Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  “Until yesterday,” I noted.

  “Yes. Apparently, he’s closed the entire building. Added new hasps and padlocks to the doors. It looks quite permanent. His car is gone too. I’m sure Tracy has an APB out to track him down for questioning, if only because of the timing.”

  Jerry reached for the bag of muffins. The smell of cinnamon and sugar burst into the room as he pulled open the paper wrapper. I could see whole pecans emerging from the muffin tops when he set them on the counter.

  “Let’s split one,” I suggested. “They’re huge.”

  “Sure.” Jerry pulled the biggest chef’s knife from a wooden holder. It seemed much larger than necessary for the job. He turned to me with an evil grin, lifted the knife over his head and glared at me. “Murder and mayhem!” he shouted.

  “Jerry!” I cringed as he lunged at me. But then he laughed, turned and brought the knife down carefully on the muffin, which waited without expression for its execution on the butcher block.

  Chapter 17

  I was so full of lunch and questions that as soon as I returned home I took a walk on the trail that led from my yard through Dead Mule Swamp for about two miles, until it ended at the seasonal extension of South River Road. My thoughts were in a muddle, and the hike settled my stomach, but not my mind. I still couldn’t figure out what the connection might be between the body of Jared Canfield and the very lively Jerry Caulfield. It was confusing, even if coincidental, that the judge whose murder we had talked of reenacting was named Oldfield. Too many fields! And, maybe it would be bad juju to add that to the mix, even for the sake of enticing Cora to the Harvest Ball. If there would be a ball... with the building controlled by the police... possibly without enough people in town to fix food... without being sure we could even get Cora to come... without a cast to dramatize an old murder if Chad didn’t like the idea. And who needed to bring up an old murder? We had a new one right in the building. Unsolved.

  I pushed open the kitchen door and heard the house phone ringing. Fortunately it was in the cradle, so I didn’t have any trouble finding it. I flipped my hair away from my ear and pushed the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Ana Raven?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Yes, who is this?” I asked.

  “A fray-und.”

  I was already frustrated by all the questions I’d just been mulling over. My patience was thin. “Friends generally give their names,” I snapped.

  “You aren’t very observant. Ah’m surprised. You’ve already gotten quite a reputation for solving mysteries around here, and yet you overlooked my message,” she continued.

  “What are you talking about? What kind of message?”

  The voice took on a harsh tone. “In your car, bee-itch. Pay more attention.”

  The connection broke. I looked at the display on the phone. Just like when I had received a threatening call in May, the caller’s number was displayed. The closest thing to write on was a paper napkin, and there was a pen on the counter, so I quickly jotted down the digits. Maybe this time the number will lead us to the caller, I thought. The connection had ended without the tell-tale click of an older mechanical phone, so I suspected the call came from someone’s cell. Funny, how much more attention I was paying to details than I used to, although not according to my mystery caller. I’d get Tracy to check out the number, but first I wanted to see what was in my car.

  I slapped my forehead; I knew one thing that was in the car: a warm carton of cottage cheese. So much for paying attention to details.

  Looking around as I opened the kitchen door again and stepped into the yard, nothing made me suspicious that the caller was hanging around the house. Some lazy afternoon bird songs could be heard from the direction of the river, and two squirrels were chasing each other around a tree at the edge of the woods.

  The Jeep was exactly where I had parked it. No surprises there. I walked to the passenger side and peered in the window, which was open about an inch at the top. When had I rolled it down? On the way to Cherry Hill that morning was my best guess. There was nothing on the seat. I opened the door and looked for the cottage cheese. Lying at an odd angle on top of the carton was a plain piece of computer paper with printing on it. I grabbed a tissue from the packet I kept clipped to the visor and picked it up.

  The note wasn’t hand written, but was computer printed in a plain font in large capital letters.

  “YOU AND YOUR RICH BOYFRIEND BETTER STAY AWAY FROM THAT OLD SCHOOL IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU. LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OTHER GUY. A FRIEND.”

