“Right.”
Tracy took my hands, rolled the fingers across an ink pad and made a ten card. When she printed my name across the top with a black pen I felt more like a felon than a victim. She squinted at the card and then at the prints she had lifted from the bag.
“I’m not a certified fingerprint expert, but neither of these prints is yours, Ana. One has a tented arch, rather rare, and none of your fingers have that. The other is quite small. It’s probably Bella’s. We can put this print in the system and see if we get a match in AFIS. I can do that much for you.”
“That would be nice. What’s AFIS?”
She handed me the card. “You keep this. It’s proof I’m not putting your prints in the database. AFIS is the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Computers have made it possible for even small towns like Cherry Hill to check prints across the country with ease.”
While Tracy was instructing Bob, the assistant, to scan the print and begin a run with a low-priority status, a woman in her mid-thirties and a young girl came through the door. The girl looked small for a twelve-year-old, and she seemed a little frightened. She was wearing a pink skirt with ruffled layers and a Hello Kitty top, and pink striped tights. The outfit seemed immature for an almost-teenager, and I wondered if she was a bit slow or if perhaps small-town children didn’t develop attitudes as early as their counterparts in the suburbs.
Chapter 21
“Hello, Jennifer, Bella.” Tracy said. “Thanks so much for coming in.” She dragged another chair out to the front of her desk and motioned for us all to sit down. “Bella, there’s nothing to be worried about. You were very thoughtful to bring in Ms. Raven’s bag the other night, and we just want to ask you a couple of questions about how you found it.”
Bella looked at her mother, so we all did. Jennifer looked tired. She was slightly overweight, but not yet fat. She wore clean blue jeans and a cheap pastel green sweater with sparkly beads sewn around the neck. Her nails were brightly painted, but not overdone. She nodded at Bella and said, “It’s OK, Bella. You did everything right, they just want to know if you saw anyone hanging around.”
Bella’s dark eyes softened a bit and she visibly relaxed. “OK,” she said.
Tracy began. “Bella, why were you at that corner on Saturday night?”
“I was walking home from Emily’s house. She lives over the drugstore. It’s only two blocks from our place and I called Mom before I left, and she said she’d watch for me, but not to fool around.”
“But, then, what made you stop at the trash can?”
She looked again at her mother, and the fearful look returned. She hung her head. I couldn’t imagine what was frightening the girl. Tracy looked quite official in her uniform, but her eyes were kind and she had let down her long blond hair from the twist that could hold it under her uniform cap. She did not appear intimidating at all, to me.
“Bella?” said Jennifer.
Bella squirmed. “Well, I was chewing gum and I wanted to get rid of it. I’m not supposed to because of the braces.” She grimaced and showed off a mouthful of wires.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Let’s not worry about that right now, honey. The bag is more important.”
“OK, Mom.” The girl stopped speaking.
“And...”
“The bag was pretty. I could see it under the streetlight. I didn’t think that something so pretty should be thrown away. I wondered if it had a big hole or something. But when I lifted it out, it was too heavy to be empty, so I looked inside.”
“Did you take the things out?”
Bella squirmed again. “Just to see what was there. I didn’t take anything, honest!” She glanced fretfully from Chief Jarvi to me, and finally settled on her mother as her best ally.
“We know you didn’t take anything, Bella,” said Tracy. Everything was there except a piece of old newspaper.
“I didn’t do it!” wailed Bella. “It must have been that man.”
“What man?” we all demanded at once. This frightened Bella even more, and Tracy pushed her chair back from the desk.
“Let’s have some lunch and relax, all right? Are tuna melts all right for you ladies?” We all nodded. “Bob, will you run over to the Pine Tree and get some sandwiches? Tell them to put it on my tab.” Bob nodded and left immediately. Maybe he was glad to be delivered from this uncomfortable interview.
“Bella,” said Tracy, “I have three specific questions for you. But I want you to believe us that you are not in trouble. We are just very interested in this bag, OK?”
