Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t? I wondered. Aloud, I simply said, “Yes, well. Maybe.”
“Maybe? I doubt that. Would you have hurried in to find me if Cliff weren’t headed for the morgue?”
“No. That’s true enough.” I hung my head. I had barged into this man’s kitchen and now found that my thoughts were hardly collected. “Let me start at the beginning.”
“Always a good idea.”
I explained how Cliff had visited me more than a month ago, and about the old newspaper that was found and went missing all on the same day. I told him about the headline for the high school production of Twelfth Night, and how the plot was similar to that of The Importance of Being Earnest. It now seemed significant that Cliff had hauled his whole family to see that play when they could barely afford such luxuries.
Jerry nodded slowly as if digesting the information. I was still trying hard to remember what else was in those old headlines. I remembered something about science, but couldn’t think what it was.
“Was Cliff interested in the paper?” Jerry asked.
“I don’t know. I was in the kitchen when he must have looked at it, and taken it.”
“How could he have hidden it?”
“He had on a loose shirt over a t-shirt, plaid wool, I think. I suppose he could have slipped it into the back of his belt behind the shirt.”
“Makes sense. What else was in that edition of the paper?”
“That’s just it. I can’t remember. But I was thinking I could look through the archives. I could at least narrow it down by looking for the years when the banner looked the same. I have a pretty good mental image of that.”
“I can probably be of some help to you there. Come into my office.”
Jerry led the way into a spacious office/den combination room. In fact, it looked like it was supposed to be the living room of the house, but he had made it his own. Definitely a bachelor, I thought. All four walls were filled either with windows, or framed newspapers and pictures of all sizes. He pointed to one on the northwest corner of a blue-gray wall. It was a framed copy of the front page of the Cherry Hill Herald, dated July 1, 1876.
“This was our first edition, ever. The paper was established for the express purpose of celebrating the country’s centennial.” He ran his finger down the glass to rest on a masthead in the lower corner. “Charles M. Caulfield, publisher and editor-in-chief,” was printed in difficult, uneven type. “This is my great-grandfather.” He couldn’t keep a slight lilt of pride from his voice. The next framed paper was dated September 8, 1881. “Forest Fire Kills 200, Devastates Local Logging Economy.” The banner was essentially the same as the premier edition. I skipped over it, not because I didn’t care about a great local tragedy, but it wasn’t pertinent to my search.
“How about this one?” Jerry asked, sensing my focus of the moment. The next headline was “U.S. Declares War Against Germany,” and was dated April 7, 1917. “We were a daily paper back then, but didn’t get enough info for a significant news story until a day late. Probably took most of it from the Chicago paper.” This banner was cleaner, with the paper’s name in a less fancy font. I squinted at it, but it didn’t seem quite right either.
Of course the next paper was dated December 7, 1941, with the screaming headline, “A Day That Will Live in Infamy—U.S. Declares War on Japan.” This banner was definitely wrong. It was much too modern looking. Several other papers decorated the wall, but I didn’t even look at them. “It’s none of these,” I declared. “It’s most like the first two, but the one I found is obviously printed on newer equipment. I don’t remember it being as fussy as that first one.”
“That’s good deduction, Ana. We can narrow our search to the years between 1881 and 1917. I should be able to look at our records and see when the entire banner design was overhauled during that time. I’m as interested in your mystery paper as you are.”
“Great! Could I make an appointment to come look through the archives? This will definitely help me know where to start.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Why?” My head jerked up and I stared at him. I had thought we were establishing a good rapport.
“Because the archives burned in 1954. We’ve got an eye out for old copies, but we’ve been able to replace very few papers from before that date.”
Chapter 10
Jerry and I chatted a few more minutes, but neither of us had much of a heart for continuing the conversation. My sense of frustration ran deep, and Jerry seemed to mentally move on to whatever he had in mind for the rest of his day. I swallowed the last cold mouthful of coffee, thanked him for his time and left.
