Chasing The Case

by Joan Livingston

  “No, Dad, I didn’t.” Then he asks me, “What did she write about him?”

  I reach into my bag.

  “Here, I made copies for you both,” I say as I hand them over. “Adela describes a bad experience on a date with Bartol, and then how he stalked her. She mentions another time she got scared when she was with Dale.”

  The men’s heads are down as they read the forms.

  The paper shakes in Andrew’s hand.

  “Why didn’t she say something to one of us?” he says afterward.

  Jamie drops the papers on his desk.

  “Do you think he could have something to do with my sister going missing?” he asks.

  “The old chief did have him on his list of suspects. I found that in the box. Of course, Bobby Collins’ name is on it, too.”

  Andrew hands me the manila envelope.

  “This is for you.”

  “What’s inside?”

  “Letters. They’re from Walter Bartol. No wonder she was afraid of him.” He swallows hard. “I found them in a hutch downstairs in her house. I started to read them, but I… I couldn’t.”

  I take a peek inside the envelope but decide this is not the place or time to go through them.

  “Just so you know I found out a Walter Bartol still lives at that address. I plan to talk with him. I think it would be better to meet him face to face.”

  Andrew shakes his head.

  “Isabel, that could be dangerous,” he says. “Especially if he’s the one.”

  “Could be,” I say. “Actually, I’m nervous about it. Maybe I’ll find somebody to go with me, other than my mother.”

  “That would be the smart thing to do,” Andrew says.

  Jamie has been quiet during my exchange with his father.

  I ask him, “Is there anything that you can think of that would help my investigation?”

  Jamie’s head jerks side to side.

  “Sorry, I’m still in shock about this,” he says. “Like what?”

  He’s clearly shook, so I decide to go easy on him.

  “When was the last time you saw your sister?” I ask.

  “That day. Actually just before closing. We talked about the usual stuff.”

  “Okay. From the clues I found, she appears to be having a serious relationship with a man. Do you have any idea who he could be?”

  “No.” He raises both hands. “I don’t think I’m being very helpful at all.”

  “That’s all right. Maybe something will come to mind now that I’ve brought it up,” I say. “I have one last question I’m asking everybody. What do you think happened to your sister?”

  Jamie’s brow hangs forward.

  “I think we all know what happened to my sister. Please find out the person responsible.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Andrew pats my arm.

  “Isabel is doing a great job… ”

  I check the wall clock. I need to get home and get things done before I head to the Rooster.

  “Oh, Andrew, I almost forgot. On that calendar we found, Adela blocked off a week in August for a vacation. Do you know what her plans were?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I honestly don’t remember. I’ll have to ask Dale about it.”

  “Good enough.”

  A Dead Rooster

  It’s dead at the Rooster for a Saturday night. I am guessing people ran out of gas after last night’s blowout. Still, the True Blue Regulars show up to drink. Some of them play pool now that the tables have been pushed back in their places on the dance floor. A few drinkers feed the jukebox. The television sets are tuned to sports games.

  The big topic of conversation is the start of shotgun season Monday. As I do this time every year, I plan to keep out of the woods in case some yahoo thinks I’m a deer. I’ll wrap orange cloth over the dog and stick close to her whenever she’s outside. Right now, everybody’s hopeful they’ll bag a deer, especially since it’ll be easier to track the animals in the snow. The weather has stayed consistently cold enough the snow hasn’t melted except, thankfully, on the roads.

  “You’re lucky, Jack,” one of the True Blues tells Jack. “You can just go out back of your house and into the woods.”

  Jack nods.

  “That’s what I’m planning to do.”

  Eleanor has an easy night of it. A couple of times, she stands in the kitchen entrance, her hands curled by her side. She watches her brother and even peeks at the room to check the crowd.

  Jack keeps telling her, “Just take it easy, Sis. Last night was a doozy.”

  Around eight-thirty, Dale Collins rushes into the Rooster and hops onto a stool across from me.

  “I remember,” he gasps.

  “You remember what?” I ask.

  “The vacation. My grandfather said you asked about it.”

  I hand him a beer.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I was at Boy Scout camp that whole week. She went away by herself to Cape Cod. At least, that’s what she told me. But now I’m wonderin’ if that was true. Maybe she went with the guy who sent her the flowers.”

  I nod.

  “That’s helpful, Dale.”

  Dale takes a gulp of beer.

  “Hey, Eleanor,” he says.

  Jack’s sister watches from the kitchen doorway. She grunts and gives me a long, hard stare before she returns to the kitchen.

  I shrug.