“OK,” said Bella, still looking wary.
“When you first looked in the bag, was there a piece of a newspaper in it?”
“I didn’t see one. I pulled things out on the sidewalk until I saw the wallet. It was in the very bottom. Then I knew I had to turn the bag in. There was a magazine, and some small junk. I put it all back in and went home. Then Mom walked me down here. I gave it to you.”
“Yes, you did, Bella. That was very good.”
“Was there any money missing?” Jennifer asked.
“No, Mrs. Hanford,” I assured her again, “There’s nothing wrong with what Bella did, at all. We are just hoping that she may know something that can help me find someone.”
Tracy continued, “Did you see anyone using the pay phone on the corner that night?”
“No. Unless that’s where the man had been.”
“All right, now, here’s the last question, maybe the most important question. Do you know who the man is that you saw?” We all stared at the child intently.
Bella stared back, suddenly sure of herself. “Sure. It was Mr. Baker.”
“Tom Baker?” I couldn’t help but raise my voice.
Bella cringed again. “I don’t know his first name. He’s always dirty. He works at the paper on Saturdays. I see him every week.”
Jennifer chimed in. “She does mean Tom. He lives just over on Taylor Avenue, and walks past our house to go home. That’s why she knows him. But he doesn’t usually go out in the evening.”
Just then, our lunches arrived. Bob set four cans of soda pop on Tracy’s desk and handed each of us a paper bag. The delicious aroma of hot tuna and cheese focused our attention on the food for a few minutes. Tracy didn’t interrupt our eating, and Bella hungrily tore large bites from her hot sandwich. The braces didn’t seem to hinder her efforts.
“This is lots better than a school lunch.” She finally said, licking her fingers and following up with a swig of 7-Up, the flavor she had chosen.
“What do you say, Bella?” Jennifer was using a parental tone.
“Oh. Thank you very much, Chief Jarvi.”
“You are very welcome,” Tracy answered. “Will you and your mom come talk to me again if you remember anything else about Saturday night?”
“I will, but I don’t know what else I would say. That’s all I saw.”
“You didn’t see anyone put the bag in the trash?”
“No.”
“Did you see a person put anything in the trash?”
“No.”
“Did you pass anyone else on your way home?”
Bella shook her head.
“Do you know what time you found the bag?”
Jennifer spoke up again. “She came right home, and got to our house at 9:45. She couldn’t have wasted very much time because she called at 9:33 from Emily’s house. I know, because she was supposed to call at 9:30, and I was watching the clock. Cherry Hill is pretty safe, but I don’t like her out alone after dark. This two-block walk was a test to see how prompt she would be, and look where we ended up. At the police station.” She sounded a tiny bit petulant. We all stood up.
A thought came to me. “Did Mr. Baker frighten you, Bella?”
Bella was apparently feeling more confident now, and she almost stamped her foot. “No. He’s not scary, he just smells bad after work. He didn’t even talk to me on Saturday.”
We began to crumble up the sandwic
h wrappings, all of us sensing that we had probably exhausted this topic. Tracy thanked Jennifer and Bella again, and said she hoped it hadn’t been an inconvenience. Jennifer glanced at her watch, but assured the police chief that it was fine. I wondered how long of a lunch break she was usually allowed. Just before Bella went out the door, she turned and gave me a little smile and a wave. I waved back, surprised that she seemed to want to be friendly. But maybe getting out of an hour of school was enough to prompt cheer from a child.
After they left, Tracy asked Bob if the AFIS search had turned up any results.
“No matches in the state, Chief. I’ve expanded it to the national database. Those results sometimes take a couple of hours.”
Tracy turned to me. “All this only tells us someone other than yourself touched your bag recently, and that person doesn’t have a criminal record. That’s certainly not going to help very much. I can’t ask for Tom’s prints unless we can accuse him of a crime, and walking down the street in the evening is still legal in Cherry Hill.” She grinned. “I think this is a dead end, Ana, unless you want to talk to Tom.”
