“There’s no love lost between those two.” He takes a gulp. “So, how’s your investigation going?”
“Slow so far.” I am not about to tell Jack about my arrangement with Andrew or the stuff I’ve found. It’s not that I don’t trust Jack. I’m just keeping it to myself for now. “I’ve been going through a bunch of paperwork and meeting people who were close to her like Andrew and Dale. I went to see Mira Clark. I did try talking with the chief, but it wasn’t a good day.”
Jack nods.
“Yeah, he’s in a bad way. Real shame he ended up like that.”
“You must’ve known Adela well. You grew up in the same town.”
“She’s a bit younger than me. She and Eleanor were the same age.”
“Close enough. So, what can you tell me about her?”
He takes a drink.
“How much time you got?”
I glance at the clock.
“Hmm, I’m guessing a lot. Maybe we can do this another time real soon.”
“Your mother waiting for you?”
“No, she went back home for a couple of weeks. Ma wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my brother’s family. My brother and I met halfway off the pike. I’ve been on the road a few hours today.”
“What are you gonna do while she’s gone?”
I laugh.
“I’ll work on the case. I have a list. I may go snowshoeing after the storm’s over although I hate to do it by myself.”
“I remember you and Sam coming in here after snowshoeing.”
“Yeah, we’d park here, take one of the snowmobile trails for a while and then come back for a beer.” I sigh. “You ever try it?”
“Drink beer?”
“No, wise guy, snowshoeing.”
He shakes his head.
“Never have. My mode of transportation is a snowmobile. You ever try it?”
“Only once, for a story. The guy showed off a bit. You know Ted, right?”
Jack’s chuckle echoes in his beer bottle as he holds it near his mouth.
“He’s a show-off all right.”
It’s easy talking with Jack. Sure, I’ve had long conversations with men before, but usually it was for a story or some business in the newsroom. This is different. Our tone is casual and friendly. There’s no off-the-record bullshit. Once in a while, Jack has to get somebody a beer, but he has nothing pressing to do tonight.
Jack fetches us two more beers, and I’m glad we’re taking our time drinking because I don’t want to drive home buzzed. We gab about the weather and, of course, the coming storm. There’s town stuff, including the latest Rooster hookups and breakups, which we both agree is early in the season for that. It’s not even officially winter. He brings up shotgun season, which begins Monday after the Thanksgiving holiday. Jack says he gave up hunting a while back since he got too busy with his bar. But this year he got a license. He says he’s planning to go out on his days off with a few of the regulars. He hasn’t bagged a deer in years, but he looks forward to tromping around in the woods. I offer to lend him a pair of snowshoes. He says his boots will do him just fine.
He and Eleanor will be cooking the traditional deer supper at the Conwell Rod and Gun Club on the Sunday night after the season closes. Steak instead of venison will be on the menu, as if the hunters would have been living it up on freshly killed deer meat in the woods and wanted a change of pace. The Rooster will be closed that night since most of his best customers will be at the supper instead.
One by one the True Blue Regulars leave with a big “see ya” before they head out the door. Cold air washes over our backs each time the door opens, but no snow is falling yet. The only ones left are Jack, Eleanor, who’s slamming pots and pans around in the kitchen, and me. The noise sounds a lot louder than just cleaning.
I check the clock. I’m surprised how long Jack and I’ve been talking.
“Your sister okay in there?”
“Yeah. She makes a lot of noise in the kitchen when she cleans. She always does it on Sunday night. This week we won’t serve food until Friday cause of Thanksgiving. Wanna work Wednesday night? We usually get a big crowd that night, mostly guys. I guess the women are all home cooking.”
“Sure, I can be here.”
“And get ready for Friday night. Everybody and their cousin will be here. The newcomers like to show up with whoever’s at their house to take in the local color.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“The Cowlicks are playing. Maybe I’ll ask you to dance another fast number.”
“Oh, are you going to ask me this time?” I joke.
