by Jeff High
Before the afternoon was over, I’d tied up the loose ends of the second matter with a visit out to Ice Cave Road. My final stop before home was the Foxes’ house.
I arrived home a little past five and noticed Connie’s car out front. Whether intentionally or not, we had seen each other only in passing for the past week and had spent no time in real conversation. I came through the front door and found her sitting in the living room watching one of the financial news channels. Rhett was lying cozily at her feet. As I entered, she remained fixated on the TV and spoke without looking up.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm. The Dow is dropping like a rock. I need to get online and move some assets around.”
I looked at her for a moment, and then at the TV. With a military stride I walked over and hit the off button and turned to address Connie face-to-face. “Constance Grace Pillow, we need to talk.”
Connie lowered her head, amused, and looked at me above the tops of her gold-inlay glasses. “I see. And what might we need to talk about?”
I walked to the far side of the room and grabbed a small wooden chair that I placed in front of Connie. I took a seat and rubbed my chin for a moment. “I need to understand something.”
A cunning smile tweaked the corners of Connie’s mouth. “Well, well, Doctor. Ask away. I see you’ve learned my full Christian name. No big secret there. I would have told you if you had asked.”
“Watervalley Signal, valedictorian, class of 1968.”
Connie looked away, her mouth pressed tightly, suppressing a wide grin. “So I guess you saw the picture. My heavens, that was back in my Afro Sheen days. Just where did you find one of those old relics?”
“Coffee table, John Harris’s. When he came down with the flu he asked me to make a house call. He must have gotten the annual out for some reason. Anyway, I saw it sitting there and thumbed through it for a few minutes. So, you want to fill in some gaps for me?”
“Such as?”
“Connie, look. Actually, it’s no big surprise to me that you were valedictorian of your high school class. Watervalley’s average IQ is probably not equal to the square root of yours. But what I don’t understand is why you never did anything with all that mental horsepower you have.”
Connie laughed out loud. “You’ve got it all wrong, Doctor. At least partly wrong. True, I never did go off to college. But I’ve put what gifts the good Lord gave me to great use. I have four brilliant children, all of whom I homeschooled for part of their education. You already know one’s a nurse. Two of the others have PhDs in chemistry and philosophy respectively. And my oldest, Rayford, works for Goldman Sachs in New York. He manages one of their bond funds. I’m proud of him just like the rest, though I wish I could see him more often.”
I shook my head. “Well, that’s all fine and good, Connie. But I don’t get it. Don’t you understand the limitations you’ve put on your life? You get by on your husband’s pension and work as a housekeeper. It seems you could have done so much more.”
Connie flashed a mischievous smile and straightened the cuffs on her blouse. She spoke in an unaffected tone, never making eye contact with me. “Not everything is as it appears. Who do you think taught Rayford how to manage a bond fund? My portfolio has more zeros than you have letters in your last name.”
“Hold it. You’re telling me you’re rich?”
Connie looked up at the ceiling, pondering her answer. “Conservatively wealthy would be more exact. It runs into several million.”
I was astounded. “Then why, why do you work as a housekeeper?”
“Because it is what I choose to do, Dr. Bradford. I enjoy the things money can buy, but I have all that I need. I love this town. It has its eccentrics, its simpletons, and its fair share of just plain mean people, but it also has a lot of good folks too—kind, reliable, and good-hearted. I have history with them, a shared life. We needed a doctor and you needed a housekeeper. It’s that simple.”
I was awash in amazement. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You can start by saying where you’ve been all afternoon. I called over to the clinic to ask Nancy what time you’d be home and she said you had left for the day. That was hours ago. So?” She tilted her head down, looking at me above her glasses again.
“I went to talk to the sheriff about a couple of things.”
“And?”
I grinned. I knew Connie was going to pry the whole story out of me eventually.