  I put the paper down on the car seat and went back to the house for my purse and keys, and the napkin with the caller’s number on it. Threatening calls and notes were getting tiresome. I was taking this to the police right away.

  Chief Tracy Jarvi was stacking a pile of file folders on her desk as I walked into the city police station. There was just one large room, and no one had a separate office. Tracy and Bob Clay, the all-purpose assistant, had desks on different sides of a low railing, but there was no privacy. The one officer, Kyle Appledorn, was probably out in the police cruiser. Bob nodded at me, and I pushed open the gate in the railing to enter Tracy’s area.

  Tracy looked up. “Ana,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  I guess my face gave away my growing anger. “I seem to attract threatening people,” I said. “Look at these.” I laid the note and napkin on her desk, and started to tell her about my afternoon.

  As I began talking, she held up a finger, then handed the napkin to Bob, and asked him to run the phone number. She slipped the note into a plastic sleeve, and placed it carefully on the corner of her desk.

  When I finished my story, she asked, “You didn’t recognize the caller’s voice?”

  “Not at all. Of course, it wasn’t a very long call, but I’m sure it’s no one I know well,” I responded.

  “Did it sound disguised?”

  “Not really, but how could I tell? I mean, it wasn’t distorted, or weird or anything.”

  “You’re sure it was a woman?”

  “Yes, as sure as one can be these days. But it wasn’t husky like that new real estate agent’s, or androgynous or falsetto. A bit of a Southern accent.”

  “What does this mean in the note, ‘your boyfriend?’” Tracy asked with a smile. “Are you keeping secrets?”

  I sighed. It sure didn’t take long for tongues to start wagging in a small town. “I think she means Jerry Caulfield. We went out to dinner once, and now everyone is leaping to conclusions.”

  Tracy grinned and her blue Nordic eyes twinkled. “Are they leaping in the right direction?”

  “No. I don’t know. He wants me to help plan a big Harvest Ball for the whole community.” By now, so many people had probably heard of Jerry’s potential plan that not having a ball wasn’t even an option. “He’s been nice to me,” I added, remembering that part of the scheme was to let people think we were dating.

  “Is that all?” Tracy asked.

  “What do you mean? I had lunch at his house today,” I added, feeling guilty. “Do you want to know if we’re, um...”

  “No, no,” Tracy’s eyes got wide. “That’s none of my business. At least at this point. But you were together at the school.”

  “We told you. He bought the building on a whim and wanted to look it over. It’s where he wants to have the Ball. Do you think you’ll be done with the crime scene soon? There’s a lot of work to do to get the place ready.” I couldn’t believe I was even asking. Apparently, I was already invested in the plan.

  Tracy shifted in her chair. “I think we’ll be done soon, although it’s the state lab doing the work, so I can’t really speak for them. A Harvest Ball would be fun. It would do a lot to boost local morale.”

  I had a little trouble shifting from the official policewoman to a community-minded Tracy.

  She continued, “Kyle and I would be happy to provide some security. You know, control parking and watch for
anything unusual. Now that the building is a crime scene, the killer might be watching for something we don’t understand yet. Hopefully, we’ll catch the guilty party soon.”

  “Do you think it’s this woman who called me?”

  “A hatchet is an odd choice of weapon for a female, but this whole case is pretty strange. I’ll call Detective Milford about your note. Maybe it’s from the same person who sent the package to Cora.”

  “Maybe.” I had no opinion.

  Bob spoke up from across the room. “Just got word back on that phone number, Chief.”

  “Good. It’s all right to share that information with Ana.”

  “OK, then,” Bob said. “It’s a disposable cell phone. There was one recent call made on it, this afternoon.”

  “That had to be the call to me,” I put in.

  “Yup. It pinged off a tower in Emily City, so that’s not going to narrow the choices down a lot.”

  Tracy looked sad. “Thanks, Bob. Follow up on tracking the purchase.”

  “Already started, but it’s after five. OK if I go home for the day?” Bob asked.

