Echoes

by Naida Kirkpatrick

  “Now, this is interesting.” I held up the next folder that contained a few pages of a geological report done by a company from New Jersey. It concerned the wells of natural gas that honey-combed the earth under Tuxford and the rest of the county. There were maps and diagrams covered with numbers that neither I, nor Mable, understood. But that wasn’t the most important part. The report concluded by stating the predicted life of the wells was twenty-five to thirty years. The final paper in the folder was short and to the point. The wells had played out early in the 1920s.

  Most of the towns remained, but dwindled in size, business either moved away or failed completely. Transportation facilities became less frequent and many people had to rely on some other means of lighting besides the inexpensive, natural gas.

  There was another folder about the Manning family. It seems that Willie’s great grandfather had a prominent position in the affairs of Tuxford, ranging from a position on the town council to the school board. I already knew he was a manager of the Washburn business at one time, but that was apparently only one of his ventures.

  Mable pulled a thin folder from under the stack. It contained a few papers clipped together and labeled, ‘AlCon.’ I took it and looked quickly down the list of items, then started over, reading carefully.

  “Mable, this is what I suspected.” I handed each page to her as I finished reading it. “Willie has re-copied the old survey of the gas wells and look,” I pointed. “He’s left out the date, so it looks recent and he’s given AlCon Steel a copy. That makes it look like there are still pools of natural gas under this whole area. No wonder they want to build here. It would mean an almost unlimited source of cheap power for their industry.”

  The outside door closed and we stared at each other in alarm. Willie? He shouldn’t be back yet. I scooped the scattered files together and handed them to Mable, just at the outer office door opened. We breathed again.

  “Ah, Faith. Come in. Maggie and I have been catching up.” Mable smiled, got to her feet and pulled a chair out for Faith Manning. “Coffee, Faith?”

  Fortunately, since Mable’s coffee pot was empty Faith refused. She didn’t stay long. She just came by to drop off some supplies for Willie. We talked a while, and she went on her way, leaving Mable and me limp with relief. I don’t know how much Faith knows about Willies’ shenanigans, but I felt we just had a very close call.

  After Faith left, Mable and I went back through any material in the file that pertained to the Washburn property, AlCon Steel and history of Tuxford. There was enough there to incriminate Willie Manning with a noose too tight to slip out of. We had a problem though. How could we justify our search through his files?

  “Mable can you make copies of these papers?” I selected the ones I felt showed Willie’s manipulation of his business deal. I took the copies and went to the Court House again. By now the ancient gnome at the desk simply waved at me as I hurried toward the back section. I pulled down dark, green books and searched through. If I could find the same information in something that was available to the public, I could take my discoveries to Lt. Phillips. Or, perhaps it would be better to just confront Willie first. I called Mable and asked her to meet me at Maude’s.

  Usually in a mystery, the chief characters meet at a table, in the back, in the dark. It’s more dramatic, that way. Instead, we chose one of Maude’s yellow tables by the window, with the sunlight splashing across the cloth.

  “Maggie, I’ve been thinking.” Mable slid into a chair across from me. “If you take any of this stuff to the police, you’ll have to explain how you ‘found it’. As much as I dislike what Willie Manning is doing, I don’t want us to do anything that will land you and me on the wrong side of the law.”

  She had a very good point. I got us each a coffee and waved away Maude’s offer of cookies. “I think I know of a way around this, Mable. I found some of the maps and information at the Courthouse just now. If I take that to Willie, he can’t object, because it’s in the public record.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I took my camera and returned to the Court House. The copier there was almost as ancient as the books, but I got some good photos of the reports from old records. I finally had what I needed to show that the gas wells of the past were just that--- past. Willie was trying to pull a fast one and make himself the town hero by bringing in more jobs. I returned to his office to show Mable my prize, but she had gone home for the day.

  I found a nice folder, arranged my maps and photos of the area, the original geological report of the gas wells, and the report that showed that the wells would be tapped out in the 1920s. I found an old, newspaper article describing the closing of many industries in the area and others that had moved away. There were pictures of the town of Tuxford then and now. These were dated 1926. This was at a time when the country was prosperous and this little corner was heading into obscurity. As soon as Willie returned from his business trip, I planned to take this to him. I looked forward to watching him try to dig his way out this hole.

  While I waited, I was entertained by the contents of a fat envelope that arrived in the mail. It had obviously been on an extended trip because it had postmarks from almost every country in Europe. It was stuffed with postcards and photos from Mavis and Gerry. It appeared they had saved all their correspondence and mailed it at the same time. The most recent message stated they’d be home in ten days after they did some sightseeing in Washington D.C. Well, why not? Mavis’ last comment made me shout with laughter.

  “I hope you haven’t been bored out of your mind, Maggie. I know Tuxford can be pretty stodgy and dull. Nothing exciting ever happens there.”

  Friday morning I marched into Willie Manning’s office with my folder of doom. He didn’t look especially pleased to see me. Actually, when he saw me enter, he made a nasty sneer and snapped out a rude.

  “What do you want now?”

  “Good morning to you, too Willie.” I gently placed the folder in front of him. “I have something here that I think you should see. You will find it quite illuminating.”