“I got it worked out with the sheriff that none of the merchants Will Fox stole from are going to press any charges. Will has to show them how he did it and help them improve their security systems. Besides, Warren says all of them feel a little like a heel pressing charges, given the circumstances.”
“What about the money that’s owed?”
I hesitated. “Let’s just say that’s been taken care of.”
“Taken care of?”
“Yes, taken care of.”
Connie readily gathered that it was not a matter for further discussion. “All right, fine. What was the other thing?”
“What other thing?”
“Stop holding back. The other thing you needed to talk with Sheriff Thurman about?”
“Oh, that. Well, I just wanted to make sure that charges were not going to get pressed in another matter.”
“Would this have something to do with you going out to Ice Cave Road today?”
“What, do you have a tracking device on my car or something?”
“No, I was just coming back into town from putting flowers on Mr. Thompson’s grave and saw you driving on the north road out in that direction. The rest was a guess. Anyway, I presume you wanted to make sure no charges were being pressed regarding those deadly Scotch bottles. I heard the sheriff confiscated all twenty-five of them.”
“Actually, not exactly. Toy and I had a long talk when I confronted him on Sunday. He was pretty shaken up when he realized the Scotch bottles were the carriers of the flu. He took me back into the cave. Showed me everything. That was after I confronted him about Sarah Akins.”
“Sarah Akins?”
“Yeah, Toy is the father of Sam, her little boy.”
“He admitted to it?”
“Yep.”
“How in the world did you figure that out?”
“It first occurred to me at Knox’s funeral. I saw Sarah sitting waiting in her car about a block away from the funeral home. She was dressed to attend, but for some reason she was nervous. She seemed undecided about whether to go in. Sarah wasn’t related to Knox, but the thought hit me: what if Sam was? After that, there were some small clues. I also noticed at Knox’s funeral that Toy had a hitchhiker’s thumb. So does Sam. It’s pretty rare and Watervalley is a small place, so the odds seemed pretty good.”
“And you figured it out from that?” Connie’s tone was disbelieving.
I hesitated. “Not exactly. There was more.”
“Mmm-hmm. Keep going, Doctor.”
I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. “It was the flu. Sarah got it; Sam didn’t. Toy handled all the bottles. He was in the middle of all the cabinet factory workers with the flu, but he didn’t get sick. That level of exposure and no flu couldn’t be a coincidence. Maybe something in their genome makes them immune. There’s no way to know. But it bugged me and I started digging a little deeper. That’s when I discovered the other link. Toy gave blood in the fall blood drive and I had Sam’s medical records. They’re both AB negative, which happens in less than one percent of the population. Again, it was a huge coincidence for such a little town. I wasn’t completely sure, so I bluffed him a little and he opened right up.”
“Well, Sherlock, you may have missed your calling. Anyway, what’s this got to do with the sheriff?”
“You remember Sarah was underage when she got pregnant, and Toy was twenty-four. Technically, under Tennessee law, that’s statutory rape. She’s eighteen now and the two of them want to get married, quit hiding everything. But they’ve been afraid Sher
iff Thurman might still want to press charges.”
“So I take it he agreed not to.”
“He did. Saw no need to stir up trouble for the two newlyweds.”
“Praise the Lord for all that. I’m glad to see Toy McAnders is coming around to being a solid citizen. That boy’s been a little too crafty and secretive for too long.”
I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny now?”
“I think Toy wants to be a responsible husband and father. And I can personally attest that he has a generous side to him. But I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s up for sainthood just yet.”
“Why’s that?”
“You said that the sheriff confiscated all twenty-five bottles from the cave.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“When Toy took me back into the catacombs there were over two hundred bottles in the old distillery room. Sounds like a few of them vanished before the sheriff got there.”
“Oh, you don’t mean to tell me?”
“I wouldn’t worry. Toy’s smart enough to make sure the bottles get disinfected. Besides, for him I guess they’re like a family heirloom.”
Connie was not pleased with this conclusion. “Humph. I just hope you’re right.”
