Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond

by Joyce Magnin

  "That might have to wait. Listen to this." I told her about the Blessing of the Fountain and then about what Vera said.

  "Ponce de León? Fountain of Youth? Leon Fontaine? Um. It does sound fishy."

  "What should we do?"

  "What can we do?" Mildred continued to rifle through the stacks on her desk.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I'm looking for three papers, stapled together."

  I started to stack the papers one by one.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Organizing. You just need to organize your papers better."

  "Well, says you, Miss Dewey Decimal System."

  "Don't knock it." I looked on the floor and there they were. "Look, Mildred. Is this what you need?"

  She grabbed the pages out of my hand. "Yes. That's them. I thought for sure Boris was gonna take my badge. I have to get recertified every year so I can carry a gun."

  "That's nice. Now do you want to take this seriously or not? I think that gargoyle is up to something."

  "Gargoyle?"

  "Oh, you had to be at the blessing yesterday. Leon Fontaine. He looks kind of like a gargoyle."

  She chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he does—kinda. But he can't help that. And unfortunately ugly is not against the law."

  "I think you should talk to him."

  "I've been trying. I can't catch up with him and until I have some cold, hard evidence I can't even put out an APB on the man."

  "OK, Mildred. I understand you've been trying. But there's got to be way to get a hold of him."

  "It's gonna have to wait now."

  "Wait, until when? He could be drugging the people at Greenbrier."

  "Well, it's Thanksgiving and I am meeting my brother in Wilkes-Barre. He came all the way from Florida."

  "Why Wilkes-Barre?"

  Mildred snorted air out of her nose. "Even I need a day off now and again. Not that I ever take one, but this time I thought for once—besides, Boris is giving me a hard time. Says it's in my contract and if I don't take a day off now and again I'll be in breach."

  "Ah, he's only looking out for you. But now? I don't think it's the best time."

  "OK, look. What say we mosey up to Paradise and have a talk with the man before I leave. That is, if he's anywhere to be found. But we'll need to go today."

  "What do you mean we? You want me to go along?"

  "Sure. You know more about this than I do, apparently. We'll take the cop car.

  "Ohh, can I run the siren?" My sarcasm annoyed even me.

  The Paradise Trailer Park was just on the other end of town and down a side street that wound around the mountains a bit. We passed under the neon rainbow and flamingo sign that blinked Paradise.

  "I want to check out that fountain before we leave," Mildred said. "See what all the hype is about."

  "The fountain? Why? Shouldn't we be looking for Leon?"

  "If you are saying that it's the Fountain of Youth then I want to see it at some point."

  "I didn't say it was the Fountain of Youth, Mildred."

  "Still, I need to check out all the leads. And I guess I'm a little curious about the gargoyles. I mean who would have thought that Bright's Pond would ever have gargoyles. Aren't they supposed to be on churches in Europe?"

  "Yes. But they're in Paradise now."

  Mildred parked near a blue and white trailer with striped awnings and flower boxes hanging from the windows. Whoever lived there had a rush on Christmas as lights were already strung from one end to the other and a large plastic Santa Claus stood in the yard.

  "That's a pretty little place," I said. "I can sort of see the appeal of trailer life."

  "Not me. But I hear since that Fergus Wrinkel, the previous park manager, got his just deserts that things around here are improving. Asa Kowalski, you know, Studebaker's cousin, is doing a great job managing the place."

  "And with just one arm," I said. "I don't know how he does it. He did a great job emceeing the blessing yesterday."

  "I wish someone would have told me about that Fergus character before it got so out of hand. I would have fixed his trolley. No man has a right to beat up his wife. Not in my book anyway."

  "Guess they didn't think you could do anything to stop it."

  We climbed out of the vehicle. Cool air swirled around and I took in the aroma of burning leaves. I could see puffs of smoke down the street a bit. "What is it about burning leaf piles that seems so rustic and primal?"

  "Makes me sick to my stomach," Mildred said. "Can't stand it."

  "Maybe I should speak with Asa, first" Mildred said.

  "Sounds like a plan."

  We started down the street. It was pretty much vacant except for a couple of women out hanging wash on the line.