I thought I might just do that, tomorrow morning, and I knew where I could find one of Tom’s fingerprints—on the map he had drawn.
Chapter 22
I really needed to get some groceries, but I wasn’t sure I was up to chatting with Adele. She would want to know everything I had learned about the missing newspaper, but there was so little to tell, of any consequence, that I just didn’t want to face her. I considered driving to the larger store in the county to the east, but I didn’t feel like doing that either. After moving my car to the grocery parking lot, I sat there for a few minutes, building up my reserves of energy. The familiarity of a small town could be a sheltering wing, but I was beginning to feel pressured by it, too. What did these people expect me to be? Once they had each labeled me in their own ways would I still be free to act with the independence I was beginning to cherish?
I sighed. I really needed some provisions. I’d think about this topic another day. As it turned out, Adele was out of the store for the afternoon, sparing me from a conversation. Justin had improved his efficiency since Saturday, and he told me that because Monday was a slow day at the small store, Adele had left him alone for a couple of hours.
My cart was soon piled high with boxes and cans of staples, a pound of ground Angus beef, and a bag of salad. An end display of cheap tabletop grills and charcoal was more temptation than I could resist. The end of May was approaching, the evenings were warming, and I wanted to relax and enjoy my home in Dead Mule Swamp. Almost as an afterthought I added a bottle of mosquito repellant to my cart. I hadn’t spent a summer here yet, but the word “swamp” probably carried some meaning.
By late afternoon I was sitting on my porch watching the shadows move across the water. The leaves were filling in, and I realized once summer came I’d barely be able to see the open water to the south, especially from this lower level. Most of the swamp wasn’t a pond, but was just damp, wooded ground. I decided the upstairs porch was going to be a priority, even if I had to borrow a little money to go ahead with it. There was a good chance I’d solve my newspaper mystery soon; it was probably unrelated to Cliff’s problems or his death. After all, I was the one who was making such a big deal about the whole thing. Except for that phone call, I remembered.
Tonight, I was not going to be intimidated by anyone. My existing porch was an open slab facing south and west. I could enjoy twilight over the swamp, and also see up South River Road. I’d know quite early if anyone was coming to see me. I gave Saturday’s caller’s threat enough credence to position my chair so I could easily glance toward town without moving very much, but that was all I was going to give.
The charcoal was beginning to turn white and hot. The beef was already formed into patties, and I’d stewed up the rhubarb, and added sugar. It was cooling on the card table I’d set up on the porch, which would have to do until I bought a picnic table. The salad and some Green Goddess dressing were keeping cool in the fridge, and a cold beer was mellowing my mood.
It was moments like this that clarified for me the essential right-ness of my decision to leave the city and move to Cherry Hill. I couldn’t believe how long it stayed light here in the evenings, and the wildlife was moving about at the edges of the trees. A flicker came into the meager grass of my supposed lawn and stabbed its beak between the blades, looking for insects. A rabbit appeared calmly at the edge of the trees. It was so sure of its security that it didn’t even hop, it walked. Sparrows twittered and a few robins sang their “cheer-i-up, cheer-i-o.”
No one came to carry out any threats. No one drove down the road at all. I cooked the burgers and ate one, along with some salad and rhubarb. The rest of the burgers went into the refrigerator for other days, and I carried another beer back to the porch. I sat and stared into the shadowy swamp as the evening cooled, and tried to think of nothing at all. For the most part, I succeeded. Yes, I was now “alone” in the world, but I had a pretty good idea that I was going to like it. A lot.
When it began to cool off I retrieved a sweatshirt from the house and took a stroll down the footpath that led from my yard into the swamp. It might have been an old tractor lane, or just a cow path, but now it was grown in so much it was barely four feet wide. I’d been walking the meandering trail most evenings, as far as a large tree that had fallen across it. The tree had large branches protruding in all directions, and I’d need to ask someone with a chain saw to come clear it out if I wanted to follow the path any farther. When I reached the tree and turned around I could no longer see my house. I enjoyed the solitude and peace of twilight, and I felt very safe in my new world. The frogs were waking up and singing. It was pleasant music to accompany me on the return walk.
