Mystery at the Hot Pond

by David DeVowe

  15

  Turmoil

  Suddenly the conversation MaryAnne and I overheard at her house came back to me.

  “Not yet,” Mr. DuPree had said. “Not yet, I’m telling you. We don’t have the motive nailed down.” He was speaking to someone on the other end of the phone. “If we move now, it won’t stand in court. We’re missing a piece of evidence that ties Hawthorne’s wife to Dietrich Stueck. Without it, we have nothing on Hawthorne or Malvern.”

  I bolted back up the road, leaving Lawrence staring at his feather. I needed to see Mr. DuPree at once. The tail end of the parade had just passed by the Co-op where the DuPrees were standing with Dad, Mama, and Ricky. People were starting to wander into the street.

  “There he is!” Ricky exclaimed when he saw me comin’ through the crowd.

  “Where did you go?” Dad wanted to know.

  “I had to see Lawrence Blankenshine,” I said, out of breath.

  “Why on earth? In the midst of the parade?” Mama didn’t look too pleased.

  I looked back at Dad. “I need to speak with Mr. DuPree right away. Is it okay if we talk, just me and him?”

  Dad nodded his head as if he understood.

  Mama didn’t. “What is the rush? Does there always have to be a big secret around here?” Her voice faded off as Mr. DuPree led me to the other side of the Co-op where the weeds stood taller than me.

  “What’s the matter, Arthur?” Mr. DuPree inquired.

  “Lawrence has the blue feather!”

  Mr. DuPree didn’t flinch. Perhaps he needed more.

  “Lawrence Blankenshine has the blue feather that Mrs. Hawthorne always wore in her yellow hat. She’s had it every parade that I can remember, except I can’t remember if it was in her hat last Independence on account of the sheriff being there and I wasn’t watching the parade much. Now she wears a red feather. That’s what caught my eye today when—”

  Mr. DuPree gripped my shoulder. “Arthur, stop. What does a feather in Mrs. Hawthorne’s hat have to do with anything?”

  Just then Buffalo Alice walked past the corner of the Co-op and stopped near the weeds we were standing in. She gawked at us like we were breaking the law. Mr. DuPree and I returned the stare until she hoofed it down the walk.

  Mr. DuPree resumed our conversation. “Like I said, Arthur, what does a feather have to do with anything?”

  I purposed to slow my breathing. “Well, everyone knows that Lawrence Blankenshine was the one who found Dietrich in the hot pond that night.”

  “Yes, and…?” Mr. DuPree baited.

  I pondered whether I should tell him about playing spy on the spy, about hearing his telephone conversation with the sheriff.

  “Sir,” I hesitated again. “Mr. DuPree, I know I shouldn’t have been listening to you at your house, but MaryAnne and I were just having fun playing spy. That’s when I heard you say you were missing something that ties Mr. Hawthorne’s wife to Dietrich.”

  Mr. DuPree went rigid. “You’re right, that was none of your business, Mr. Makinen.”

  “But Mr. DuPree,” I interceded, “I asked Lawrence just now where he got the blue feather; he said, ‘Dietrich Stueck’s back pocket’!”

  Mr. DuPree went from stern to stunned. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Cross my heart, hope to die, sure!” I said.

  Mr. DuPree held his finger to my face. “Not a word now?!”

  I understood. “Not a word,” I said.

  The road had cleared except for a few small groups milling around. Mrs. DuPree visited with the ladies, leaving MaryAnne by herself. I snuck up behind her to even the score for the scare she gave me at the creek. In position to pounce, my arms reaching toward her shoulders, I stopped mid-stride smack in the center of “America the Beautiful.”

  MaryAnne sang softly to herself,

  America! America!

  God shed His grace on thee,

  And crown thy good with brotherhood,

  From sea to shining sea.

  MaryAnne’s voice rang more pure than the church bell. My drive to affright drained. I lowered my hands, tugged her red ribbon and said, “boo.”

  MaryAnne stopped singing. “Wow, you’re scary. What did you have to talk to Dad about?”

  “Not a word!” I said with a sheepish grin.

  “Oh, I see,” MaryAnne said. Her high brow told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “We might have to take a walk by the Blankenshine’s,” I hinted.