  "Even in this cold weather they hang their wash," I said.

  "Still easier than hauling everything to a laundromat to use a dryer."

  "Maybe we'll run into Charlotte Figg," I said. "I like her—a lot. I really hope she does decide to open a pie shop in town. And she kind of got me started thinking about this whole Fountain of Youth thing."

  "I heard something about that," Mildred said as she offered a wave to one of the women. They were eyeing us like we were invaders from Mars. "A pie shop would be a great idea. At least we'd have some place other than the Full Moon to go to."

  "Over there," Mildred said. "A sign says manager."

  The manager's trailer sat on a small incline. It was bright yellow with a blue stripe. No awnings but a small wooden deck was attached near the door. A small neon sign that blinked manager hung over the door.

  Mildred knocked. She waited a few seconds. She knocked again.

  "Guess Asa's not here," she said.

  "Now what?"

  "We stroll."

  "Stroll?"

  "Around the park. How hard can it be to miss a one-armed man? We'll find him."

  She was right. Pretty quickly, we found him talking to Rose. She was wearing a long, heavy brown sweater. "Oh, he's with Rose Tattoo. I met her yesterday. She has tattoos. That's why she wears that sweater."

  "Her business," Mildred said. "Did you know I have a tattoo?"

  "No. Where is it?"

  "My business."

  "I don't know any of the details of Rose's story except that something happened that caused her to get herself covered with tattoos—arms and neck mostly from what I hear." I needed to pick up my pace to keep close to Mildred. "And I hear they all have some religious significance. And I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see them one day. All I've seen so far are some wiggly vines."

  Mildred removed her cop hat and tucked it under her arm. "Excuse me," she said as she approached the two. "Can I have a word?"

  Rose Tattoo wrapped her sweater tighter around her. Asa took a step forward seeming to protect the woman.

  "Hi, Griselda," Rose said.

  I smiled. "Great blessing yesterday. The fountain is beautiful."

  "It sure is," Rose said. "Leon did a great job even if it is a little crooked."

  "I'm thinking crooked is his trademark," I said. "Hey, Asa."

  "Hey, what's up?" Asa said.

  Mildred made a noise.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "This is Chief Mildred Blessing. She's here on official business."

  "Official business?" Rose said. "What sort of official business?"

  "Rose," I said bringing my voice to almost a whisper. "I'm worried about that Leon Fontaine fella. I think he might have something to do with what's going on up at Greenbrier."

  "Greenbrier. I heard all that nonsense about what's going on up there—people acting younger and riding tricycles, but what in the world could he possibly have to do with it?"

  "Well, I was listening to the Rassie Har—" I was just about to tell them what Vera Krug said when Mildred jumped into the conversation. I figured she didn't want me spilling the beans too soon.

  "That's why I'm here," Mildred. "About this Leon Fontaine. What do you know about him?"


  "Leon?" Rose said. "All I know is he's new to Paradise. A nice fellow. He rebuilt the fountain and got her running again. It's a real sight—not the Trevi Fountain or anything but still romantic and—"

  Asa touched her arm. "How come you want to know about him? Is he in any trouble? Is he wanted by the police?"

  Mildred shook her head. "No, no, I'm just asking questions."

  "Like Rose already told you," Asa said. "He seems perfectly normal and natural. A good, hard worker. Skilled at stonework, let me tell you, those Italian men are naturals."

  "So he's Italian," Mildred said. She wrote it down in her little black notebook.

  "What difference does that make?" I asked.

  "None," Mildred said. "Just keeping facts straight."

  Asa looked past us. "We were on our way somewhere if you have no more questions."

  "Do you know where I can find Mr. Fontaine?" Mildred asked.

  "Probably at his trailer or down by the fountain," Asa said. He pointed with his only arm.

  "He really is a nice fella," Rose said. "Maybe a little quixotic, but I kind of like that." She reached her hand to Mildred and I saw a part of her tattoo on her wrist. "My name is Rose Tattoo, by the way. We weren't properly introduced. Not that I'm blaming anyone under the circumstances."

