Bones in the Backyard

by Lois Blackburn

  “Well, you remember I told you about this woman I used to work for? I talked with one of the men who also worked for her and I’m having dinner with him!” They continued doling out a meal to each dog, careful not to get in the way of their hungry mouths. The barking quieted down as the dogs attacked their food.

  “Oh, a date! How long has it been since you’ve been on a date? Let me see–I can’t remember.”

  “No it’s not exactly a date, he’s too old for me. But he agreed to meet with me to discuss a situation and offered to take me out to dinner. He said he had a delivery to make in Douglas and then we could go to the new Hawaiian restaurant. It’s more like a meeting, a business meeting.”

  Jill frowned, “Huh? What’s it about?” She shook her head, “There you go, being mysterious again. We’ve worked together for almost three years and I hardly know you. I keep venting my troubles out on you, frustrated with my husband or kids acting up sometimes, but not you. I know you want to be a vet and are working hard in college toward that, but other than that, I don’t know what else you do, your family or anything. What kind of business meeting? You going to rob a bank or something?”

  Terry smiled coyly and shook her head, “No, you don’t know me. It’s not that I’m trying to be secretive, but there’s really nothing to know about me. But if this meeting goes well, I’ll be one happy girl! I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, O.K? But right now, let’s get this place straightened up so we can get out of here.”

  Jill groaned, “O.K, let’s get to work. I can see you’re dying to leave.” The two went about their weekly cleanup task, talking as they moved quickly from one room to the next. In the empty waiting room they tossed soft fuzzy toys into a large basket on the floor, and refilled the display racks with collars, brushes, leashes, shampoo, clippers. Chair cushions were fluffed, end tables wiped clean and magazines arranged attractively. After vacuuming the floor, they moved into the treatment room.

  “Are you going to get dressed up?” Jill asked, wiping the smooth stainless steel treatment table with disinfectant. Terry closed the soiled linen container and slid it toward the door.

  “No, I don’t have any nice dressy clothes. Just my light green pullover sweater and long black skirt. And I have a pair of black loafers I just found at the Goodwill store. They still look pretty dressy. That’s about it. Does my hair look all right?”

  “That thick black hair of yours is always great. It just turns under so nicely. I wish mine would behave like that.” Jill ran her hand through her own prematurely gray hair, then shook her head. “It’s no use,” she sighed.

  The cat room held three cats that Dr. Benjamin Dorman planned to discharge in the morning. They were moved into empty kennels while theirs were being sprayed and wiped with disinfectant, giving off a clean smell. Terry and Jill circled around the clinic to where they had started, the well-fed dogs giving them contented yelps. A quick check of the lock on the rear door that led to the fenced field completed their tasks.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Terry said, walking quickly toward the office. “We’re all set, Dr. Dorman,” she said, poking her head inside the door. He sat at his wide mahogany desk, working at his computer. The wall behind him held several large framed diplomas. Startled at the interruption, he looked up, gold-rimmed glasses perched half hidden in thick brown hair. At thirty-six, he still looked like a thin, tall teenager, with tanned checks and eyes that gleamed with excitement.

  “Oh,” he acknowledged absently. “Look, this new program will identify the true pedigree of purebred dogs! Isn’t that remarkable? There is a type of test that’s done, like a DNA test, if you are suspicious of a dog’s true bloodline. Some show people claim their dog to be a purebred, when it’s not.” He returned to the screen, immersed in the program, unconsciously reaching for his steaming cup of coffee.

  The room was a combination office/conference room. Two comfortable-looking overstuffed leather armchairs faced the desk. A faint scent of men’s cologne mingled with the coffee fumes. Cardboard file cartons were stacked atop metal shelves, which overflowed with medical books, magazines and samples of dog and cat food. Boxes of paper sat on a table, next to the printer and fax machine. The coffee machine was pushed into a corner, its red light indicating it was still turned on, and a paper cup of cold coffee sat precariously close to the edge of the shelf. Terry came into the room, picked up the paper cup and said, “The dogs have been fed and they look pretty content. I think we have everything under control. If it’s all right with you, we’ll be leaving.” She emptied the coffee cup before she removed her yellow vinyl apron and exchanged it for her coat in the closet.