I wondered what to do next. Part of me wanted to pursue this newspaper idea relentlessly, but the truth was that I was exhausted. It was not quite noon, and this early feeling did not bode well for the rest of the day. I felt like I needed a gallon of coffee, instead of having just finished an excellent cup of robust brew. I decided to see if Adele was in her store.
Since the Jeep was nicely parked in the shade, I walked the two blocks, up Mill Street to Main, then one block east, to Volger’s store. A large maple tree shades the door and the inside is always cool. The screen door creaks and the dark wood floorboards have absorbed the odors of a century of groceries. It’s a small wonder that the grocery manages to remain open, but Cherry Hill is far enough from any box stores that local folks need to buy some food between big shopping trips to fill their pantries.
Adele was sorting coupons and keeping an eye on the young man who was standing nervously at the cash register in the single checkout lane. He looked like a college kid, home for the summer, and just starting a new job. A young mother, with a baby perched in a full shopping cart, was approaching him while looking pleadingly at Adele. Adele shook her head and pointed at the young man, then motioned to me to come into the office.
“That’s Justin Gorlowski,” she whispered. “He started yesterday. I told him he’s got to run the register alone today. He’ll be fine as long as that baby doesn’t start howling. That would make him as jumpy as a grasshopper in sneakers. What’s on your mind? It doesn’t look like groceries.”
Was I that easy to read? I hoped not, or I’d make a pretty poor investigator, not that I was really investigating. I was only being curious. Seriously curious. “I just came from having coffee with Jerry Caulfield,” I began.
“Do tell!” she responded with a raised eyebrow.
While Justin fumbled and hunted for bar codes on cans of corn and bundles of diapers, I told Adele about finding the body and my quest for the missing newspaper.
“Where did they take Cliff’s body?” was her first question, skipping right over my obsession with the newspaper. I had to admit that I had no idea. “If they took him to the city, it means they requested an autopsy. And that would mean that they wanted to be sure it was a suicide.”
“I think Tracy said it had to be looked into, just because it wasn’t natural. How did you know it was probably a suicide?”
“Beth came over to tell me before I left home to come in and open the store. Cherry Hill folks like to know when someone stubs a toe. I keep a scanner here in the office, but I don’t have one at the house. We haven’t had a suicide since Kenny Schuster shot himself in 1998. The man just couldn’t deal with his own inadequacies, but that one was obvious. This time... after all, Cliff could have hooked up that hose, or someone else could have done it.
“Adele, I just can’t believe that Cliff wanted to die, but I was there. I didn’t see any footprints or bloody bumps on his head.”
“Hey, Mrs. Volger,” called Justin. “How do I fix it when the price doesn’t scan right?”
Adele rolled her eyes. “I need to help the poor boy,” she explained.
“Wait, Adele, is there anyone who is really up on local history? Someone who might talk to me on the weekend?”
“Maybe Cora Baker, Tom’s mother,” Adele said in a bit of a huff that I credited to her hur
ry to reach Justin. “Do you know Tom?”
“I met him this morning. He seemed nice enough. Where does his mother live?”
Adele was tight-lipped now. “I have no idea. It’s none of my business. Ask Tom.” She rushed out to the register, and I was obviously dismissed.
This was definitely odd. In a town where tracking other people’s lives was elevated to an art form, Adele either didn’t know or wasn’t telling anything about this Cora Baker. Before leaving the office I checked Adele’s phone book, but Cora Baker was not listed. Neither was Tom. I tried to remember what Tom had told me earlier, and I was pretty sure he had said he would be at Teeter’s Farm Implements that afternoon. I decided to treat myself to lunch and then go locate Tom.
The Pine Tree Diner was just a couple of doors down the street, and a neon sign in the window was flashing “OPE.” I decided to follow the instruction, although I doubted that the owner meant to give poetic directions. The Pine Tree will never make five stars on anyone’s list, but that wasn’t because the food was below par. In fact, the food was excellent. However, the ambiance matched the rest of the town, old and worn. The vinyl booth pads were patched with duct tape and the laminated tabletops were chipped. Someone’s choice of turquoise and brown for the color scheme wasn’t inspiring, and there was never enough light. But, I’d eaten here a few times while I was getting settled in Cherry Hill, and I knew for a fact that the service was fast, the portions were ample, and the food was all prepared fresh.
