Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  “Very impressive. So the river is deep enough here for motor boats?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Lots of good fishing holes in this section. In the summer, the stream is filled with boaters. But very few river cottages have an actual boathouse, which is another nice feature of this one. It’s more common on lakes.”

  “Where do cottagers keep their motor boats?”

  “Most people just store them on the trailers, up at road level. Then they drive to a public access to put them in. Of course, small boats like rowboats and canoes can be gotten down to the water and just left on the bank. Above high water level, of course.”

  “Of course,” I echoed. All sorts of possibilities for moving a body now coursed through my brain. Where were the public access points, in addition to Jalmari? Wouldn’t someone be more likely to take a body to one of them, instead of dragging or carrying it down all these stairs? Or would the stairs be an acceptable trade off for a higher guarantee of privacy? Keeping a body in this locked boathouse for a few days could explain why it hadn’t been found immediately, but that meant the murderer would have had keys. I glanced at Virginia and found her staring directly into my eyes.

  “Time to go,” she said. “I’ve got another showing at three. And you can stop playing games. I know you and your son have no intention of buying this place.”

  We began the long climb back to the top of the bluff.

  Chapter 30

  Back in town, I stopped at Volger’s Grocery. It seemed more likely to me that Adele would know what kind of medication Cenestin was, rather than Cora. Virginia Holiday’s attitude had made me suspicious. Almost every woman has some sort of medication they are taking, or some bottle of an outdated prescription lingering in a purse. Why did the realtor seem upset that I had seen this particular one?

  There were no customers in the store, but Suzi Preston was rearranging small items near the checkout lane. She looked up and greeted me. Since she was wearing a green apron with “Volger’s” embroidered on it, I gathered that Adele had hired her after the Pine Tree closed so abruptly.

  I found Adele standing in the office holding a pile of printed sheets of paper in her left hand and slowly checking off items on another paper with a sparkly purple pencil. She looked up when I knocked on the door frame and smiled.

  “Ana! How nice to see you!” She exclaimed. She laid the pencil and papers down, and sat heavily in her chair. Although Adele wasn’t really fat, she was certainly matronly with a generous middle-age spread. She pointed at a tall stool by the door. “Take a load off your feet.”

  “Thanks. I think I will.” I sat.

  “You look like you’ve been up to something,” Adele suggested, squinting at me.

  I never understood how this woman managed to take one look at people and figure out what was going on inside their heads. And then, she usually managed to verify her suspicions by convincing them to reveal specific details. Sometimes it put me off, even though I liked Adele. But today, I was more than willing to discuss my adventures with her.

  “Hmmm,” I pondered aloud. “Where shall I begin? I’ve been snooping around a bit. I’ll admit it.”

  “Do tell,” Adele said, with a conspiratorial lift of both an eyebrow and her voice at the end of the phrase.

  For the better part of an hour I explained how I’d just spent the day. We talked about the possible ways to spirit a body out of town. It was common knowledge by now that it had probably been dragged down the basement hallway on a large piece of cardboard that was left by the door, but then what?

  We agreed that it would take someone quite strong, or else two people, to pull a body up the stairs and load it in a vehicle. It must have been transported; the river just wasn’t deep enough behind the school. We searched on her office computer for river level monitoring station data, and learned that at all three locations closest to Cherry Hill—Centerline Road, just upstream from the mill race, and Jalmari—the river was shallow, rarely exceeding two feet even during spring floods. The school was between the old mill site and Jalmari, but much nearer the race. But the river between Cherry Hill and Jalmari at Chippewa Lodge had to be much deeper for frequent use by power boats. Technology didn’t seem to be much help in answering our questions.

  If someone had dragged a body through the loose fence section it also seemed likely some fibers, or flesh, or something would have caught on the rough and rusty wire. Surely the crime techs would have checked for that.

  And with the amount of blood involved, the corpse must have been wrapped in something, since no blood had been found anywhere except the school basement. At least not that we’d heard about. Since Adele kept one ear glued to the police scanner, as did many other townspeople, unless law enforcement people were extremely tight with their facts most details made it into public consciousness.

  I began to tell Adele about the beautiful Chippewa Lodge, but she cut me off.

  “Isn’t that quite the place?” she interrupted. “It was built by Tor Pedersen, before 1900. Opa, my großvater, used to talk about playing there with the Pedersen children.” She looked at me closely. “They would swim there all summer, so I know the water is much deeper than two feet. Did you find something interesting?”

  “Not really.” I sighed. “But I didn’t have time to look at anything closely. The boat was pulled up into the hoist. I couldn’t see in it at all.”

  “That might be worth another look when you are alone,” she urged.

  “I don’t see how. The boathouse is locked up tight. Listen, here’s a question I bet you do have the answer to,” I posed.

  Adele perked right up. She liked having answers.

  I told her about Virginia Holiday spilling her purse on the floor by accident, and the odd way she’d acted when I saw the medicine vial. “The label said ‘Cenestin.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Sure, but it’s not very mysterious,” Adele said. “It’s estrogen. HRT—Hormone Replacement Therapy treatment.”

  “That’s all?” I said. “Huh.”

