Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  “Chains will probably appeal to the young people, and it’s perfect for the Halloween season. Maybe Zeke can appear out of the basement at the end and give everyone a good scare.” I paused at looked directly at my friend. “Cora, you’ll come to the Harvest Ball, won’t you? You don’t want to miss this.”

  Cora glanced sideways toward the door. “I might,” she said with a little smile. “Can’t let my museum pieces go unescorted, can I?”

  Chapter 23

  I stayed at Cora’s a few more hours, trying to concentrate on the database, but my mind kept drifting away to invent scenes for the skit. It was going to be difficult to leave the creative process to the kids.

  Cora copied pages from the scrapbooks and newspaper stories. She also took pictures of the furniture, pistol and nightshirt. Compared to her usual quiet self, she was positively chatty, continually explaining connections with the people and places from the Judge’s story to current Cherry Hill residents and locations. By noon I was brain-weary and hungry. I collected all the newly digitized information into one folder and emailed it piecemeal to Chad. That took several tries. Internet connections in the back corners of Forest County are not known for their speed. Then I headed for town.

  By that time it was past one o’clock, and I thought I’d grab a bite to eat and drop in on Detective Milford. Being at Cora’s had reminded me of the package that had begun this long, strange sequence of events. I wanted to know if there was any more information about where it came from. I wasn’t sure he’d tell me, but I was going to ask, just as soon as I got something in my stomach.

  I did forget that the Pine Tree Diner was closed. And that was another of the goofy things that had happened since this—whatever it was—all began. What had made Jack Panther suddenly lock his doors and take off? Where had he gone? Wasn’t anyone interested in finding out why he had disappeared on the same day the actual crime scene was located? There were a lot of unexplained coincidences swirling around like the golden leaves in the breeze. It seemed as impossible to put the pieces of the story together as it would be to try to restore the leaves to the correct branches.

  Since I was on a focused mission, I didn’t want to spend an hour chatting with Adele at the grocery. Instead of turning right, I pulled the wheel left onto Main Street and parked in front of the small drugstore. I had no idea how it managed to remain open, but in addition to pills and bandages, toiletries and small discounted novelties, they sold candy bars and single bottles of soda pop. It wasn’t a lunch to brag about, but it would have to do. The sugar set my teeth on edge, and I chastised myself for thinking this was better than a tub of coleslaw, even if I would have had to visit with Adele for a while.

  By the time I had finished my snack and thought this through, I was already at the Sheriff’s Department. I entered the plain building and asked to speak to Detective Milford. I didn’t have too much confidence that he would talk to me, but it was worth a try. The deputy at the desk made a call in response to my request, and in just a few seconds he was leading me back through the cold, dreary block hallways to Milford’s office.

  The detective was waiting for me, standing behind his desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Raven. Do you have some new information for me? Maybe another strange event to report?” He pointed at the plain unoccupied metal chair and sat down in his more comfortable, but worn, padded one.

  “No, no. Nothing new,” I said. “I think we have enough mysteries going on already, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Are you having any luck tracking our hatchet in a carton?” I tried to sound lighthearted.

  “Our hatchet? You feel some ownership of it? Now, I find that extremely interesting, considering where it came from.” He leaned forward.

  “Oh! You’ve tracked down the sender. That’s great. Can you tell me who it is?”

  “Maybe it was you.” Milford cocked his head to the side and scratched the coarse gray hair behind his right ear.

  “What? I didn’t send that box. I found it in Cora’s office,” I protested.

  “Did you?”

  “Of course I did. She told you herself it came in the mail.”

  “Now there’s the problem, Ms. Raven. We don’t actually know where it came from, but it didn’t come in the mail.”

  “But...”

  “There are really several problems with it. One of them was obvious right away to anyone who lives here.”

  “Cora didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.” I could hear a slight whine creep into my tone.

  “Yes, and I find that odd, too.” He paused and his eyes bored into mine, as if searching for pieces that were out of place.

  “So, what’s wrong with it?”

  “Most telling is that the address is all wrong.”

  “Because there is no actual Historical Society? That was part of the address, right? But everyone knows that’s just Cora.”

  “They do, for a fact. But Cora doesn’t live in Cherry Hill.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She lives at least ten miles south of town, as the crow flies, even longer by road. Her actual post office address is Thorpe.”

  “Oh.” I thought a minute. “But wouldn’t a small town postal service just deliver it anyway?”

  “Cherry Hill rural routes don’t go that far out. Perhaps some individual might have recognized where it went and been kind enough to take it out there.”

  I brightened and held out a hand. “That must be what happened.”

  “But it didn’t. No one who works for the Cherry Hill Post Office has ever seen that box.”

  “It had a postmark, though. Chicago. I saw that myself. But the date was smudged. Didn’t you send it to a lab or some place where they could clean it up and read it? Then you’d know where it was mailed.” This seemed like preaching to the choir, but I’d seen the evidence of a mailing with my own eyes.

  Milford pushed his chair back and put his hands behind his head, see-sawing on the back legs. “Now that’s another interesting thing.”