  MaryAnne hesitated. “You’re not getting me into trouble again, are you, Shoesth?”

  “Just looking around,” I tried to reassure MaryAnne. There rose a twinge of fear in me about what was happening in our town and at the same time, a surge of excitement. I didn’t want to miss out, and I wasn’t going alone. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a walk and looking around, is there?”

  “I suppose not,” MaryAnne said.

  We strolled down the main road past INO’s. Metal clanged as guys playing horseshoes oohed over pitches that landed close. The horseshoe pits were busy when the mill was down. Nearly all the guys had a bottle in hand when they weren’t throwing shoes. Not Dad. He competed hard like the others, without holding a bottle. I don’t know of a time when I saw Dad drink.

  “Stay!” I said to Oscar, ‘cause I didn’t want him to give us away once we got to the Blankenshine’s. Oscar put his tail down and trotted back to the horseshoe throwers.

  Kip Stinson walked up the road toward us. “That was a scrumptious pie, MaryAnne,” Kip said as he got closer, with a smile bigger than his face.

  “Thank you,” said MaryAnne, turning toward him as he passed.

  It irked me that all the girls liked Kip. He was tall, smooth with words, smartly dressed, and good at baseball. One time I overheard girls on the playground say he was handsome. I didn’t know how any girl could find a guy handsome. Guys were gawky. I did know that I would never be like Kip. And I wasn’t going to try. I was short, mostly uncoordinated, and short for words. My plain clothes were just fine for fishin’ and trappin’, and doing lots of real neat things.

  “What’s so great about Kip?” I snipped at MaryAnne.

  “What do you mean?” she said, trying to play innocent with me.

  “Why do you like him?”

  “I don’t like him.” MaryAnne furrowed at me. “He’s an old guy! All I said was thank you!”

  “I saw you smile.”

  “Stop it, Shoesth! Can’t I be polite to someone? You’re funny!” MaryAnne hauled off and punched me in the arm.

  That felt better.

  MaryAnne and I kept on toward the school, which would take us in front of Blankenshine’s yard. The rumble of a motorcar in the distance caught our attention. It came fast, followed by a billowing cloud of dust. It zoomed past the school and skidded to a halt on Blankenshine’s grass.

  “Come on!” MaryAnne followed as I ran down the ditch on the mill side of the road, then hid behind one of the trees in the row.

  Sheriff Downing got out of the car and knocked on the door. There was a long wait. He knocked again.

  MaryAnne whispered loudly, “Looks like nobody’s home.”

  Sheriff turned around on the porch as he waited at the door.

  “Get down,” I said as I dropped to my knees and ducked my head below the grass.

  MaryAnne’s face was practically in mine. Her big eyes flashed me a warning. “You’re going to get us both in trouble again!”

  I heard a door open and peered out of the ditch. Mrs. Blankenshine had found her way to the door and had let Sheriff in.

  “Let’s go,” MaryAnne urged.

  “No,” I said. “They might see us. Let’s find out what happens.”

  We had to wait only a moment. MaryAnne’s dad arrived, walking briskly from downtown. He got to the front walk of the Blankenshine’s just as Sheriff exited the house with Lawrence. Mr. DuPree helped Lawrence into the car, and it rumbled back in the direction it came f
rom.

  “What do you make of that?” MaryAnne said.

  I stood up to stretch my legs. “I think they’re taking Lawrence someplace where they can ask him questions,” I said knowingly. “Kinda exciting, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t like the idea of my dad doing dangerous things,” said MaryAnne. “It gets me all turned up inside. Things were so much better before.”

  “He was doing dangerous things then, too,” I said. “You just didn’t know about it.”

  “Yeah. It was better then,” MaryAnne said with regret.

  ***

  The sun was setting when the Kingmans and Saddlekamps lit sparklers in the road for us kids to watch. Sparklers were always the last of Independence Day excitement that most folks stayed around for. Except the Hawthornes. They never did like to hang around townsfolk. Mr. Saddlekamp had lit one big sparkler that brightened faces all around. Nobody knew then that there would be bigger fireworks that night.