  “Maybe she’s embarrassed about it,” Adele suggested. “She’s not exactly a raving beauty. Kind of gaunt, you know.”

  “One thing’s for sure. She’s older than I realized. When I was close to her today that fact was obvious.”

  “That’s got to be it. She’s aging and doesn’t like the process very much. Realtors have to sell themselves as well as houses.”

  “That reminds me,” I added. “She said something about having relatives who lived here in the past. Do you know who that might be?”

  “Now, that I find very interesting.” Adele nodded vigorously. “I have no idea. There are no Holidays in the county that I know of. She must have come by that name through marriage somewhere.”

  I remembered something else I wanted to ask Adele. “I’ve been thinking about Mavis Fanning, what you said about her interest in the old school.”

  “And?”

  “You know the crank call I got was made on a phone she bought, right?” I asked.

  “She’s the person who called you?”

  “Maybe. It didn’t sound like her. Her daughter had the phone last, but no one knows were it is now. Anyway, I wondered if you knew any more about why she wanted that building.”

  Suzi stuck her head into the office. “May I leave early today?” she requested. “Things are really dead out here. I straightened stuff up, but I could use the time to study if there’s nothing else.”

  “Sure, honey. Go ahead,” Adele said. “Tomorrow’s Friday. Come at nine; you don’t have class on Friday, right? There will be steady traffic pretty much all day.”

  “No Friday classes; I can be here.”

  I was surprised. “I thought you graduated in June,” I said.

  “I did. Now I’m a freshman at Sturgeon Community College. It’s the closest place,” she added.

  “What are you studying?” I asked.

  “Just general stuff for right now, till I decide. Mom thinks we should
expand the catering business, but I’m not sure I want to cook my whole life, and I’m no math whiz. She doesn’t want me keeping the books; that’s for sure,” Suzi said with a light laugh.

  “Good luck,” I offered.

  “Thanks.”

  Adele pointed at the wall. “Don’t forget to check out.”

  Suzi turned and pulled a manila card from a rack on the wall. She picked up the purple pencil and began to write, but the lead broke. She stepped around the corner to use the sharpener that was mounted just outside the office door.

  “I haven’t been able to figure that out at all,” Adele said over the grinding of the pencil sharpener, turning the conversation back to Mavis. “She’s not really involved in real estate dealing.”

  Suzi came back in the office. “You’re talking about Mrs. Fanning, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mavis Fanning, Harold’s wife,” Adele said, in a tone designed to extract more information.

  “She’s really into fitness stuff.”

  “We know that, but lots of people exercise,” Adele pointed out.

  “True,” Suzi agreed. “But she actually teaches Yoga classes at the college in the evenings, and does Reiki.”

  “You’re not serious?” Adele said forcefully.

  “I am. She wears all those fancy clothes in public, but the way she keeps that killer body is exercise. I think the classes are extra, like for the community, not part of the regular curriculum.”

  “Thank you for telling us,” Adele said, as if this were some huge revelation.

  “Sure,” Suzi said with a shrug. “It’s no big secret.”

  Chapter 31

  Adele treated us to cold bottles of pop and some sandwich cookies while we discussed the importance, if any, of Mavis’ apparent obsession with health and physique. I remembered that Jerry had said something about Harold Fanning when he told me he’d bought the school building. Or did the name come up just because Harold was the city manager? I couldn’t remember. Would the Fannings have any reason to want me to stay away from the building? Maybe they knew about the blood in the basement and wanted to forestall anyone else finding it for as long as possible. The longer one could keep a forensics team away from a crime scene, the less able they would be to pinpoint dates and times, we decided.

  Although the call about the note in my car had come from a Fanning-owned phone, it wasn’t clear at all where that phone was, and it didn’t seem as if Mavis was the last one to have it in her possession.

  And, as far as anyone knew, there was simply no connection between Jared Canfield and anyone from Cherry Hill, except a business card from Holiday Realty. He was probably thinking about buying a house, so what? Or, did he plan to move here, and someone needed to prevent that from happening so badly the only alternative was to kill him? Who was he?

  Where did the hatchet sent, or not sent, to Cora fit in? It was a complete muddle of possibilities. Adele and I gave up trying to figure it out, and I headed for home when she closed the store at six.

  One thing was certain; Jerry and I needed to get serious about making more plans for the Harvest Ball. As soon as I walked in the door, I called him. Since the Cherry Hill Herald came out on Wednesdays, he was usually less busy at the end of the week.

  “Jerry, we have to talk. Soon,” I blurted without any preliminaries.

  “Great!” Jerry sounded upbeat and excited. “How about breakfast at my house tomorrow? Fairly early.”

  Early is not my time of day. “That soon?” I stammered.

  “It will be perfect. We aren’t doing anything at all toward the goal of making Cora jealous. We haven’t had any dates, or been seen together enough. Breakfast is intimate. I’ll make sure Tom sees you here. Other people should see you leave here after we’re done, too.”

  It was probably true that if Tom saw me at Jerry’s, Cora would hear about it. Tom wasn’t a gossip, but he did visit with his mother regularly. She didn’t drive, and he did most of her shopping. I agreed, groaning inwardly, to be at Jerry’s house at six-thirty the next morning.

