, uh, no loan from you. I want to do this on my own.”
*
Ronald demonstrated his gentle and giving nature by using the land and the insurance on the brewery house to post bond for Claudia. We never discussed whether he believed his mother murdered his father or his father’s story that he wasn’t Michael Senior’s son. All he said to me about the situation was that he’d lived all his life believing he knew his family, and he owed his mother his allegiance now. How ironic that all these years, the community thought this sensitive individual was the black sheep of the family, the pyromaniac, the son who ran off and left his mother and brother to cope with a controlling and philandering father.
The judge set bail, because the case against Claudia revolved around her confession, which she altered in every interview with the police. We never found the recorder I’d thrown at her. Perhaps she took it, threw it away, hid it, or didn’t remember where it was. I would have to testify against her, an act I approached with great confusion. I believed the part of her story where she claimed she killed Michael Senior. The rest of it puzzled both Jake and me. When I used the word crazy to describe her behavior, we both knew how the lawyer would present her case.
The only constant part of her story was her denial that anyone helped her dispose of the shovel, a statement contradicting what she had told me about Michael’s involvement. At times, she seemed lucid, and in some of those moments, she claimed that her husband fathered both, one, or neither of her sons. We never found the letters she wrote to my father. In fact, she never mentioned him in any of her dialogue with the authorities.
Claudia moved into one of the newly constructed condominiums in town. I thought she would fill the spare bedroom with her quilting work and take up stitching together her works of art while she awaited the trial. Against Jake’s wishes, I visited her several weeks after our struggle in the old mill to ask about the recorder. I hoped to catch her in a mood for truth telling. She swept me into the spare bedroom to show me a new project. Piles of yarn, along with stacks of baby clothes, toys, a crib, stroller, and playpen, filled the room. She had gotten wind of Sally’s pregnancy and put two and two together.
“I’m going to be a grandmother.”
“Does that mean I’m about to become an aunt?” She gave me a sharp look and ignored my question.
“It’s going to be such fun.” She wandered around the pastel yellow bedroom touching the tiny clothes and moving baby objects from one location to another and then back again.
“Does Sally know you’re doing this?”
A ripple broke through her calm. “Get out. Get out! You’re here to ruin everything for me,” she yelled. I ran for the door, fearing the reappearance of the Claudia from the old mill.
I hoped it wasn’t my question about Sally that sent Claudia down to the café the next day, where she threatened to try and take the baby away from Sally. Sally called me on my cell.
“Get over here quick. Claudia’s in the front of the shop and spinning out of control. She just swept an entire shelf of teacups onto the floor.”
“Call the police. I’ll be right there.”
By the time I arrived, Sally was out in front of her shop, and we heard the police sirens heading toward the store. When the police stormed the bakery, they didn’t find Claudia inside but at the back door, a gasoline can in one hand and a Bic lighter in the other.
“A passion for fires must run in the family.” I tried to joke with Sally after the local cops took Claudia off to jail. Then I realized I was also talking about the baby’s father. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re trying to make me feel better. Sometimes I wonder if having this baby is such a good thing, but then I think there are my great genes and maybe some from your family, too.” I hugged her for that. I felt like an aunt whether the biology said I was or not.
I left Sally up to her elbows in flour just as Jake arrived at the bakery. “Work makes me feel better. How’s the head today?”
Jake touched the spot above his neck where Michael had hit him.
“Not there anymore and no permanent damage, unless you count occasional waves of passion for a local brewer an issue.”
I punched him in the arm. “You think Sally’s safe here, or should she come home with me?”
“Bet on it. The judge will revoke Claudia’s bond any minute now, and I think she’ll be sent off for observation and kept someplace away from society for a long time.”
Sally gave us both a floury hug and continued with her kneading as we left the shop.
Jake and I stood in front of my truck.
“DNA would tell us something,” Jake said.
“I thought about that, but Ronald says he’s just not interested in knowing who his biological father is. He asked me if I was okay with that. I don’t know if I am, but it’s up to Ronald.” I hesitated, knowing I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I knew I had to find out. “No body yet?”
Jake shook his head no.
“When you do find, uh, him, is there any legal reason why you need to know Michael’s parentage?”
“Not unless the lawyers think it’s relevant. With Claudia’s latest escapade, I don’t think the case is likely to be tried anytime soon. No, I was thinking of something else, your DNA and the baby’s.”
I took in a quick breath. Yes, that was possible, but … “But that’s Sally’s call not mine.”
“Talk to her.”
*
On the way home, I passed Jeremiah on his bike. I stopped the truck and pulled over to the side of the road. We hadn’t spoken since I visited him after his bicycle accident.
“I see you got your bike fixed. Where are you heading?”
“Out to your place. I got fired from my position at Teddy’s. He said I was too particular and slow in my work, so I was wondering if you’d consider hiring me back?” He said this with his head down, not allowing his eyes to meet mine.
&n
bsp; “That’s Teddy. Are you surprised? I was teaching you to be a brewer, not a hired hand at a brewery.”
“Teddy also said he had all the help he needed right now with Brian working for him.” That got a laugh out of me.