  Suddenly, everyone’s attention turned to a wailing horn unlike any that ever was heard. The sound pitched high, then low, high, then low, like the up and down of a seesaw. Two cars turned off of the State Road onto Red Town Road. The evening’s dim light was still bright enough for me to make out a white star on the door of both autos. It was the first time I’d heard a siren, and the first time I saw two police cars. Sheriff Downing’s Motor Patrol didn’t have a siren, so folks knew something big was happening.

  Halfway up the hill, both sets of headlights pulled into the drive at Hawthorne’s mansion. We called it a mansion ‘cause it had three floors and four pillars for a front porch. The house overlooked the mill pond and pretty much most of town.

  MaryAnne had been watching fireworks on the other side of the ring of kids. She looked across at me just as I looked at her. We didn’t have to say nothin’ ‘cause we both knew what we were gonna do.

  I took off first. MaryAnne bolted right behind.

  Someone said, “What is going on?”

  Me and MaryAnne sprinted toward the State Road, then across and up the hill. The run was longer than the run to our fort, yet we made it in record time. We turned off of Red Town Road into the ditch and up the hill through the woods, until we were in the brush at the edge of Hawthorne’s roundabout. MaryAnne and I settled where we could spy the front door of the house between both cars.

  The sheriffs were already inside the house. Voices came from the open entrance door.

  “Let go of me, you brute!” screamed Mrs. Hawthorne. “Do you think I’m some kind of criminal? Don’t treat me like that!” she snarled.

  Before long, Sheriff Downing led Mrs. Hawthorne out in front of the pillars. He opened the door of the patrol car and turned Mrs. Hawthorne around to get her in. Mrs. Hawthorne’s hands were cuffed behind her back!

  I looked at MaryAnne. She stared at the scene with unblinking eyes.

  Mr. Hawthorne’s voice boomed as he was led out the door with his hands behind his back. “Do you know who I am? You’re going to hear from my attorney about this!”

  The other sheriff pushed on Mr. Hawthorne’s head to squeeze him into the car. Then he slammed the door shut and looked toward Sheriff Downing at the driver’s side of the other car.

  “Now, let’s get Malvern,” he said.

  Me and MaryAnne ducked a little lower into our brush cover.

  The two got into their vehicles, turned them around, and then headed down the driveway. Turning up toward Red Town where Sarge Malvern lived, the patrol siren began to wail once again.

  I looked back toward the house. There in the doorway stood Buffalo Alice. Her mouth hung agape as her eyes stared right through the woods we were hiding in. She was draped in what must have been her pajamas—a large, long, yellow gown that hovered just above the door sill.

  I didn’t dare breathe. Buffalo stayed there until the wail of the siren stopped abruptly. Then she took a very slow step backward and shut herself inside.

  We remained still for a couple minutes after the door latched, stunned by what we had just witnessed.

  “What about Alice?” MaryAnne gasped.

  Before I could say anything, two shots rang out from the top of Red Town hill, followed by three more in quick succession. Those gunshots shivered me to the very bone.

  I turned to MaryAnne; her hands shook uncontrollably. She held her fingers over the sides of her mouth while tears fell off her cheeks faster than I’d ever witnessed tears. MaryAnne’s kind face had filled with anguish. Without a word, her eyes pled with mine to do something.

  But what was I to do? It was dark, shots had been fired, and MaryAnne was sobbing.

  “What about Alice?” MaryAnne asked again with a tremor in her voice.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed MaryAnne’s forearm, then stumbled back into the darkness of the woods.

  16

  Justice Served

  “Well, hello, Toivo!” Mr. DuPree said as he entered our backyard.

  “Welcome,” said Dad, shaking Mr. DuPree’s hand.

  Mrs. DuPree hugged Mama hello.

  Mama allowed for a one-handed hug back, then pulled away quickly. “So-o glad you could come,” she said. “We’ve been looking forward to having you folks over for so long! It’s just crazy how busy things get and how fast the summer has gone.”

  “Thank you for inviting us,” said Mrs. DuPree, looking down at Oscar whacking her dress with his tail.

  Ricky pounded the screen door open, “Hi, MaryAnne! You know what?”

  “What?” MaryAnne responded politely, placing her hands on her knees and bending over to meet Ricky’s face.

  “I’m going to sthschool! In three weeks!” Ricky yelled, holding up two fingers.