  The sun wasn’t yet coloring the horizon when I pulled out of my driveway. My eyes were sticky, despite the fact that I’d showered. This was going above and beyond for Cora’s sake as far as I was concerned, and I didn’t even know if it was going to work.

  I arrived at Jerry’s front door at the assigned hour. He was wearing pajamas with a rich, navy blue satin robe over them. He stepped out onto the porch, grasped my arms, leaned over and kissed me warmly, then pulled me into the house.

  “Jerry! What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “Plenty of neighbors are up getting ready for work. That should get some tongues wagging.” He grinned sheepishly. “You didn’t mind too much, did you?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t want people thinking we’re sleeping together.”

  “They’ll think that anyway. Come have breakfast.”

  He led the way to his modern kitchen. Since I’d had several other opportunities to visit with Jerry in his home, I was no longer intimidated by the expensive décor and appliances. The custom, light wood cabinets with black trim, and gray granite countertops were spotless, as always. The programmable coffeepot had filled its carafe with hot brown liquid, and the smell alone made my head start to feel better. I pulled a stool out from beneath the edge of the center island and sat down, resting my face in my hands.

  “I hope you appreciate this,” I said.

  “I do, believe me I do,” Jerry responded, filling a large black mug with the coffee and placing it in front of me. Next he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice and a carton of eggs. “Eggs, or French toast?” he asked.

  “Oooh, French toast. I never bother to make that for myself,” I admitted.

  “I’ll just get dressed and then be back to fix your meal,” Jerry said.

  After we ate, for the next three hours, Jerry and I discussed every aspect of the Harvest Ball we could think of. Perhaps most importantly, we decided on a firm date. It would be the second Saturday in October, leaving plenty of time for parents and schools to focus on Halloween after it was over. Jerry said he’d get posters printed immediately and start running an open invitation in the next week’s paper.

  He nixed the idea of sending private snob invitations because it was too much work, and it didn’t really promote community unity.

  As soon as businesses were opening for the day, he got on the phone, and quickly collected an impressive list of commitments for donations of decorating supplies, and loans of folding chairs and serving tables. Probably the greatest coup was Sherri Sorenson’s promise of genuine wheat shocks, harvested with an antique reaper she’d found and had restored in the company shop.

  I shared my idea about making the front hallway into a sidewalk café, and he liked the concept, but wasn’t sure where we would find the tables and chairs to make it work. We agreed to keep the idea on the back burner, without abandoning it just yet.

  The live music defaulted to bluegrass because the band was available on that date, and Jerry convinced The Blue Grass to reduce their fee for performing. By virtue of his standing in the county and his authoritative voice, which seemed to make people want to agree with him, he accomplished incredible feats of persuasion.

  While Jerry was doing all this, I tried to call Chad from my cell phone. All I got was his voice mail, but I asked him to let me know if Brittney was working on the skit, and I told him the date of the Ball.

  About eight o’clock, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Just as Jerry had promised, Tom Baker arrived to witness Jerry and me tête-à-tête.

  Tom yelled, “I’m stoppin’ by like you asked. Don’t you want the presses cleaned tomorrow?”

  “I do. I do,” Jerry answered him. “But I think I’m going to run some posters for this Ball later today. Do you want some extra hours helping with the set-up?”

  “Sure thing. I finish at Sorenson’s at four this afternoon. Sherri’s doin’ a great job ma
naging the place and Cliff’s brother Karl is moving here next year to help. I don’t miss Kevin Teeter one little tiddly-wink. Will that be OK? I can be here by half past.”

  “Sounds great, Tom.” He turned to me and winked. “Ana, don’t you think something Art Deco with a gold border design would catch people’s attention? Cora will like the look, too.”

  “Um, I guess. I’ll leave that up to you,” I said.

  “You be sure to tell your mother that’s what we’re doing,” Jerry told Tom, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll save her a clean copy for her archives. This is going to be the event of the decade. See you at four-thirty.”

  By ten o’clock we’d accomplished so much my head was spinning. Jerry sent me on my way with two sandwiches, a plastic bag of potato chips, and a travel mug full of coffee. “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Your participation is critical to make this work. I owe you way more than a box lunch.”

  At least he didn’t feel the need to kiss me when I left.

  Chapter 32

  Although the sun must have come up while I was inside Jerry’s house, you couldn’t prove it by sight. The day was nothing like Thursday, which had been sunny and cheerful. The day before, the light reflecting on fallen leaves had made it look as though the trees were casting golden shadows. Now, the sky was lead gray and bleak. There were no shadows, and everything looked flat. But the looks of the sky had no bearing on my plan for the next several hours. I drove directly to Chippewa Lodge.

  Since the house was for sale, I had every right to be there, looking around outside. Whether Virginia Holiday believed me or not, I had told her Chad and I were interested in purchasing the property, and she couldn’t prove otherwise, so there was no need to be furtive. I put my small glovebox flashlight in my jacket pocket, exited the Jeep and looked around. As I had hoped, no one else was there, at any of the three cottages.