I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad. They were served quickly, as I expected, and the food made me feel better. I considered where else I might look for old Cherry Hill newspapers. Surely some library would have an archive, but it seemed as if Jerry would have known if the small local library did. I thought that with his personal and professional interest in the paper he would have tracked down any existing archive. If he knew of one, I wondered why he hadn’t told me. Were there multiple people trying to keep me away from old newspapers and old news? Maybe Adele’s odd reaction wasn’t about Cora, but was part of some bigger local secret that everyone was keeping from upstart newcomers.
Well, no one was going to keep me from tracking this down now. I wiped my mouth on the paper napkin, visited the ladies’ room, and paid the tab. I had to rummage around in the canvas bag I was carrying to find my wallet. It was there, way down at the bottom, but I was annoyed at myself for choosing a big floppy tote bag for the day.
Chapter 11
After retrieving my Jeep, I drove out to Teeter’s. At least I didn’t need to ask how to get there; it is one of the largest businesses in the whole region, not just Forest County. Farmers drop $30,000 or more on special pieces of equipment, and a dealer who can keep dozens of huge machines in stock on a lot is visible and known. The location on Centerline is perfect—near town, but far enough out that farmers don’t have to be extra careful when bringing in big trailers to haul their new purchases home.
Teeter’s sign was modern and in good condition. It towered above a landscaped knoll on which was perched an odd spidery, all-metal implement. The wagon-like thing had six wheels on the ground and a collection of wheels and gears rising up one side. A metal seat faced toward a tongue, and beside the seat were handles on bars that reached back to the gears. Beneath the machine’s open framework were two staggered plow blades and several round discs set at odd angles. The whole thing was painted bright yellow, and displayed on white gravel set in a very green lawn. I wondered if it was the first machine Teeter’s had sold.
I was a little surprised that the business was open on Saturday afternoon, but I supposed that lots of farmers also had to work another job to make ends meet, so farm needs had to be tended to on evenings and weekends.
There was a big glass-fronted showroom, just like an auto sales lot. Automatic doors opened almost silently, beckoning me into the large building. Several new trailers, wagons, and other shiny contraptions that meant nothing to me were displayed on the floor. One end of the showroom was partitioned off with a floor-to-ceiling iron railing. A gate in the bars led to another whole section which seemed to be filled with smaller tools and gardening needs. Tom was nowhere in sight, but a man was sorting papers at a desk behind more glass. He glanced up and motioned for me to come in. I judged him to be about my age, well built, but developing a bit of a paunch. He wore an expensive blue, pin-striped shirt, and navy twill pants, accented with a maroon tie. He rose and extended his right hand as I approached, while holding his tie from flapping with the other. “Kevin Teeter,” he said as we shook hands. “My friends all call me Kevin. How may I help you? Not here to buy a cherry shaker, I would venture. Perhaps a utility trailer?”
Nice enough, but his voice was a little oily—the perfect salesman. Well, why not? He certainly would have to keep these expensive machines moving off the lot quite steadily to stay in business.
“No, not really.” I smiled at him. “My farming equipment needs are pretty limited. But I must say this is all very impressive.”
“If you want to visit the garden center, just go through that gate. But, now that you’re here, you might as well introduce yourself.”
“I’m sorry.” I reddened at my bad manners even if the man seemed a little overbearing. “I’m Ana Raven. I live out on South River Road.”
“Ah, Ms. Raven! May I call you Ana? I heard that the house out there had sold, but frankly, springtime is so busy for us that I haven’t had a chance to keep up with the local news. What brings you here? Planning on doing some landscaping?”