I made a cup of tea and returned to the porch. Gold and orange washed over the budding trees as the sunset light flowed in from the west. I sat and watched the play of colors until full dark came. I had been doing nothing for hours, which was not my usual goal-oriented habit. Even so, I felt a certain reluctance as I folded the card table, collected the beer cans, and finally let the screen door bang shut behind me. When I flipped the switch, the naked incandescent light of the partially renovated living room broke the magic of a May evening on the edge of Dead Mule Swamp.
Chapter 23
Tuesday morning dawned clear and golden, and I woke early, energized and ready to explore Cora’s box of 1896 papers. It was actually too early to leave; Teeter’s wouldn’t open until 8:30. After breakfast, I puttered around, but couldn’t make myself wait past 7:45. Even though it would only take about fifteen minutes for me to drive to the equipment dealer, I hoped that Tom might come in early.
I pulled into Teeter’s entrance at 8:00, and there were no other cars in the parking lot. Not wanting to sit and fidget, I decided to go look at that strange, spidery implement that was displayed so prominently on the knoll in front of the business.
It was obviously very old. There was a tongue that extended from the front, its end now resting on the white gravel. There wasn’t any motor, but there was a seat. I figured out that this design indicated it was meant to be pulled by horses with the driver holding reins from the seat. Long levers extended from various gears to handles which the driver could also reach. Apparently it would plow and disc a field all in one operation. I wondered how well that would have worked. I didn’t have much farming knowledge.
Although the machine had been cleaned and heavily covered with yellow paint, I could see a metal plate riveted on one of the bars. The words stamped on the plate were pretty much filled by the paint, but I could still read the first one; it was “Teeter.” So a relative of Mr. Kevin Teeter might have invented this monstrosity, I thought. Following “Teeter” was an ampersand, and another name followed that, but I couldn’t make it out. I was brushing my fingers over it to remove any superficial dirt when a hand was placed on my back. I nearly jumped a foot, and indeed, I barked a shin on o
ne of the metal bars. Involuntarily I leaned over and grabbed my leg, making me feel vulnerable to whoever was behind me.
“Good Morning, Ana. Are you fascinated by our historic machine?” The voice was Kevin Teeter’s; the tone was edgy.
Rubbing my shin, I contemplated that tone. I turned, stood up and forced myself to be cheerful. “Mr. Teeter, Kevin, how are you?”
“Fine, just fine,” he said. If there had been any sharpness, it was gone now, and the salesman was back.
“Yes, I need to see Tom, but I got here early, so I came over to look at this strange... thing. What is it?” I thought I sensed Kevin relax, but maybe I was imagining threats everywhere since Saturday night’s phone call.
“It’s a plow-disc combination. My great-grandfather invented it. Any other place in the world, it would have been a flop. Usually soil is too heavy to do both operations at once, and it would have taken too much power to pull. But greatness often dances with luck, don’t you think?”
“Certainly.”
“Here, the soil is sandy and well-drained. A team of horses could pull this implement and prepare a field for planting with half the work. Old Albert Teeter, my great-grandfather, adapted various factory-made components and assembled over fifty of these machines in his blacksmith shop. He patented the design and sold them all over this part of the state.”
“That was quite an undertaking, on his own.”
“It financed what became everything you see here.”
“There’s another name on the plaque; I can’t quite make it out.” I countered.
“Oh, I don’t think so. It just said ‘Teeter Equipment’ or ‘Blacksmithing,’ or something like that.”
I knew Kevin was lying; the ampersand was clearly visible. But, why? He had taken my arm, and was leading me back toward the building. “I see Tom’s here now,” he said. “I hope you won’t take too much of his time. He does work for me, you know.”
1 News from Dead Mule Swamp Page 7