  “Maggie, I really don’t have the time, or the desire, to talk to you. Why don’t you just take your folder of whatever and leave.” He pointed to the door.

  “Now now, Willie. You’re being terribly rude. Have a look. It won’t take long and then I’ll leave. But just in case you don’t care to look at this I can take this information to Lt. Phillips, I have copies. You decide.”

  He gave me a look that should have peeled the paper off the walls. I leaned back in the big, leather chair trying to appear relaxed even though I felt as though I’d swallowed a lighted firecracker and my mouth tasted like old rubber bands.

  He looked through everything quickly, straightened in his chair and proceeded to read each paper again. His expression was murderous.

  “This is a snide, underhanded piece of nonsense and I wouldn’t have expected something like this from you, Maggie. I’m sure I can’t imagine why you’re determined to ruin me.”

  “You are calling me ‘snide and underhanded? I guess you should know, Willie.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Anyway, the construction has already started. It’s too late to stop it. What do you expect me to do, Maggie?”

  “I don’t know, Willie. This kind of thing is new to me. I’ll leave you to figure something out.” I stood up, reached out and before he could stop me, gathered up the folder and its contents. “I’ll leave this with Lt. Phillips and ask him to come by to see you.”

  “Maggie, please.” His manner changed from rude arrogance to a tortured pathos.

  I blew him a kiss, waved the folder and left his office, closing the door with a soft click. Now, I was relaxed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  With Willie Manning out of the way, I could concentrate on the mystery of Max William’s demise. It seemed that if all the women in Max’s life failed to meet his strict standards and were eliminated, there should be some record, somewhere of charges bein
g brought against him.

  I paid a visit to Lt. Phillips and spent a fruitless couple of hours trying to explain what I wanted. He was polite, but firm in telling me they had no records of any actions against Max.

  After my earlier chat with Gladys Thompson, I had a pretty good idea of why Max Williams was the kind of man he was. He was a child of six when the Nazi party became powerful and Maxmillian Wilhelm was an ideal candidate to be raised by the State. He became the perfect soldier who apparently learned his lessons quite well, losing any conscience or empathy in the process. The stories of the deeds carried out by those ‘perfect soldiers’ are plentiful and disgraceful and explained much about the attitude of one Max Williams.

  I remembered the times when we neighborhood children made fun of his stuffiness and funny accent and were taken aside by annoyed parents and scolded for being rude to Max.

  “Be nice to him. He just arrived from a different country and our ways are strange to him.”

  We really tried, some of us, but it was all one-sided. But I was still faced with the problem of who hated him enough to blow up his house and him with it. The fact that any number of people might have a good reason to want him dead didn’t mean they would actually commit murder. Most of us stop at the actual taking of life. These actions just don’t fit in with the small town profile.

  I decided to talk to Gladys Thompson again. I arranged to meet her for lunch at Maude’s and, when we were settled with our coffee and sandwiches, I could hold back no longer.

  “Gladys, did you kill Max Williams?”

  She stared at me then gave a hoot of laughter. “Maggie, I’m surprised at you. You’re usually more tactful.” She shook her head. “No, I did not kill Max Williams, although I’m not ashamed to admit I thought about it often enough. He was really evil, Maggie.”

  “What stopped you, Gladys?”

  She stared out the window as though the past was out there and gave a little shake.

  “It was all because of that dreadful dream I had. I tried to be the perfect wife. I scrubbed and cleaned, kept the house spotless and ironed his shirts the way he wanted. I didn’t complain when he disappeared for hours at a time on weekends. I think he met with some other radical thinkers that had crazy ideas like his, but I never met them.” She poured more coffee into her cup, stirred in the sugar.

  “After the weekend meetings, he’d ruin every nice dinner I prepared by going on and on about how the ‘New Order would solve the problems of the world. When the true masters of the race ruled, the little worker ants would be crushed into oblivion.’ I tried to reason with him, find out what he meant and he turned on me, saying I was not worth even talking to. In addition, he began to threaten me if I said anything to anyone. Said he’d got rid of others before me and I was no different.” She paused, drilled me with a sharp glance. “Is this going to show up in one of your books?”

  “Oh, no, Gladys. I doubt Stuart would even accept it. He’s say it’s not believable.”

  “Huh, like fiction is? As I was saying, Maggie, that’s when I got scared. I thought about getting a gun for protection, but decided I’d probably do something dumb like shooting the neighbor’s dog or my own foot. I considered putting rat poison in his coffee; he always loaded it with sugar but, although I’m not terribly religious, I was afraid I would probably end up in hell right next to the bastard and I didn’t want that. Then, I had that awful dream where I was stuck in the underworld with Max as my guide. Life with Max was bad enough as it was without spending eternity with him. So I collected my things, talked to a lawyer and divorced the rat.”

  That ruled out Gladys Thompson. If she had wanted to kill Max, she would have done so years ago when he was threatening her. All the other possible women in his life seemed to have made a life for themselves and either moved on or disappeared, so that didn’t provide any answers. But, something still teased at the back of my mind telling me I wasn’t looking in the right direction. I went back to my list of possible suspects, which looked pretty thin, I had to admit.