  "Nice to meet you, Rose," Mildred said. "Thank you for your time. We'll just mosey around and see if we can find Mr. Fontaine."

  "OK," Asa said. "But really. He's a good guy."

  Mildred smiled. "I never said he wasn't, Mr. Kowalski."

  We walked away from them and Mildred said, "It's a little hard to believe that Asa and Studebaker are related. They seem so different."

  "But you can see the family resemblance. They both have the same mouth."

  "That's true. I did notice that, but Stu is so much more outgoing. Now what did Rose mean by 'quixotic'?"

  "Well, I'm not entirely certain, but I guess she means he thinks he's a little like Don Quixote."

  "You mean that fellow who lived in fantasy world and tried to kill windmills?"

  "That's him. But he also wanted to help the poor and defend the downtrodden."

  We walked a little farther and I saw the fountain. "Wow, it is pretty."

  "I'll say," Mildred said. "That Leon Fontaine has some talent. I hope he's not guilty of any wrongdoing."

  We approached the fountain. "I think he carved the gargoyles all by himself," I said. "They're so—gothic."

  "Look," Mildred said. "That one resembles Eugene Shrapnel with the ugly bulbous nose."

  "It does. But I have to admit, it's a work of art."

  "Like it?" came a voice from behind.

  We turned and there stood the funny-looking little man tapping his large chin.

  "Are you Leon Fontaine?" Mildred asked.

  "At your service," he said with a sweep of his arm.

  "Mind if I ask you a few questions?" Mildred asked.

  The man looked first to me and then back to Mildred. "Why certainly, my dear, but why would an officer of the law want to speak with Leon Fontaine—master stonemason, an ar-teest, a man of many crafts."

  "Uh-huh," Mildred said. "I understand you built the new gazebo at the Greenbrier Nursing Home."

  "That I did, but aren't you forgetting something?"

  "What's that?" Mildred asked.

  "You haven't introduced me to your lovely companion."

  I reached out my hand to Leon, who I already thought was a hoot and couldn't possibly be doing anything nefarious in Greenbrier. "My name is Griselda Sparrow."

  "Sparrow?" Leon said. "You're that lovely woman Agnes's sister. I've never really spoken to her but she's all the talk at the nursing home and yes—" he turned to Mildred—"to answer your question I was indeed the carpenter that made the gazebo, with my own two hands and lots of lumber and nails and a wee bit of magic."

  Mildred's eyes lit up. "Magic?"

  "Of course, that's the artistic part, you know. The actual look of the thing. You must admit it's not your usual gazebo."

  "No, no," I said. "It reminded me of the fairy tale about the man who built the crooked house."

  "Yes, yes," Leon said. "And what did you think of the . . . the steeple for lack of a better word. Bit much?"

  "No, no. It's charming. It's a work of art. Even if it's crooked."

  Leon smiled and grabbed both my hands. "A fellow admirer of all things artistic."

  I chuckled. "I . . . I suppose."

  "Then you must love my fountain."

  "Yes, it's wonderful. I was at the blessing yesterday. I especially like the gargoyles."

  "Ah, yes. The gargoyles. Carved them myself I did. Took quite a bit of time but an artist never worries about trivialities like time."

  Mildred cleared her throat. "Mr. Fontaine, can we get back to my questions, please, sir?"

  "Sir, indeed," Leon said. "I am not a sir; I have yet to be knighted. Nor am I a duke or a prince. I am Leon Fontaine, master builder, stonemason. An ar-teest extraordinaire."

  "Yes, yes," Mildred said, "you've said that. Now I can't help thinking you are trying to confuse the issues."

  "Why Officer—" he looked her up and down.

  "Blessing," Mildred said. "Chief Blessing."

  "Ah, that you are. A blessing to the community, I'm sure."

  Leon was either everything he claimed or he was, as Mildred suggested, skirting the issues. I tended to think he was a little of both.

  "Uh-huh," Mildred said. "Now, Mr. Fontaine, there have been reports of strange things happening up there—at the Greenbrier Nursing Home—ever since you arrived and built that . . . that—"

  "Gazebo, Chief Blessing. Gazebo. An interesting word— one whose meaning no one is certain of. It probably means 'handsome sight.' And that it is, a gazebo I mean, a handsome sight."