“Yeah, I kinda dragged you onto the floor.”
“I’m only teasing you. It was a lot of fun. You’re a great dancer.”
Jack sets his empty down. He points toward my glass to see if I want another. I shake my head no. Two’s enough.
“How are you doin’? I mean about Sam. I hope you don’t mind my askin’.”
I think for a moment. It’s a question I ask myself a lot.
“I’m okay. It was really tough after he died, but I gave myself a full year to grieve for him properly. I decided I wouldn’t do anything foolish for a year. Now it’s time to… ”
“Do somethin’ foolish?”
“Maybe. Or at least have some fun.” I smile. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Shoot. Go ahead.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Once, when I was a kid until she came to her senses.” He shrugs. “I’ve had women friends, but nothing serious enough that led us to the altar. No kids either, well, none that I know of.”
Suddenly, it’s dark and quiet in the kitchen. Eleanor stands fully dressed in her winter coat and knit hat behind the bar. She clutches a paper bag with grease stains, filled I suppose with meat scraps for her mutts.
Eleanor glances at the clock then her brother. The clock’s face says ten although it’s really 9:50, an old barroom trick to move the time ahead ten minutes to fool the lingerers.
“Ready to shut the place down, Sis?” He stands. “Hold on a sec. I need to make sure the back door is locked and a few other things.”
“Hey, how much do I owe you for the beer and fries?” I ask.
“Nothin’,” he says. “It’s on the house.”
Bobby’s Call
The red light is blinking on the landline’s phone when I get home. I have two messages. The first is from Ma. She got to my brother’s just fine. “Where are you?” she asks. I glance at the clock on the stove. I know she’s up, but likely my brother and his family would think it odd if I called this late. Too bad Ma doesn’t believe in cell phones. I could send her a text. It could say: “Got back okay and went to the Rooster where I got a little bit sloshed. The dog and cat say hello.” But I’d leave out the sloshed part.
The second message just has a number, so I know the caller’s not a regular.
The raspy voice says, “This is Bobby. Marsha says you wanna talk about Adela. Sure, I’ll talk, but you’re wastin’ your time.” Then he rattles off the number I see on the phone’s window.
I wonder where Bobby is staying. It couldn’t be with Marsha because the time he called, which was 8:53, is after she left. Or maybe, he is, and he thought I’d be home by now. I’ll call him sometime tomorrow.
After the Storm
We did get a good dump, about eighteen inches by my estimation, sloppy, wet stuff so the roads must be a mess. I’m drinking coffee and waiting for the driveway to get plowed. I’m one of the last on Mary, the plow lady’s list of customers, especially now that I don’t work in the city. The dog has already been out once to do her business and bounce around in the snow. I kept watching from the front porch to make sure she doesn’t take off. My mother would have a hard time forgiving me. But Maggie comes when I call. She knows there’s food in the house.
Here’s my list of people to call today although not necessarily in this order: Bobby, of course, although that will be on
e of those deep-breath phone calls; Clara, Jamie Snow’s ex, which is set for nine; Sadie Hendricks, to see if she found anything in the chief’s old papers; Andrew Snow to ask if he and Dale have gone through the drawers downstairs; and, yes, Ma.
That’s a lot of phone calls, but except for shoveling snow, I have no business outside the house.
I call Ma first. She’s out with my brother. She’ll call me back, my sister-in-law tells me.
Sadie Hendricks is up already, of course.
“How’s the chief today?” I ask.
She sounds almost hopeful when she says, “He’s got his birds to keep him company. They’re at the feeder because of the snow.”
I pause, thinking about how small things like that matter to her. Everybody still calls Ben Hendricks the chief, out of reverence, I suppose. Besides his son, Ben Jr., is now the official chief. He’s called Chief Ben Jr.
“That’s good,” I say. “Sadie, I was wondering if you happened to find anything useful in the chief’s office.”
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been meaning to get back to you, but I wanted to ask Ben Jr. first if it was okay.”