  Dr. Dorman waved, barely looking up from his computer. “See you in the morning. We’ve got tests to do on the Weinburg dog and ready the cats for discharge, so please don’t be late.”

  Terry drove home in half the time it usually took, being careful to slow down at the section where police usually parked behind the billboard. Yea, she thought, I won’t have to fix dinner tonight, Chuck mentioned the new Hawaiian restaurant on Route 16, I hope we go there. She had heard of it, but it was too expensive for her. The only place she could afford to eat out these days was the Halfway Diner, where home-cooked meals were good, cheap and plentiful, if not fancy.

  She showered and dressed and, looking at the clock, decided she had time to write in her journal before Chuck came to pick her up. She chewed on her pencil for a minute, then began to write.

  I’m meeting with Chuck tonight and I’m pretty confident I can convince him to give me more money or pay for my college expenses. After all, I was there when…

  A knock on the door interrupted her. She hurriedly slipped the journal in place on the bookshelf with the others and called out, “I’m coming.”

  * * *

  At work the next morning, Jill waited eagerly for Terry to come in. Saturdays went by quickly, there was a great deal of work to do in the half-day, and Jill was anxious to hear about Terry’s evening. Terry was seldom late but today, of all days, she was. For the next half-hour Jill fretfully watched the clock. When Dr. Dorman arrived at nine, she was already upset, wondering what had happened to Terry. If Terry had received such a great offer–whatever this business was about–did she decide to quit? “Dr. Dorman, Terry isn’t here yet, shall I call her?”

  “Oh my, she’s always been so reliable, I hope nothing is wrong. Yes, please call. I suppose you have her number. If not, it’s in the file somewhere.”

  “That’s all right, I have it,” she murmured as she dialed Terry’s number. The continual ringing gave Jill butterflies. There was no answer. “I’m really concerned about this,” she said. “She was telling me about going out last night with some man, and now she doesn’t show up for work. It’s not like her. How about if I drive over to her apartment? I think I can find it.”

  Dr.Dorman hesitated in his final check of one of the cats. “Do we have any appointments this morning? No? All right, run over, but be quick about it, I need help with our tests today.”

  Jill was out the door before he finished. She remembered Terry telling her she lived behind the Auburn Mall on the first side street, and she quickly found Terry’s old rusty green car in front of apartment number 33. The two-story apartment building stood forlorn, its weather-beaten shingles and sagging steps showing a lack of upkeep. She darted out of her car and knocked on the apartment door. No answer. She pounded harder on the door and called Terry’s name again and again, but it only echoed back to her. The window blinds were tilted, obstructing the view to the interior, which was ghostly silent.

  Hesitating, she looked about–Terry’s car abandoned in her parking space, the street empty. Perhaps she couldn’t get her car started and went someplace. But where? Dejected, Jill returned to the animal clinic.

  For the next half hour Jill tried to hold back her tears while working. Still no word from Terry. “I have a feeling something has happened to her. It’s not like her at all. And the funny part is th
at her car is there. What shall we do?” she asked the doctor.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do at this point. After all, it isn’t even noon yet. She may have overslept or gone on a shopping spree. She is a grown woman and level-headed. But I’m disappointed that she didn’t call and let us know her plans,” Dr. Dorman awkwardly patted Jill’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. He hadn’t realized how close the two had grown and was surprised at Jill’s concern.

  “Well, she would have heard me! I banged on the door and called her name enough times to wake the dead. And she didn’t go anywhere; her car is still there! Something’s wrong, I know it.”

  The morning dragged on. Jill glanced at the door every few minutes. Closing time finally came, she and Dr. Dorman finished their work, and Jill hurried back to Terry’s apartment. Nothing had changed. The car deserted, the blinds unmoved. This is really strange, she thought. I have never known Terry to do anything like this. She slowly drove around to the mall, wondering if she should look for her in the mall, but that thought seemed futile. Then she caught sight of a police car parked near Dunkin’ Donuts, and pulled up alongside it.