  “Sure,” Tracy said. “Let’s all go home. This case is like an octopus—too many wiggly arms.”

  Chapter 18

  Before I left the police station, I asked Tracy for a photocopy of the threatening note, which she made without taking it out of its plastic sleeve. I thanked her and headed for Jerry’s place.

  “Are you out of food at your house?” he teased as he opened the door. He held a pasta fork in his hand. “I just fed you lunch.”

  “What? No. I’m not even hungry. Look at this.” I thrust the copied threat into his hand as I entered the living room. Admittedly, this house was beginning to feel comfortable to me. But Jerry’s reaction was anything but comfortable. He seemed to expand to fill the room with indignation.

  “Who would do this? When did you get it?”

  “It was put in my car through the window. I left it down about an inch. Probably when I was parked right where I am now, but this morning.” I pointed across the street.

  Jerry walked to a desk, put down the fork and plucked his cell phone off the charger. He began stabbing at it. In a moment he asked, “Is Louisa there?”

  Louisa who? I thought, but I just listened.

  In a moment, he continued, “Lou, this is Jerry. Were you home this morning? Did you happen to see a car parked in front of your house?... Yes, the Jeep that’s there again now. It’s Ana’s. Ana Raven.”

  “Jerry, what are you doing?” I protested.

  He turned to me and put a finger to his lips. I felt chastened and a bit put out. “All right. I thought you might have been home. Someone tampered with her vehicle, and we would like to find out who that was.”

  As he hung up, my exasperation got the better of me. “You can’t just start calling people,” I said. “I’ve been to the police already. They won’t like having someone investigating on their own.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Jerry said, staring at me intently as he poked at the phone again. His voice softened. “Karen? Hello, it’s nice to hear your voice too.”

  Interesting tone.

  “Say, I was wondering if you were home this morning... You were?... Well, yes, she is here again, in fact.” His smile twisted into a conspiratorial grin and he winked at me.

  This is too much! Oh, wait; it’s part of the plan.

  “What? We’re planning a community shindig, some sort of Harvest Ball, to be held later this fall. We’ll have the details worked out soon. I’d never leave you out, Karen. By the way, did you happen to notice anyone stopping near Ana’s car this morning?... Really? That’s interesting, but her office is in the block, so it’s probably not significant.”

  Jerry looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I glared at him, although I wasn’t sure if I was annoyed at his aggressive pursuit of the culprit, or feeling slightly jealous.

  “Thank you. Love you too, Karen. I’ll be sure to let you know when we get a date finalized.”

  “Who was that?” I asked fixing Jerry with what I hoped was a withering glare.

  “My neighbor, Karen Ames. I thought that would be obvious from the conversation.”

  “No, not who you were talking to. I heard you call her Karen. Who did she see?”

  “Whom, Ana, whom did she see.”

  “Whatever. You’re the newspaper man.”

  Jerry’s eyes twinkled. “Are you feeling testy because I told her I love her? I thought our relationship was just a ploy, and you weren’t looking for anything more.”

  My emotions collapsed in a puddle of nerves and remorse. “Oh, Jerry, I’m not. I guess it’s just that all of this drama is getting to me. I’ve had about enough of getting mixed up in local crimes. Why is someone targeting me? I just seem to be in all the wrong places at the right times.” I sniffed.

  Jerry pulled a tissue from a holder on the desk and handed it to me. “Karen is a cousin of mine, second cousin, if it matters.”

  I dabbed at my eyes, which had gotten misty for some reason, and suddenly laughed. I tossed my head and tried to smile. “Whom. Whom did your second cousin see?”

  “My very second cousin saw Virginia Holiday cut through between our houses on the way to her office, my dear. Does that sound suspicious?”

  I laughed harder. “No, it does not! But it reminds me that I’ve wanted to ask why you don’t own that corner. The rest of the block is yours, right?”

  “That’s true. I own it all except that little square. Karen’s is the only other house on the block, and it’s in the family estate. Used to be the carriage house. She rents from me.”