I wait on her words. Even Yankee women have a hard time getting to the point right away.
“You found something?”
“Yes, I have a box of papers,” she says. “They’re my Ben’s notes. Ben Jr. said to go ahead and give them to you since the case is so old. He said to tell you ‘good luck.’”
“I don’t know when I’ll get plowed out. Could I come by tomorrow for the papers? What’s a good time?”
“Do you mind coming early, say 7:30?” Her voice drops for the next part. “I need to take Ben to the VA for a checkup.”
“That time works, Sadie. I’m up early.”
I fix myself another cup of coffee and feed a log into the wood stove before I call Clara Snow, now Clara Moreau, because she’s remarried. Clara lives in Florida, and according to a few folks in town, she doesn’t have to work since her husband’s retired and loaded. The Old Farts in the store’s backroom would likely say she married some rich, old guy with a bad cough. I called her once before, but she was too busy to talk then. Now I’m in my office upstairs, with a pad of paper and a pen.
Clara answers right away.
“Hear you got a bit of snow,” she says.
“I’m guessing a foot and a half. Bet you don’t miss that.”
She laughs softly.
“I sure don’t.”
“As I told you before, I’m looking into Adela’s case. I know it was a long time ago, but I was hoping you could answer a couple of questions to help me.”
“I’ll try.”
“How close were you two?”
“Close enough for sisters-in-law. I mean we didn’t hang out, but we were friendly enough at family get-togethers. My kids were around Dale’s age.”
This conversation would be better face-to-face, but a telephone call to Florida is the best I can do.
“I’m trying to learn what Adela was doing in the months up to her disappearance. Does anything stick out in your mind?”
“I can’t think of anything unusual,” she says. “Adela liked to keep things to herself.”
“So I’ve heard from Andrew.”
“Those two were close. If anyone knew, it would be her father.”
“Was she seeing anybody?”
“A man? I wondered about that. Some days she had a real shine to her. You know how women can get when… She was sure happy when she got flowers for her birthday. She talked about it a lot.”
I fill in the blank mentally for Clara. Adela was happy when she had sex.
“But she wouldn’t say who sent them?”
Clara laughs softly.
“She’d say things like, ‘I’m not telling’ or ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’”
Yes, I would.
“Do you think it was somebody in town?” I ask.
“Conwell or one of the towns around it. We didn’t have dating sites on the internet then. And as far as I could see, she didn’t leave town much. It could’ve been one of the delivery guys, too.”
“Delivery guys, I hadn’t thought of that,” I say.
“A couple of them were always being extra-friendly. Maybe Andrew will remember.”
I scribble notes as we talk.
“What do you think happened to her?”
“Personally, I never believed she’d take off. She was a real good mom to Dale. Or commit suicide.” Clara pauses. “I believe someone killed her. It could have been an accident. But whoever did it, sure hid her body well. Maybe the guy had help.”
“I’ve heard that theory before,” I say. “If you were to guess who could have done it, who would it be?”
There isn’t even a pause when she blurts, “Bobby Collins.”
“Yeah, he’s high on almost everyone’s list. But what would be his motive?”
“They could have had an argument about money. Or Dale. She wouldn’t let him see his son much. She was worried he’d drive drunk. Like I said, it could have been an accident. But he would have needed help.”
“He says he was with Marsha that night.”
“Maybe she was his helper.”
“I hadn’t thought of that angle. She sure is ticked off whenever I see her now that she knows I’m involved in this case.”
“Marsha’s a tough woman, but she has good reasons to be. I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up the way she did.”
“Terrible parents?”
“The worst. There was no love in that home. It explains a lot.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, now feeling more sympathy for the Floozy. “Thanks for your help. If you think of anything, please give me a call. You have my number.”
“Will do.”
I study my notes. I underline the part about delivery guys. Clara’s right. I’ll have to ask Andrew about that. Of course, if it were somebody like the guy who brought beer or groceries, there would be no way of tracking them down. Too much time had passed although it was worth a shot. It definitely appeared Adela was in love with somebody.