  “Officer, can I ask you a question?” she asked as the policeman left his car and approached her. “My friend seems to be missing and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Tell me what happened.” Wide-eyed, Jill blurted out her fears about Terry’s absence from work that day.

  “Well, you can file a missing persons report. But try to keep in mind that only a handful of adult missing persons cases turn out to involve foul play. Many adults simply choose to walk away from something they don’t want to deal with. And it isn’t a crime for an adult to disappear. Often the missing person turns up at a friend’s house, or they unexpectedly took off on a trip. But you can come down to the station and make out the report. The information will be processed and forwarded to the National Crime Information Center. It allows police everywhere to have access to the information.”

  The Auburn Police Station gave Jill goosebumps, but she tried to hide her nervousness with a strong voice as she answered the desk sergeant’s questions. She gave a physical description of Terry, her address, her age, where she worked and the clothes she planned to wear last night, explaining about her date for the evening. She didn’t know Terry’s birth date or social security number, but was sure there would be a record in the office. When they finished, Jill apologized for having so little information; she only knew it was unlike Terry to disappear like that, even if she knew very little about her personal life. She had always been dependable at the clinic. The desk clerk sympathized with her, but Jill left the station, shaken and depressed, and drove home. Her mother cared for her children while she worked and she usually gave no thought to their safety. Now she was anxious to gather her own children safely about her.

  * * *

  Dejected, Bashia slipped into a Halfway Diner booth and dropped her handbag and briefcase on the seat. What a way to start the week! The day had not gone well. When she delivered the antique lace draperies to Mrs. Sheldon she discovered some renovations had been made to the room. New decorative shields had been installed over the old-fashioned radiators located just below the windows. Now the drapes puddled on top of the shields, instead of hanging freely. The drapes would get hot and burn if they rested on the shield when the heat was on.

  Bashia had spent the past week shortening and hand-sewing a double hem in the fragile fabric. With apologies to Mrs. Sheldon for the inconvenience of being without drapes for another week, she remeasured for the new length. The drapes needed to be shortened another inch and a half. Mrs. Sheldon realized it wasn’t Bashia’s fault and graciously assured her it would be no problem. She was thankful to be able to use her old draperies, which had hung in her former home for as long as she could remember and soon would give her a comfortable feeling in her new surroundings.

  Now Bashia faced the task of carefully taking out her hundreds of tiny stitches from the delicate fabric, re-cutting and hemming them again. She grumbled, as she opened her notebook and made notes to herself, impatient and exasperated at the thought of the eye-straining repetitious work, and mentally damning those responsible for the renovations.

  EmmaMae approached her table with a coffee pot and shakily poured Bashia a mug of decaf coffee. Bashia looked up to find a flustered waitress. “What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately forgetting her own problem.

  “Oh, Bashia, there’s been a murder in the state forest on Route 16! A jogger found a body in a picnic area Saturday morning! There was a small item in the Metro Reports in Sunday’s Worcester Telegram about a woman’s body being discovered. I didn’t think too much about it until today’s paper came out, identifying her, with a picture. It’s Terry Vasa–wait, I’ll get the paper. She’s one of our customers! It’s not a very good picture, the police said the picture is about five years old and she’s holding a dog. That’s when it hit me!”

  EmmaMae went behind the counter and retrieved the newspapers. “Here’s the piece in Sunday’s paper and then today’s, with the picture and a longer story. See this girl? Yes, it says ‘Terry Vaselekos’. I know she worked for a vet someplace in the area. I think I told you about her before. A quiet girl, always by herself, always writing in a notebook, just like you do.” EmmaMae stopped, breathless. She stood beside the booth while Bashia looked at the newspapers.

