Indian Foot Lake Love Story

by Johns, Samantha

  “It's a long shot,” the sheriff admitted, “but we should pursue that as well as bringing Caplan to justice for fraud which we can do thanks to Mr. Avery's testimony and the contents of that lockbox as well as a lot of other smaller pieces of evidence.”

  “I see another trip to St. Louis in the future,” moaned Sylvia. “Or can I wait until September when I actually turn thirty? I suppose there must be a way to get a police order or something now that you have evidence of a crime.”

  “We don't have jurisdiction in St. Louis,” Sheriff Caywood explained. “But we could hand over evidence to them and let them deal with it. Personally, I'd like to see the contents myself first, just out of curiosity, and only you can do that, Sylvia.”

  “I don't want you going to that city until Arthur Caplan is in custody—unless I go with you,” Greg added. “And Pops is staying home for sure.”

  “I know one place we need to go, and that's KFC so you can get some food,” she said, changing the subject. “You're already going to be late for work,” fussed Sylvia like a wife already.

  The sheriff had explained the situation to the Casey's manager earlier because he knew Greg was going to have interruptions in his schedule for police reasons. The man understood, and promises were made that he would make every effort to keep the inconveniences to a minimum.

  Megan Abbott from the agency did not mind at all caring for a thirteen-month-old baby girl in place of an old man in his seventies. Not that she minded that either. She also believed she had gotten off easy since they had brought take-out instead of having to prepare a meal, which had been part of the job description when she accepted the assignment. This family was sure to become one of her favorites, she thought to herself.

  She helped Pops settle in for the night after taking the baby from his arms to put her into her own crib. He had sung her to sleep sitting in his rocker, as usual. Only he could not get up with Debbie in his arms and his foot extended out on a pillow. Pops insisted on taking care of all his grooming needs alone in the bathroom, then he permitted the woman to help lift himself and his leg into the bed and plump his pillow.

  “I'm sorry if I've been a little gruff with you, Miss Megan,” he said as she was ready to leave his room and then head for the front door. “You're a nice lady. I just don't like having a bum leg.”

  “Don't worry about it, Mr. Devine,” she said laughing. “I'm used to it. Most people, especially big, strong, men like yourself, do not like having to accept help.”

  After she had gone, Sylvia, all ready for bed, walked to the closet and brought the Marshall's Meats box out again and began going through it, looking at every piece of paper for the third and fourth time. She emptied it onto the table and examined every fold inside the cardboard and even shook it, which produced no good at all except drop some dust on the vinyl tablecloth. She took the sponge from the sink, wiped up the dust, and began to put everything back into the box and the box into closet. It was a dead end. The key was lost, and without a key, she would just have to wait a few more months until she became thirty and could ask the administrator to open the lockbox for her.

  She picked up the red velvet ring box and sat on her sofa bed looking at it. She removed its padded cushion and put the ring on her finger. Maybe it will have magical powers, she thought, and turn into the key. Ta da!

  That did not happen. She examined the ring with Pops' magnifying glass from the drawer, looking for little marks or anything unusual. Then as she was about to put it back, the red velvet box fell on the floor and the silky packaging materials came loose. Picking it up, the cardboard had shifted enough to reveal a metal object taped to the inside bottom of the box. It was a small key with engraved symbols J-rt-45.

  She was overjoyed—for a moment. Then she realized that it didn't mean that much. The contents of that box were going to be exposed, sooner or later. She'd opt for later at this point not only because she was tired, but it seemed the whole mystery had already been resolved. They had the answers, and, agreeing with Greg, she didn't relish a trip to St. Louis again. She turned out the light and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  In all the activity involved in acquiring Pops' new assisted living equipment, the trip to the sheriff's office, and the regular daily chores, their promise to Sheriff Caywood that they would get a dog had completely been forgotten.

  Sheridan Avery was enjoying a pizza, watching pay-per-view, and feeding the crusts to his two quite chubby pooches with no more fears of repercussions from his testimony. After all, Arthur Caplan was nearly as good as arrested and convicted. It was over. But, no one really knew where Arthur Caplan was at the time. The St. Louis police were trying very hard to find him since their directives had changed. But, he was no where to be found—not in Saint Louis anyway.

  Arthur Caplan had been trying to get hold of Avery by phone earlier in the day. The inability to reach him caused him concern, so he drove to the town of Stover and overheard in the coffee shop that Avery had been taken in for questioning by the county sheriff's office. They said that he had been involved in some shady dealings years ago and that it somehow involved Indian Foot Lake over in Pevely.

  Arthur Caplan rushed out of the coffee shop almost knocking over his cup and completely forgetting to pay. The waitress had had enough bad luck that day already, and after a short hesitation, she called the local police. Her story would not have normally received much attention, but when she told the officers that the man was ugly as home-made sin, their ears perked up. They knew that the county sheriff had issued a warrant for a man with just that description. There was a flyer which had been faxed to all the area small town police stations. One of them pulled it up on his iPhone and showed it to the waitress who confirmed his identity. They called Sheriff Caywood immediately.

  Arthur Caplan had arrived at the Indian Foot Lake entrance with the chain across the road. He turned off the engine and decided to go by foot over to the Devine residence keeping to the dark shadows of overhanging trees as much as possible. He crept beneath the side window of the living room where Sylvia lay sleeping and noticed the open ring box on the coffee table with a silver key next to it.