I smiled. “Only time will tell. Anyway, it was a good afternoon. Good to get those things settled.”
“Sounds like you’re tying up loose ends, Dr. Bradford. What now?”
“What now as in . . . ?” I left the statement hanging, inviting Connie to finish it.
“As you recall, Luke, in a previous episode you said you were leaving Watervalley. I haven’t told anyone what you said. So I guess I’m wondering if you are still considering this foolishness.”
I answered slowly. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m thinking through my options.”
“While you’re doing all that thinking, I’ve got something I want you to do for me.”
In all the time we’d known each other, I couldn’t recall a single time she had asked me for help. “Okay, sure. What do you want?”
“I want you to do what you promised me.”
I was puzzled. “And what would that be?”
“When I interviewed with you that first day, I asked if you ever went to church. You said you did. Now I may be mistaken, but I don’t think that has happened since you’ve been living in Watervalley.”
I exhaled a deep breath of resignation. “Guilty as charged.”
“Okay, then. Fine. This coming Monday night is Christmas Eve. Every year Watervalley has an interdenominational service at one of the big churches downtown. It’s a big deal with a huge choir, string quartet, the whole works. This year it’s at the Episcopal church at seven.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be there.”
“Good. But there’s more.”
“More?”
“Yes, each year at the service they recognize one of our citizens who has made a contribution to the community. It took a lot of debate, but this year the interchurch council agreed to honor John Harris.”
“Really?”
“Yes. They think it’s about time to extend an olive branch to John. Time for forgiveness on both sides.”
“I hate to break this to you, Connie, but forgiveness doesn’t mean much to a man who doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Anyway, how does this involve me?”
“I need you to get him to come.”
“Oh, sure—no problem. Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding. And furthermore, the award is supposed to be a surprise, so you can’t tell him.”
“Connie, do you have any idea what you’re asking? John Harris would rather eat a green bug than be around those people. He hates them. I’d have to anesthetize him and carry him in over my shoulder.”
“Whatever works, Doctor.”
“Tell me you’re not really serious.”
Connie stood up and headed toward the kitchen, walking behind me. She stopped and turned back, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Dr. Bradford, you promised me, and just how many times have I asked you to do me a favor?”
I looked over at her hand, then up at her. She was staring down at me with that same look of detached disdain that had defined her from the first moment we had met. I exhaled deeply.
“Well, okay.”
“Good!” Connie responded with a large smile. She patted my shoulder and leaned over to me, speaking almost in a whisper. “My, my, Doctor. It seems that we are now bonded in the web of a dark conspiracy.” She released a low giggle and continued into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
I sat there wondering what in the world I had just agreed to do.
CHAPTER 33
Valley of the Shadow
I spent Saturday organizing, taking inventory. I checked the attic for boxes, did an assessment of each room, and sized up the effort needed to pack up my life and leave. It was a decision that was still mine to make, one that seemed to teeter precariously in one direction and then another, hour by hour. For over a week, I had told myself I was leaving. At first I had felt relieved, at peace with my decision. Yet each day I found myself faced with divergent voices, alternate thoughts and perspectives. Now leaving was no longer a foregone conclusion, but more of a possibility I was pondering. I was still greatly conflicted and I knew it.
It was three days before Christmas and I still had some shopping to do. In midafternoon I went downtown to pick out a few gifts for the clinic staff. Just as on the day before, there was a spontaneous richness of spirit that permeated the streets and sidewalks of downtown Watervalley. The holiday streets were alive with shoppers, the December air biting cold as people in coats and scarves hurried along loaded down with packages. Many of them smiled and nodded as they passed me. On more than one occasion, people pointed discreetly and whispered with animated faces to their companions. Although the glances and stares were typically friendly, the attention I was receiving seemed out of the ordinary, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Still, I enjoyed myself.