Andrew is next on my list. He sounds glad to hear from me.
“I’ve got a question for you. Were any of the delivery guys extra friendly with Adela?”
“Delivery guys? I hadn’t thought of them.”
“Neither did I, but I just got off the phone with Clara. She brought it up as a possibility.”
Andrew is silent for a moment.
“I can think of a couple. Let me get back to you on that.”
“That’s fine. By the way, have you or Dale found anything interesting in those drawers downstairs?”
“Not yet. There’s so much stuff to look through.”
“I could help.”
“That’s a thought. Let me talk with Dale.”
I hear the rumble of the snowplow’s blade. Mary is here. I need to get outside to move our cars out of her way. I say good-bye to Andrew.
A Curious Visitor
The driveway is now a straight white shot up to the road. It’s going to be tricky getting my mother’s car out of here. This is strictly a four-wheel-drive way now, but I think I can manage it if I dump some sand. I’ll bring a shovel and a few compound buckets to the highway yard, which is okay with the town. Right now, I am shoveling walkways and paths into the woods for the dog. Maggie leaps through the deep snow. She’s one happy mutt.
The sky is bluebird blue, which is typical after a storm’s cleared. Much of the winter, the sky here is cast a gloomy gray that can drive people nuts. I know Sam would get a bit down in the middle of the winter. I hear New Mexico has 300 days of sunshine a year. Maybe Sam would have liked it there. He talked about it a few times. He wanted to see Taos and Santa Fe. Maybe I’ll bring some of the ashes I didn’t bury, so a part of him is there, at least, symbolically.
I am done shoveling the last walkway, the one that extends between two large flowerbeds. It’s the easiest way in and out of the house for Ma
because the front porch only has three steps and sturdy handrails Sam built. I hoist the shovel handle over my shoulder to bring it into the cellar where it belongs, but I get distracted when I hear the distinctive whine of a snowmobile on the road. There isn’t a trail close by. Someone is riding alongside the snow-covered road. I believe it isn’t legal to ride on the road, but the part-time cops aren’t going to be bothered patrolling for snowmobilers, especially during the day when they’re all at work. Note to myself: If I ever do something criminal, I’ll choose daytime.
Maggie darts from the woods and goes a little nuts barking when the snowmobile makes a turn into our driveway. I march into the snow to grab her by the collar.
“It’s all right, girl,” I say although I’m curious about my visitor.
The driver waves as he slows the machine and stops a few yards from the end of this path. He takes off his helmet.
“Jack, what are you doing here?”
He chuckles as he dismounts the machine.
“I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by.” Maggie leaps through the snow toward Jack, who stoops to pat her head. “Nice dog. Didn’t know you had one.”
“I got her for my mother. Maggie belonged to Mira Clark’s aunt. She’s in a home now and can’t have her.” I squint in the sunlight bouncing brightly off the snow. “What brings you here?”
“I came by to see if you wanna go for a ride.”
I push the shovel’s blade into the snow.
“On that?”
“Uh-huh. I’ve got an extra helmet with me.”
I laugh.
“That’s thoughtful of you, but I don’t think I have anything warm enough to wear.”
“Too bad,” he says. “Let me see what I’ve got around the house. What size boot you take?”
“A man’s 10 ½ or 11. I’ve got big feet.”
He studies my boots.
“Didn’t notice that before. Isn’t that kinda unusual for a woman?”
“Yeah, don’t rub it in. It’s a bitch trying to find women’s shoes that fit.”
He steps closer. I don’t believe I’ve seen Jack outside very often, except briefly at the dump or outside the store. I like his eyes, and the lines around their corners make him look wise and friendly like he laughs a lot, which he does, usually a low chuckle. The gray in his dark hair stands out in the daylight. He’s a foot taller than me. I’d rank him as a good-looking older man.
Chasing The Case Page 14