  I continued to gaze at him. He didn’t say anything, so I raised an eyebrow and opened my eyes wide. “Well?”

  The chair crashed back to the hard floor. “It did have a Chicago postmark,” he admitted.

  “I knew it!” I gloated.

  He leaned toward me slightly, matching my pop-eyed gaze. “From 1998.”

  “1998?”

  Detective Milford positively smirked. “The wrapping paper was re-used from some earlier mailing, and we haven’t found the information on it to be very helpful. If you see what I mean.”

  “There was no address under the label with Cora’s name?”

  “It had been cut out. Didn’t notice that did you, Miss Amateur Detective?” he said sarcastically.

  “So, somebody left that package by the mailbox.” I jerked upright with the realization. “That’s a little scary. They were right there near her house. The person that killed Jared Canfield... no, wait. That wasn’t the same hatchet.”

  “You begin to see why we are finding this case, if it’s only one case, difficult to solve,” Milford drawled.

  Chapter 24

  I needed time to think. There were basically two locales involved in the murder of Jared Canfield if you left out the hatchet sent to Cora that apparently wasn’t connected to the crime at all, except perhaps by implication. They were Jalmari and the old school, connected by the Petite Sauble River, in which Canfield’s body had been found.

  Leaving the Sheriff’s office, almost without thinking I turned west and followed US 10 until I reached Jalmari Road, which I took and headed straight north to the river, and to what was left of the small town. There was no longer any village limit sign at all, just a billboard advertising the Jalmari Canoe Livery, which was almost the only remaining business. The gas station and pizza parlor were across the river, almost out of sight behind trees which lined the banks. I pulled into a deserted strip parking lot in front of the log-faced livery. Multi-colore
d kayaks had been leaned against the logs, creating an appealing storefront. Maybe they were already closed for the season, but I thought I saw lights on inside. The front door opened inward when I turned the knob, and a bell jingled—a cheerful tinkle.

  As I surveyed the inside of the building, I realized this was much more than just a place to rent canoes. It appeared to be a full outfitter, with kayaks, canoes, tents, gear, and clothing for sale. I was surprised to find such a going establishment in a locale that was so out of the way. I’d learned in July that there was a large lake on the other side of Cherry Hill, known as Turtle Lake, where water sports were popular, and it seemed to me this business would have been more likely to succeed over there.

  A young woman approached me. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I thought you just rented canoes, and had no idea you sold a full line of outdoor gear. I’m very surprised.”

  The girl smiled. She looked young enough to be a college student. “Yes, we have some advertising issues. Actually, we expanded this summer. My husband and I bought the livery business, and hope to capitalize on the proximity of the Thousand Lakes State Forest. Are you into quiet outdoor sports? Maybe we have something you could use.”

  “I might be interested in making a purchase some other time,” I offered hesitantly. “I really just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” the girl said.

  She didn’t sound annoyed, so I was encouraged. “My name is Ana Raven. I live over on East South River Road.” I paused, knowing my thoughts weren’t too tactful, but wanting answers. “Actually, I would think a sports business would do better over there, near Turtle Lake, if I’m not being too pushy.”

  She laughed. “We think so too. But Shane and I just bought the livery this spring, and this is where it is. We hope to eventually have two locations. By the way, I’m Alex. Our last name is Clarkson.” She held out her hand.

  Her grip was firm but not forceful. I liked her instantly. Encouraged, I continued, “I know you can paddle down the river from the lake for some distance, but I haven’t tried to make it all the way to my property. Someone at the lake told me the river might be clogged with snags. Do you know anything about how far it’s clear?”

  “We’ve been too busy to explore upstream from Cherry Hill this summer. But we’ve paddled on the downstream side quite a bit.”

  Questions suddenly jumped into my mind. “I guess you can’t take a boat through town, though? There’s the mill race.”

  “Just a couple of blocks portage can get you around the race,” Alex said, “but the water is real shallow after that for a mile or so. In mid-summer the river is very low.”

  My other question was the important one. “I’m very curious about the body that washed up here. If the water was low, how could it have been carried very far?”

  Alex wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t much fun. We had to stay closed for three days right at the end of the season, while the police did whatever it is they do.”

  “I know,” I commiserated. “I was here the day they found him. I saw all that ‘police line’ yellow tape.”

  “We lost a lot of business that week from summer people who wanted a final adventure while closing up their cottages. To answer your question, the water is higher now. We had some good rain early in the month. I’m not sure how far upstream a body could have come from. At least a few miles, if it didn’t catch on branches, or get caught in an eddy and pushed to the outer bank of a bend.”

  “Why did they find the body here?” I asked. “I mean, if there are so many places it could get hung up?”

  “Probably two reasons,” Alex speculated. “The river widens out, so the current does diminish. I’ve been told that’s why the town was built here in the first place. The river could be forded before there was a bridge; now it’s been dredged for boats to pass through. But also, there are people here. We saw it and called the police. The body was snagged on that tree near the public access. Shane actually pulled it, him, ashore.” Alex stared into the distance with the corners of her mouth drawn down, obviously recalling the unpleasant experience.