  MaryAnne recoiled at the volume. “I can tell you’re excited,” she said graciously, then she looked over at me and smiled.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Mama had been talking about having the DuPrees over for a meal since the Fourth of July. She seemed unusually chummy with Mrs. DuPree after the arrest of the Hawthornes and the shooting at Red Town. Mama was disappointed with the coverage it had gotten in the paper, and now it was old news for print.

  Dad had cautioned her not to pry. “Now, Margaret, some things are just not our business.”

  “But they’re our friends,” Mama justified. “I would like to have them over for a meal, and if they want to share anything more, that’s completely up to the DuPrees.”

  Dad wasn’t one to argue if there wasn’t an important cause to fight. But I think he knew better.

  I had been too scared to tell Dad and Mama where I was that fateful night of Independence. Part of me wanted to put it away someplace where it would not be with me anymore. MaryAnne hadn’t said another word about it. Twice I’d brought it up and both times she went quiet. I took it that she wanted to forget the whole thing. I suppose I did, too. But I couldn’t. There were too many questions left unanswered in the weeks that had passed since that night. I thought about it when I woke in the morning, when I fell asleep, even as I waited for fish to bite at the creek.

  “It’s such a beautiful day,” Mama said, “I thought it would be lovely to eat outside. Dinner’s about ready. Shoe, come help with the glasses and the milk; does anyone want water with their dinner?”

  I followed after Mama. The whole morning was used up getting ready for the big dinner, helping clean the house, clipping long grass around the porch; I even cleared Ricky’s junk out from the old table Dad had made for the yard. Ricky used the underside of it for his fort.

  Mama kept me scurrying until we were all seated at the table.

  Dad said, “Let’s pray. Dear Lord, we thank you for this food that you’ve blessed us with. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Mr. DuPree after a pause.

  “Guests first,” Mama said. “Shoe, send this chicken down to Mr. DuPree. I want you all to eat heartily, there’s plenty of food, and more where that came from.”

  I think Mama always assumed that our g
uests hadn’t eaten in the days leading up to their visit to our house. That’s why she pushed food on them. Once everyone had filled their plates, Mama wasted no time.

  “So, Adrien, what more can you tell us about the fate of the Hawthornes?” Mama spouted.

  Dad glowered across the table at Mama.

  “Adrien, I know there are things you can’t divulge,” Dad said. “You don’t need to answer that.”

  Mama pursed at Dad.

  “No, it’s okay,” said Mr. DuPree. “The case is closed.” He took another bite of chicken while we all waited for more. Mr. DuPree swallowed, then rested his fork on his plate. “I do suppose there is much to be answered, especially seeing that our two children were involved.”

  Mr. DuPree glanced at me. I looked across at MaryAnne, who was pushing carrots around her plate with her knife.

  “I’ll share what I can, given the mixed company we have here,” Mr. DuPree said.

  Dad nodded. Mama stared, unblinking.

  “This was a difficult investigation,” Mr. DuPree started. “Let’s just say that the Hawthornes were able to cover their tracks quite well given their prominence here in Stoney Creek. Mr. Hawthorne was an angry man. He employed a supervisor at the mill who was given to fury like himself. Well, you knew him Toivo, Sarge—I think you called him—Sarge Malvern.”

  Dad grimaced at the memory.

  “It seems Mrs. Hawthorne was, well, she liked the attention of young men.” Mr. DuPree spoke purposefully, choosing his words as he went. “Dietrich Stueck was one of them,” he said. “When Dietrich refused her, she framed him, convincing Mr. Hawthorne that Dietrich had made an advance.” Mr. DuPree looked around the table as if to buy time.

  MaryAnne still hadn’t looked up from her carrots.

  Mr. DuPree continued, “What finally set off Mr. Edgar Hawthorne was the hat feather his wife had planted in Dietrich’s back pocket. He ordered Malvern to take care of Dietrich at the risk of losing his job. As near as we can tell, Gunther came back to the mill looking for his brother as Malvern was trying to cover his dirty deed. Then Gunther found himself under the same wrath that beset his brother. That’s how they both ended up in the hot pond.” Mr. DuPree took a sip of his water. “Thankfully, the case didn’t have to go to court after Mrs. Hawthorne broke down with a full confession. They’ll serve less time because of that, but they won’t see the light of day again for many years.”