Late in the afternoon I returned home. In addition to gifts, I had bought a few holiday decorations, including strings of small white lights. I had to laugh at myself, recognizing the illogic of decorating a place that I planned to move out of in a matter of weeks. But the season had caught my sense of wonder.
I had also bought a live evergreen wreath from Hoot Wilson, who had set up shop on the town square, using the open bed of his pickup as a storefront. I hung the wreath on my front door and carefully strung the lights along the porch railing. With Rhett by my side, I walked out to the street to take a look. The cottage glowed with a nostalgic warmth. I was pleased.
Then I noticed the decorations of my neighbors up and down Fleming Street. Although one or two had clearly gone overboard, their yards cluttered with Santas and sleds, reindeer and wreaths in all shapes and sizes, most homes were tastefully but grandly adorned with lights and garlands and a few well-chosen displays. They made my modest decorations seem miserly at best. But I didn’t care; mine suited me fine. I made my way back inside to warm up some canned soup for dinner. By nine, I was in bed and sound asleep.
I awoke with a start on Sunday morning to the clanging of church bells. I sat straight up in bed and looked at my bedside clock. It was nine in the morning. What besides the cold weather could account for my newfound capacity for sleep? I had been dead to the world. The church bells had guaranteed an instantaneous resurrection. But why were they ringing so early?
Then I remembered what Nancy had told me. As had been the custom in Watervalley for decades, on the Sunday before Christmas all the downtown churches rang their bells at the same time for five whole minutes. It was an explosion of sound.
Shafts of morning sunlight bore through my bedroom window. I sat staring at the myriad of dust particles suspended in the air, caught in the path of the illuminating rays. Now fully awake, I pondered all that had happened in the last week, how things had changed so greatly. I recalled this same moment a week earlier, st
anding in my room and seeing the random particles in the light. Yet now they appeared to have an order, a pattern to their movements. I laughed under my breath. How ironic! The design, the infinite balance had been there all along. The only thing that had changed was my ability to see it.
Ambling over to the window, I gazed out over the town, this little place where I had lived for the past half year. I felt lighthearted. I thought of my aunt and my mother and father and their shared conviction that I would find a home in a small town. I thought of how my aunt had always seen me as a lost little boy in the big city, how her choices regarding my inheritance had deliberately nudged me to a place like Watervalley. In the bright light of that Sunday morning, I felt a new contentment, a sense of belonging that I had not previously experienced, one I found difficult to capture in words.
It seemed strange to me that this glimpse of understanding had grown out of my own experiences in Watervalley rather than from the wise words of loved ones from many years ago. It was something of an epiphany. My parents and my aunt had encouraged me to find purpose as a small-town doctor, to engage in the modest lives of poor and otherwise. Their words had been with me all along, but I had resisted. It seemed that their wisdom had found only lukewarm value without the experience of the journey. Something in me had been asleep for many years. Knox’s singular word from my dream had captured it for me. It was a reawakening.
I took care of Rhett, who continued to amaze me with his ecstatic delight over a couple of scoops of dog food. I showered, made breakfast, and spent some time on my computer, hitting a few social sites and catching up with friends. But their names and voices seemed distant. Restless, I decided to grab my coat and walk over to the clinic. Slipping around the Episcopal church, I came in through the clinic’s back door. Despite the frost in the air, the hall was warm. All was quiet. I moved to my office, turned on a small desk lamp, and began to sift through the stack of unopened mail and medical journals. Eventually I turned toward the light of the windows behind me.
I stared at the nativity scene on the church lawn next door. My mind was elsewhere. This last task, this ridiculous request that Connie had laid before me, had surfaced through my subconscious and was now consuming me. I knew that sometime today I would have to drive up into the hills and convince John Harris to attend the Christmas Eve service, a task I had no idea how to accomplish. I sat for almost an hour, pondering, brooding. It was nearing noon. I gathered a few papers, turned out the lamp, and locked the back door behind me. While I was walking home, once again the church bells rang loudly in the distance, marking the end of morning worship.