  It was at this point I thought Mildred might arrest him for committing some kind of double-talk speech crime. She reached into her shirt pocket and retrieved her little black notebook. "Mr. Fontaine," she said. "I will need your name, address, telephone number, and date of birth, please."

  "Why in the world would you require that information?" he said with a step back. "Are you arresting me? Am I suspect of a crime? Was a crime committed here in Paradise—lovely name for a trailer park don't you think."

  "Mr. Fontaine," Mildred said with force. "Please."

  I couldn't contain a smile. I liked Leon Fontaine.

  "Oh, yes, yes, sorry," he said. "My address is, of course, here at the park. I am a resident now, been so for over three months. And I have no telephone so I don't have a number. I . . . I answer only to . . . to the wind."

  Well, OK. Now he was getting a bit weird.

  "I go where I am needed. A hero of sorts, that's what they call me. Now if you will excuse me I am expected elsewhere."

  I half expected to see Leon Fontaine mount a skinny horse and ride off with a lance toward the nearest windmill.

  He turned on one foot and set off in the direction of the trailers.

  "What in the heck just happened?" Mildred said. "That is one strange little man."

  "I like him. Did you learn anything new?"

  "No. Not one blessed thing, except I'll tell you this: I'm keeping my eye on Mr. Leon Fontaine and his fountain. When I get back from Wilkes-Barre, of course."

  "Of course."

  10

  The Tuesday before Thanksgiving at Brisco's Butcher Shop was a little like Kresge Department Store the day after Thanksgiving when the Christmas sales begin. The butcher shop was crowded with lines of mostly women, waiting to get their holiday birds. Even though Ruth and I left early enough, we still ran into quite a group. I saw a few folks from Bright's Pond, including Edie Tompkins and Janeen Sturgis standing in line holding their tiny triangular number papers.

  "Griselda," Edie called. "How are you, dear?"

  Janeen waved.

  I waved back.

  "I was just thinking about you this morning," Edie said making her w
ay toward us. "I was wondering how Agnes was getting on what with the holidays approaching and all."

  "She's doing fine," I said. "Ruth and I are here for our turkey."

  "Ruth?" Edie said. "But aren't you having Thanksgiving at the funeral parlor like you do every year?"

  That turned a few heads and raised a few eyebrows.

  "No, not this year," Ruth said. "I'm cooking and we're gathering at my house."

  "Oh, that's nice," Edie said. "But what about Agnes? Will she be . . . forklifted back to town?"

  "No," I said. My annoyance growing. "We'll be visiting Agnes at Greenbrier."

  Janeen clicked her tongue. "Greenbrier. Well, I heard that something was going on up there, something that might even be illegal," she said. "I heard the inmates are—"

  "Residents," I said.

  "Yes, of course, residents," Janeen said. "I never know what to call them. But it doesn't matter. I heard they're all taking drugs and climbing trees and riding tricycles."

  I looked at Ruth who had just pulled a number from the number machine near the counter.

  "We got twenty-seven," she said. "Not bad."

  Edie stole a glance at her ticket. "I got number thirteen. Lucky thirteen."

  "Good for you," I said. "And nobody is taking drugs at Greenbrier."

  "That's not the scuttlebutt," Edie said. "I heard that the police are investigating the possibility of"—she leaned in close to whisper—"illegal drug activity up there. Imagine that. All them old and sick people getting drugged."

  "It's just a rumor, Edie," I said. "And do you really believe the residents would do something like that?"

  "Oh, well, I didn't mean to imply that they had any knowledge," she blustered.

  "Well, something is happening to cause all the attention," said Edie. "I even heard Vera Krug talking about it on her morning show. She said the folks up there are acting strange. And then she said something weird."

  "Weird?" Ruth said.

  I hadn't told Ruth what Vera said about Leon Fontaine and how she connected him with the Fountain of Youth.

  "Yeah, she made noises that some fella—what was his name, Janeen?"

  "Leon Fontaine," Janeen said who went back to shaking her head and clicking her tongue.