  “That makes sense,” I agreed.

  “Although there are cottages along the river, most of them are only occupied in the summer. I suppose some paddler might have spotted the body, but I guess no one did. It was mid-week, after all,” Alex pointed out. “Did you know him?”

  “Oh, no,” I quickly answered, shaking my head. “But I’ve gotten connected to the whole mess through a strange set of coincidences. Jerry Caulfield—he owns the newspaper—and I found the crime scene.” Now it was my turn to shudder with a gruesome memory.

  “At the old school building, right?” Alex asked, suddenly curious.

  “Yes. Are you from the area? Do you know where it is?”

  “Only sort of. On the edge of town, I think. Shane and I are from Sault Ste. Marie. But we wanted to go into business promoting quiet sports, and there are so many rivers here, and the state forest. When we saw that this livery was for sale, it really seemed like the perfect place to begin.”

  “I hope you do well,” I offered with a smile. “I didn’t realize this was such a popular area for recreation.”

  “It’s trending. We’ve got a Facebook page, and lots of people from the city come here in the summer. We just need to tap into that potential business. Convince them they can get high-quality goods right here. The area needs some other businesses that cater to tourism, though.”

  “There isn’t much,” I agreed, thinking about the current dearth of restaurants. “Are you going to stay open all winter? There can’t be much traffic here now.”

  Alex glanced at the closed entry door. “We think we might as well stay open. Shane and I made a small apartment in the rear. We have to keep the electric on and part of the building heated anyway. We’ll hold out till Christmas for sure. An order of cross-country skis should be arriving this week, and some sweaters and parkas, stuff like that.”

  “Skis? That sounds like fun. I’ve never tried it.” I mused aloud.

  “Oh! We can teach you.” Alex clapped her hands like a child. “Classes. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll talk to Shane. Would you pay for something like that?”

  “I think I would,” I said, picturing the trail through the swamp and the extension of the road past my house that I knew wouldn’t be plowed in the winter.

  “There are trails through Thousand Lakes. I wonder if local people use them in the winter,” Alex said.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just moved here in the spring myself.”

  Alex ducked her head sheepishly. “I know,” she said. “Your name has been in the paper a couple of times. I recognized it when you introduced yourself. I should have told you.”

  I laughed. “It’s OK. I’m infamous, but not by choice. I really would like to live a quiet, private life. Have you heard about the Harvest Ball Jerry is planning?”

  “No,” she said.

  “It’s going to be in the middle of October, but not in conflict with Halloween—the kids’ Trick or Treating, you know. We really have to set the actual date soon.”

  “We?”

  “Oh, well, Jerry has me pretty thoroughly wrapped up in helping with the plans.” The secret motive to surprise Cora flitted through my mind. “It’ll be open to everyone. Come! The more people you meet, the more business you’re sure to get.”

  “I’ll tell Shane, and we’ll be there.” Alex said.

  After looking around at the goods for sale and taking a business card, I promised Alex I’d be back to do some Christmas shopping. For one thing, there were clothes I knew would appeal to Chad. I gave her my phone number and asked her to call me when the skis came in; she eagerly promised to let me know as soon as they were ready.

  From Jalmari, I drove slowly along the winding West South River Road back toward Cherry Hill. It was the route Chad and I had taken in the opposite direction the
day Jared Canfield’s body was discovered. I passed the driveway leading to the large, white and green cottage that was for sale. Virginia Holiday’s Realty sign was still at the corner, although it had been knocked slightly askew. That was a beautiful summer house, I recalled. I wanted to see the inside.

  Within a quarter hour, even driving at a casual pace, I reached Cherry Hill. As I passed the old school, it was obvious that Jerry had summoned teams of workers to the site. The place was swarming with vans displaying logos of various construction firms. Two men in hardhats and coveralls were carrying a large pane of taped glass toward some scaffolding. There was such a loud banging noise coming from the building, I could hear it even with my car windows closed.

  I smiled, partly at the unlikely success of Jerry’s plan to win Cora back, and partly at the amount of effort and money he was pouring into the project. He was getting things done. I’d give him that.

  Without stopping in town, I arrived at my house just after four p.m. I was looking forward to a cozy evening with a good book.

  Chapter 25

  The minute I pulled into my driveway, a thin young man wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans jumped out from behind the large maple tree near the road and raised his arms. I was more than a little startled and stamped on the Jeep’s brakes, causing the metal to squeal and the tires to send a small cloud of fine brown dirt flying. The boy was grinning from ear to ear. After a moment my heart stopped pounding; I recognized the intruder as Jimmie Mosher. He was as skinny as when I had met him in May, but perhaps not quite so gaunt-looking. And I was sure he was taller.

  His bicycle was leaning against the support post for the upstairs porch, which explained how he had gotten to my house. He immediately ran to the driver’s side door and wrenched it open. He grabbed the frame and leaned into the car, peering right into my face. This certainly wasn’t the almost shy boy I’d gotten to know earlier in the year.

  “Ana! You won’t believe what Mrs. Volger and Mrs. Preston are doing!” He was practically yelling.