  At the sound of Terry’s name, Bashia’s adrenaline started to race. She was sure it was one of the people interviewed about Danielle’s disappearance. Sunday’s item in the Metro section was short. She scanned it quickly. A woman’s body was found early Saturday morning by a jogger in the Douglas State Forest, a densely wooded undeveloped area, consisting mostly of trails along State Road 16. The jogger, Ken Watson, reported it to the police, saying the body was lying in a gully near one of the few picnic areas, not far from the access road. He wouldn’t have seen the body but a woman’s loafer beside the trail made him slow down. The police called it a random homicide, but the report didn’t say how she was killed.

  Monday’s paper carried an indistinct picture of a young girl holding a dog. It identified her as Terry Vaselekos, age thirty, of Auburn, Massachusetts. Yesterday’s information was repeated and the police issued a request for anyone with information to call the State Police.

  Bashia paled and sickened as she read the paper. This must be the Terry who had worked for Danielle Stoddard!

  “Oh my,” she said, looking up at EmmaMae. “This is so sad. I remember you telling me about her. You think it’s the same girl that came in here?”

  “Yes, I think it must be, the picture looks old, but it does resemble her. She had such dark eyes and hair, it doesn’t really show in the newspaper, but I’m pretty sure it’s her. This will be the first time a customer of ours was murdered! Oh, I’m forgetting to get your order, what will you have today?”

  “Thanks a lot, but I think I’ll just finish my coffee and be on my way. This is shocking. I remember my kids going to the state forest on class trips years ago. They always came back bruised from climbing the boulders.”

  Once outside, she dropped some coins into the newspaper box and retrieved a copy of the current edition. She returned to her car and hurriedly read the article again. She stared out the window and thought of the girl and Mark. He would be very interested!

  As soon as she reached home, she called the barracks and asked for Trooper Jankowski, only to be told he was out of town, any message? She asked when he would be on duty. The dispatcher said he was scheduled to return to the Woodstock office the following day. She hung up the phone wondering who in the world would want to kill Terry Vaselekos.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning Mark reluctantly went back to work, notified the barracks that he was on duty, and faxed a transcript of the Harold Reagan interview to Detective Horton before reviewing the area reports. The Woodstock area had been quiet in his absence.

  He stretched and yawned, still on Bahamian
time. Moving his shirt collar away from his sore neck, he was surprised to realize he had gotten sunburned. He didn’t remember being in the sun that long. Reaching for the phone, he dialed Bashia.

  “Hi, Bashia, how have you been?”

  “Mark! I’m glad you called. I’ve got some very interesting news! When I called yesterday, they said you were out of town. Did you take some days off?”

  “No, I had to go to the Bahamas to conduct an interview.”

  “You had to go? Oh, I feel sorry for you,” she laughed. “But listen to what I’ve discovered!” She told him about the body found in Douglas, that she thought it must be the same girl who worked for Danielle. “Isn’t there a Terry Vaselekos in the missing persons reports? There couldn’t be two people with that same name.”

  “Son of a gun! Where did that happen? When did you hear of this? How did you find out?” Bashia held the phone away from her ear until he stopped firing questions. She quickly told him what she knew and read the Worcester Telegram news articles to him. Briskly, Mark said, “I’ll call the Douglas Police right now. Talk to you later.” He had forgotten he wanted to ask her to go to the movies, and the small package in his pocket from his Bahamas trip quickly left his mind.

  Half an hour later he had a teletype report on his desk. He read it carefully. Douglas Police were notified of the discovery of a body in the state forest on Route 16 at 8 a.m. Saturday, November 6, by a passing jogger, Ken Watson. The Douglas resident reported he often jogged through the park and almost passed the body, which was rolled down a gully and partially covered with leaves. A fairly new woman’s black penny loafer lying on the side of the trail had made him stop and look around.

  First to arrive on the scene were Sergeants Wade Mosley and Mike Nesbitt from the Douglas Police Department. Sgt. Mosley reported the body was fully clothed in a black skirt and green sweater with the clothing torn and in disarray. They immediately cordoned off the area, drew a sketch of the body and notified CPAC, Massachusetts Crime Prevention and Control Division.