“Not yet, Kevin, but I’ll keep you in mind. Today, I’m actually just looking for one of your employees, Tom Baker. I met him this morning, and I’d like to ask him a couple of questions.”
While we were having this brief conversation, Teeter’s hands continued to adjust papers on his desk. The man seemed to be a compulsive pile straightener. I felt sorry for his wife. However, a quick glance at his left hand did not reveal a ring. Suddenly, I saw something else on his desk, and I hoped that my expression did not betray me. An edge of old yellowed newspaper was protruding from one of the stacks. I quickly raised my eyes to meet his, lest he take note of where I was looking. Had he been trying to move that paper out of sight with the pile-shuffling routine?
“Ah, yes, Tom is here. He’s washing down some new corn pickers that were delivered yesterday. Have a seat and I’ll get him for you.”
Kevin put his hand under my elbow and escorted me to a row of seats upholstered in fake leather just outside the row of offices. I didn’t really like being touched by the man, even in this polite, rather formal way, but I didn’t see any way to get around it. I took a seat and crossed my legs at the ankles, attempting to look as if I was willing to stay parked indefinitely. “Be right back,” he added and headed for a steel door that was labeled “Service Area.”
As soon as I heard the door click, I jumped up and weaseled my way around the corner of the glass wall. It only took a second to carefully extract the brown paper from its location at the bottom of a pile. However, I was swiftly disappointed to find that it was only a wide torn edge from the top of a page. I could see that it contained a date, May something, and without wasting any more time, I slipped it into the tote bag and raced for my seat in the showroom. I made it just in time. The metal door clicked open and Kevin and Tom appeared.
“Hello, Ms. Raven,” Tom bellowed. The man had one volume; I decided he must be partially deaf. “Mr. Teeter said I can take my break now, so I have a few minutes. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Tom. Who knew that I’d see you so soon again?” I chuckled. “Why don’t we go outside and talk.” I headed for the big automatic doors and Tom followed along. I had already decided that I didn’t want Kevin Teeter to hear anything at all about what I was really interested in.
When we reached my Jeep I turned to Tom and leaned against the hood. I began, “I hear your mother is interested in local history.”
“Who told you that?” Tom shouted.
I quickly realized that any efforts to keep this conversation quiet were probably futile.
“Adele Volger,” I admitted. Given Adele’s tone of voice, I didn’t know if this would be a good or bad thing to confess to, but I really had no other options, since I didn’t know enough people yet to make up a believable lie.
“That Volger woman!” Tom did lower his voice to something more like a normal conversational level. He probably thought he was whispering. “Ma and her have had a feud goin’ for years. It’s been hot fer so long I don’t think either one of ‘em knows how it began. But that don’t make no never mind to you.”
“No, it doesn’t. Does your mother study local events? Maybe old news, years that things took place?”
“She does for a fact. Don’t make no sense to me. She’s got a house full of books, and ol’ newspapers, and pictures and enough stuff t’ start a museum. Maybe she will do jist that, someday.”
“That’s great, Tom. Sounds like just the person I’d like to talk to. Do you think she’d see me?”
“Hell, yes, ma’am... er heck, yes. Don’t mean to show you no disrespect.”
“That’s OK. How can I reach her? She doesn’t seem to be in the phone book.”
“Oh, she’s there, the listin’s still in my step-daddy’s name. She don’t go by that no more, but never bothered to get the billing changed. I’ll give you th’ number, and I’ll draw you a map. It’s a hard place t’ find, and she don’t explain it any too well to strangers. Don’t know’s a stranger ever visited her!”
“That would be great.” I started to dig around in the tote bag for a pen and paper, but of course, just because that’s what I needed, there wasn’t any. And, I had to be careful not to damage that fragile strip of newsprint. I sighed, “I don’t seem to have anything to write with.”
“Come intuh th’ service center. I’ve got plenty of pens and paper.” Not wanting to re-enter the building with my guilty booty, I opened the car door, tossed the tote bag on the floor, and then followed Tom back to the building.
1 News from Dead Mule Swamp Page 3