“You could have told me where you were going when you left me, you know. I would have understood the need for more money.”
He kept his eyes cast downward and gave a tiny nod of his head.
“I can’t pay you as much as Teddy, but I will give you an increase in pay now that I’ve got my bank loan.”
He raised his head and pumped his arm in the air. “Yes. What’s first on the agenda?”
“Cleaning out the mash tun.”
“No.”
*
Claudia was assigned to the psychiatric wing of the Women’s Correctional Institution in Payack. I heard she took up her quilt work again, stitching together blocks of fabric with the skill of a five-year-old. She acted more and more disturbed as the days went by, making up nonsensical tunes and only talking to the people her imagination created.
Jake said she seemed happy enough, but out of touch with any world but her own. It looked as if she would never leave the ward nor stand trial for the murder of her husband. Who was the true Claudia? This crazy woman, the cold, rational killer, or the perfect wife? Did anyone know? Did she?
Ronald and Deni planned to build on the Ramford property, but until Michael’s body was found, the court wouldn’t let them proceed.
It rained almost every day in the month since the incident at the hop house and mill. Early one morning, when the downpour threatened to wash away the road in front of my place, Jake’s car pulled into the river which once was my drive. His face was grim when he entered my kitchen.
“All this water finally washed Michael’s body down to the Susquehanna, where it caught on a pile of limbs and brush down near Chenango Forks.”
“That’s fifty miles from here. Could he have made it that far …? “
“He was dead in minutes after he went in at the mill. He didn’t suffer, Hera.”
“I’ll have to tell Sally.”
“I already did. She’s fine. Her mother came to visit yesterday, so she’s got someone with her.”
“Oh.” I turned my back to him and stared out the kitchen window. Through the pouring rain, I could just make out the new addition I was adding to my barn. Only the frame was up, progress hampered by the wet weather.
Jake came to the window and put his arms around me.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’ve got to increase my production, but this rain is preventing me from getting the addition finished. There are September and October tastings yet, and I need more product. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay about Michael. I knew he was dead.”
He nuzzled my neck.
“I’ve got the day off. How about we spend a quiet morning and afternoon here?”
“Maybe you’ve got the day off, but I don’t.”
But Jake could be so persuasive.
Early afternoon hunger pangs drove us out of my bedroom and down into the kitchen. The rain had stopped an hour before, and the sun shone in a blue sky devoid of any remaining clouds. Jake and I sat at the table devouring salami and cheese sandwiches accompanied by my newest ale, Summer Serendipity, when we heard a car turn into my lane, then another, and another. Soon the drive filled with vehicles I recognized, and people poured out of them and into the yard. Everyone seemed to be equipped with a tool of some sort, hammers, saws, both hand and electric, and other building paraphernalia such as tape measures, saw horses, and ladders.
“Barn raising, barn raising,” they chanted as they made their way toward my brew house. Jake and I ran out after them.
“Did we disturb something?” Rafe was brandishing a hammer and a smile saying he knew damn well what they disturbed but didn’t think we minded. Teddy leaned a ladder against the two-by-fours forming the walls and began to pull his ample frame upward. I held my breath, hoping the rungs would support him.
“This is great. We can do the same for you when you’re ready to start rebuilding your brew barn.” Jake addressed his remarks to Ronald and Deni who dragged sawhorses into place for the lumber needing to be cut.
“Not a brew barn. We’re going to set up a winery. We’re from California, and we’re more familiar with wine.” Deni and Ronald smiled into each other’s faces.
“Where do you want me to put these?” asked Francine. She jockeyed several two-by-fours toward the structure.
“No Marsh?” I asked.
“No Marsh. He moved on. Went back to the restaurant business. I’m looking for another brew master. Got any ideas?”
“Well, you can’t have him now, but in another year or so, Jeremiah might be your man.”
I was helping lift a rafter into place when I heard another car pull up. It was Sally and her mother. If pregnant women glow, then Sally would win the prize for illumination.
“The results of the amnio came back, and it’s a girl.” She set a basket of bread, pastries and muffins on one of the picnic tables we used for tastings. “You’re going to be an aunt.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know it, and what difference does it make whether you’re the biological aunt or not? As far as I’m concerned, you’ll be babysitting a niece when I want to get out.”
Jake, bare-chested and looking very yummy, came up to me.
“Everything’s perfect, huh?” He threw his arms around me and hugged me, then followed the hug with a kiss.
I looked back toward the house and up at the bedroom window.
“Just about. But I think we could use more rain.”
Meet Author Lesley A. Diehl
Lesley retired from her life as a professor of psychology and reclaimed her country roots by moving to a small cottage in the Butternut River Valley in Upstate New York. In the winter she migrates to old Florida —cowboys, scrub palmetto, and open fields of grazing cattle, a place where spurs still jingle in the post office. Back north, she devotes her afternoons to writing and, when the sun sets, relaxing on the bank of her trout stream, sipping tea or a local microbrew.
Lesley was the winner of the Sleuthfest 2009 short story contest. You can visit her on her website: www.lesleydiehl.com or on her blog, http://anotherdraught.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from her readers at [email protected].
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