  “How did that squat little block building get separated from your kingdom?”

  “That’s a story in itself, but perhaps not interesting to anyone except me. My great-grandfather sold the corner lot to his best friend, whose son opened a shoe repair shop. That was in 1914. The friend was grateful, but a bit of a tightwad who didn’t trust old Charles. He had legal wording put in the deed that the property couldn’t be sold back to a Caulfield or any close relative for 99 years.”

  “What about Karen? Is she too close?”

  “She is for the purpose of buying the lot. Believe it or not, there have to be five degrees of removal for a sale.”

  “Unbelievable.” I shook my head. “But, that provision runs out soon.”

  “It does. It’s no secret that I’ll be reacquiring the corner and pulling that eyesore down. Even with the new wood shake awning Ms. Holiday put on the front, it’s just an ugly building. I’m hoping no one else cares and tries to drive up the price.”

  “Does she know she bought a building with a limited future?”

  “I’m not sure. As I said, it’s in the deed, but does she realize I really do want to buy it back? I haven’t talked with her about it. I’ve barely seen her, actually, since she first moved in.”

  “I suppose it’s not relevant to this note, anyway. The letter was put in my car, and is focused on the school building,” I said.

  “That would be my conclusion, also.”

  “Jerry, you really shouldn’t be calling people about the note. Tracy’s going to get uptight.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jerry said, draping an arm around my shoulder and steering me toward the back of the house. He picked up the pasta fork. I was glad he seemed willing to give up control of the situation, but I should have known better.

  “Come on in the kitchen and I’ll feed you again. I was draining spaghetti when you knocked.”

  Chapter 19

  I spent the weekend trying to focus on tasks that would need to be accomplished if there was to be any chance of having a Harvest Ball, with a dramatic reenactment, in just a few weeks. Getting the old school building in good enough physical condition was Jerry’s problem, but I promised to take care of a number of the other arrangements.

  Chad hadn’t been very excited at first about changing his plans, which had been for a sp
ooky game of what was essentially hide-and-seek for college kids, but promised to talk to his friends and call me back. As it turned out, some of the girls were a lot more interested in an activity where they could dress up and pretend to be part of something scary, without actually being chased down dark hallways, even by boys they knew. He said they were now eager to receive the details of the story, and hoped that Cora would let them write a script. One of the girls, Brittney, was in the thespian club, and she wanted to give it a try. She was even hoping to get credit for the project in her Directing class.

  I felt a lot more hesitant about calling Cora. I debated between chatting by phone and waiting until Tuesday for our regular work day. In the end, I decided that fretting over it was too stressful, and I punched in Cora’s number on my cell. Despite her hermit-like ways, she had heard of the plans for the Harvest Ball, thanks to news delivered with her groceries by her son, Tom. She wasn’t impressed.

  “That two-faced Jerry Caulfield has some ulterior motive. You mark my words,” she sputtered. But when I shared the idea for the drama featuring Chad and his friends playing the roles of Judge Reuben Oldfield, the murderer Zeke Bradley, and other contemporaries, she thawed like an ice cube on a hot sidewalk. It was so cliché, but it was all I could picture. She reacted as predictably as Jerry had claimed.

  She offered to look up the old records, and open the boxes with any artifacts she had, even more things than the furniture from the room where the murder took place. “I’ll show you everything on Tuesday. Wait until you see what I have!” she said.

  Jerry and I had talked over bowls of spaghetti with clam sauce the night before—it turned out I was hungrier than I thought—about the music. He wanted live music. I wasn’t sure what resources the small town of Cherry Hill and rural Forest County had to offer.

  “You’ll be surprised,” he said, and began jotting down names of groups with their genres: The Blue Grass—bluegrass, Hot Sauce—jazz, Jim Frank and Friends—swing. He couldn’t recall the names of the groups for light classical and soft rock but had run ads for all of them in the paper at one time or another, so he knew he could locate them.