  I needed more background on the Williams, so I took an afternoon drive out to Windom to talk to Sister Beatrice. She always managed to see through the clutter of my thoughts to the real issue.

  We sat in the quiet room overlooking the secluded garden.

  “Sister, I’d like to know more about the Williams, and some of the other families the Sisters of Charity brought to Tuxford. Do you remember much about that time?”

  She nodded. “We arranged for about five families to relocate here, as I recall. Eventually, some moved away, but the Williams and Rosa Yoder stayed. The house across from your brothers’ house was empty at that time, and we arranged for the Williams to move there. They wanted to bring their son to Tuxford and we felt they needed a house. Since Rosa was by herself, we found an apartment with a family on the outskirts of Tuxford, near Hatfield Park.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Rosa was so happy there. She said it was such a lovely place and she enjoyed sitting under the big trees to watch the children play. But it was too far from any stores and Rosa didn’t drive. That made it difficult for her to do her shopping. Tuxford isn’t a large town, but she wanted to live closer in.

  “She kept a window box on the little porch of her apartment and every week or two, walked to the flower shop to look at the new plants. She met Mr. Williams learned that he and his wife were newcomers to Tuxford as well, and they once lived near the village where she and Jacob lived. He gave her advice about her plants and one day introduced her to his wife.

  “In their chats, Elspeth told Rosa about her son, Max and how they were trying to arrange to bring him to Tuxford. It was several years later, that Mr. Williams told Rosa that the house across the street from them was empty and for sale. Soon after, Rosa left her apartment and moved into the house on Roseberry.

  “Maggie, Rosa was so happy to finally have a house of her own. She invited the whole neighborhood in for tea and cake, including me and Mother Superior.” She paused. “I remember thinking it was odd that all the neighbors came except Mrs. Williams.” She shook her head. “That woman always seemed shy around other people, like she was afraid.”

  “Sister, Rosa told me something about a visit she made to Mrs. Williams. It has bothered me. She told me about the time she called on Mrs. Williams and saw the leather wallet belonging to Max. Mrs. Williams talked about her son who had just arrived in Tuxford.” I went on to describe to Sister Beatrice what Rosa told me.

  “I want Max to marry and settle down and start a family, but he seems not to care about such things. I asked him about this lovely, young woman.” She showed a photograph to Rosa. It was of Roberta. “Max said that this woman insisted on marriage, but she didn’t produce a suitable child. He told me he got rid of her because she became such a nuisance.”

  “When she told me that, she seemed so upset that I didn’t know what to say. Do you think she has been brooding about that all these years?”

  Sister Beatrice just shook her head. “I don’t know, Maggie. I suppose it’s possible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I needed more information from people who knew about Max Williams, so I decided to talk to anyone who might have worked with him. Lt. Phillips tolerated my playing junior detective, but I didn’t think he was impressed. However, I couldn’t see why just having conversations would interfere with anything the police were doing.

  Mike Chambers was just as curious as I was. He provided me with a list of present employees at Williams Flower and Lawn Shop as well as several older, former employees. I divided them up according to their addresses.

  My adventure as the friendly neighborhood interrogator began with old Parker Woodson. Parker crouched over his cane in a permanent letter ‘C.’ He offered me a cold beer, which I refused, and a chair under the shady maple tree that I accepted. He was the only former employee of Kurt Williams’ original staff still alive.

  “That Mr. Williams. Now there was a prince of a fellow to work f
or. Always so kind and knew everything about growing things. He always began the work day with a kind word and smile for everyone. At noon, his wife came with his lunch done up in a checkered napkin and, once, when my wife was sick with the fever, he told me to stay home and take care of her, and he kept sending my pay.” He sat lost in thought for long enough that I thought he had dropped off to sleep, then he gave a little start.

  “But miss, when he finally managed to locate his son and bring him home, that all changed.”

  “How?”

  “One morning he brought the boy to the store, introduced him to all of us. He just beamed, he was that excited, but the young man looked right through us as though we weren’t even there. It was so hurtful and we saw the light just go away from his father’s face.” He wagged his fingers at me. “That youngun’ was just plain mean, if you ask me. He didn’t care for us and we didn’t care for him.”

  I called on an Iris Mowry who said she worked for a time as office manager, until she got married.

  “I always liked to go to the shop. All those flowers around made it seem like working outdoors, especially in the dead of winter. We made special arrangements for the holidays and, at Christmas, Mr. Williams had the grocer on Washington Street bring over trays of meat and cheese for everyone. It was just like one big party. But…” she shook her head. “Later, when his son came, all that stopped. Mr. Williams was a lovely man, but his son was just a demon.”

  That theme echoed through every conversation I had with anyone who worked at the flower shop. But the adventure proved to be quite illuminating in other ways. It was like going into a dark tunnel with only one candle. At first, the darkness is complete until the eyes relax and dilate, then bit by bit the details of the walls, floor, ceiling and anything else begin to become visible. It was as though I had tapped into an underground river and all these stories bubbled to the surface, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Not only did I learn about how arrogant and disagreeable Max Williams was, I found out about many of Tuxford’s fine, upstanding citizens.