  His heart throbbed with excitement. His first intentions had been to kill these people placing the yew plant derivative into their food somehow—perhaps sneaking it into their coffee supply or a pitcher of tea in the refrigerator. Yes, he could be quiet enough. He had cut his teeth on doing cat burglaries when only a teenager. His surveillance of the interior from his vantage point revealed that he should sneak around to the back door where he could pick the lock and get his hands on the key as well as deliver his poison of choice—a yew plant grown only in England which he purchased with ease over the Internet. They would all be dead by the end of next day—all of heart attacks. Suspicious as that might appear, he would be long gone. Once he had the key, destroyed the incriminating evidence in the lockbox, and gathered his stash of cash from his hide-out in the basement of the old Men's Association building, he would be headed toward Mexico. Killing a whole family would surely merit the death penalty, and Mexico would not extradite on those terms. Perfect plan—well, as perfect as it could be considering that blabbermouth Avery and that busybody daughter of Marshall's had foiled his plans for a profitable livelihood.

  He was creeping low on the porch busy picking the lock when he became alarmed by the sound of a horse whinnying in the distance. What's this, he thought, a watch-horse? He peeked his eyes to above the bottom of the door window, but a curtain stopped him from seeing if anyone inside had heard the horse or had become alarmed by its sound. So he kept working, keeping his ears alert for signs of movement within the house.

  Sheriff Caywood sped most of the way with sirens and lights blaring, but once he approached the last few miles of Z Highway he turned everything off, including his headlights. Passing the Indian Foot Lake entrance he noticed a dark van sitting on the side of the road. It took a moment's hesitation to decide whether he should investigate
or continue next door to the Devine residence. It seemed quiet over there, but his instinct told him he should hasten to their house first. He could check the van later on his way back, after he had warned the household that Arthur Caplan was in the area. Surely it could not be the same van from seventeen years ago, he thought.

  He parked quietly, exited the car quietly, and peered through the living room window quietly. Everything seemed in order, but he noticed the ring box and the key on the coffee table near where Sylvia slept peacefully. He hated to disturb the household, even though it seemed a very important matter. He tapped softly on the glass with just the tips of his fingernails. No response. Then he heard the horse whinny. That was strange. He could think of no reason for a horse to make that sound in the middle of the night. And this whinny sounded alarming. Perhaps a snake or a fox had gotten into the barn, but even that should be checked on, he thought. He didn't want that pony hurt with all he meant to Sylvia and all the rest of them, too.

  He stepped softly along the side of the house, and before he had reached the corner of the porch, a black-and-white Pinto pony bolted through the barn door, over the fence, and was pounding up the wooden porch stairs, determined to protect his beloved Sylvia. He bit the intruder sharply on the on the shoulder as the surprised Caplan stood, and then fell back to the floor in shock, his mouth open, too scared to cry out.

  Sheriff Caywood strode toward them with just a few large steps and had his gun aimed point blank at the man's head. Patting Nippy on the rump, he told him he'd take over from here on. He unclipped his cuffs, and Caplan reached his arms out obligingly.

  “Keep that horrible beast away from me,” he begged. “I don't like horses. Don't let him kill me,” Caplan shrieked.

  Arthur Caplan crumbled into a ball at the sheriff's feet as his rights were recited over him. He cupped his injured shoulder with his hand.

  “So that's why they call you Nippy,” Sheriff Caywood said, smiling in approval as the horse shook his head as if pleased with himself.

  Greg arrived home moments later to find the sheriff's car in his driveway. Sylvia was awakened by Greg looking for Sheriff Caywood. The both of them soon realized that people—and a horse—were on the back porch.

  A quick frisking over Caplan's body produced the envelope of poison which became the link between all of the murders. Exhumations and autopsies were not needed. Caplan gave in and confessed to everything.

  They could hear Pops yelling from his bed, “What's going on out there?” Once the full story became apparent by the sharing of information between them, Greg and Sylvia went in and told him everything that had happened as the sheriff carted his prisoner off to jail.

  A happy couple planned their wedding, and Sylvia commuted the hour drive for several months before finding a job at the historical society in Herculaneum. They made a special place for all her horses and a placard thanking her for her donation. The two lovers decided on a date, and promised Father Machens that they would remain chaste until their vows became official at the altar.

  Arthur Caplan avoided a death sentence, but not life imprisonment, by making a deal with the authorities, telling where all his accounts and money were hidden. The police were able to seize his assets which allowed them to compensate his victims in some part, for what they lost financially—of which Sylvia shared a large portion. The Merriott family received enough to ensure college educations for their children, and funds were sufficient to provide Greg and Sylvia with a small but lovely wedding. They allocated some to a fund for Debbie's education, and spent the rest on renovating the lake property back to its original condition.

  All the publicity that revolved around the capture of Caplan and his terrible plots led to much increased interest in Indian Foot Lake. Customers began flowing through the gates before all the repairs had even been made. They cleaned up the water to swimming condition and repaired the picnic tables so that they could open as a day park almost immediately. By that fall, the couple had the cabins ready and leases signed for the following season. The lake would be a profitable venture after all, fulfilling all of their dreams for the future.

  Pops recovered to sufficient good health to take care of the property while Sylvia and Greg went to their day jobs. He kept little Debbie with him, of course, and Nippy had a special corral nearby where he looked forward to riding children on his back. The injections worked miracles for his arthritis, and they soon were blessed with another miracle as well—Sylvia found herself pregnant, against all odds. They had all come to learn that with love in your heart, all things were possible.

  # # #

  Author Info

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