  Frankly, Dale’s revelation is the highlight of my night, except for Jack’s constant flirting. Even one of the Rooster regulars makes note and says, “What’s up with you two?”

  “Just having a grand ole time at the Rooster,” Jack tells him. “What about you?”

  Jack takes Eleanor home on the early side tonight. She doesn’t respond to my, “See ya, Friday.” Maybe Jack told her he spent the night with me and that it’s probably going to happen again tonight. Or she’s just the grumpiest co-worker I’ve ever had.

  Back Upstairs

  I’m home an hour before Jack shows up. I take a shower, and the God’s honest truth, I wear a slinky, black nightgown that’s been in the drawer for years. Oh, why not, and Jack is overtly appreciative when I greet him at the front door.

  “Hey, there, handsome,” I greet him.

  He sets a bottle of red wine on the floor and says, “I guess we won’t be needing this to get us started,” and then he chases me upstairs. We’re both laughing our heads off.

  I let the robe fall to the floor and lay back in bed as I watch Jack undress.

  Goddamn it, I’m still nervous as hell.

  But I get over it fast.

  Pillow Talk

  The next morning, Jack and I face each other in bed. It’s ten, later than any time I’m usually up. I’m an early morning person. It seems I never got over waking up at 5:30 to head to the newsroom.

  We’re both smiling. We don’t have to say a thing.

  But finally I do. I tell Jack something that’s been on my mind since this thing between us started.

  “My mother’s coming back next Sunday. I’m going to meet my brother halfway again.” I pause. “I’m thinking it might make her uncomfortable if we have sex here and sleep together. She’s a bit old fashioned although she surprises me more and more all the time. Maybe she’d get used to the idea, but at first, I’m not so sure.”

  “I was wonderin’ about that.”

  “I like having my mother here. She’s good company. I don’t… ” I’m trying to read Jack’s face. “That is if you want to still do this after she comes back.”

  He laughs.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, just testing you.”

  He rubs his chin and jaw.

  “We’ll figure somethin’ out.” Now he’s got a big Jack Smith grin on his face. “We could do it on one of the tables at the Rooster or in my pickup like real rednecks.” He laughs because my mouth hangs open. “Nah, we can go to my place. Course, I’d have to clean it up. I’m afraid it�
��s your typical bachelor pigsty. I’m not too bad of a slob, but things do pile up over the years.”

  “How would Eleanor take it if I came over?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes I get the feeling your sister doesn’t like having me around. I try to be friendly, but she mostly grunts or stares at me. You should’ve seen her last night when Dale and I were talking about his mother.”

  “Eleanor’s real funny around people. That’s why she sticks to the kitchen.” He slips his arm under and around me, so I move closer. “Besides, she has her half of the house and I have mine. They’re separate apartments although there is a door connecting the kitchens.”

  “Okay, I won’t take it personally then.”

  He sighs.

  “Shit, I wish I wasn’t going hunting on my days off. I’ll be really beat getting up way before dawn and tromping through the woods hunting for deer. I’m having a couple of buddies from the Rooster join me. My cousin, Fred, too.”

  I ruffle his hair.

  “No, no, have a good time. You can tell me all about it.”

  “I won’t see you for a couple of days.”

  “Hmm, I know how you can make it up to me.”

  His eyebrows shoot upward.

  “Really?”

  I laugh.

  “Hold on, cowboy. I was wondering if you’d come with me to talk with Walter Bartol. Remember him? He was the beer truck driver from that time.”

  “Course I know who you’re talking about.”

  “Andrew Snow doesn’t want me to go alone. I’m kind of scared to do it, but I have some pretty damning evidence about him.”

  “Like what?”

  “I told you about the restraining order. Yesterday, Andrew gave me an envelope filled with the hate mail he sent her. I only read a couple. They’re pretty bad.”

  “So, it could be him.”

  “Maybe. Would you come with me? Please? I’m guessing it wouldn’t take long.”

  “Sure, what day?

  “Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “Let’s get it over with. How about Wednesday morning? I’ll pick you up at say nine.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it.”

  Walter Bartol’s Letters

  Jack leaves in the early afternoon after we fool around some more and I make him breakfast. He tells me with a wolfish grin he hadn’t eaten homemade pancakes in years. I used the syrup I bought from the Maple Tree Farm, the place the boys and I saw on the end of our fieldtrip earlier this month.

  Now I’m upstairs in the company of the dog and cat, of course, although I know they’ll desert me once Ma comes back, the little turncoats. I remove Walter Bartol’s letters from the manila envelope. There are nine letters, and Adela kept them in their original envelopes, mailed to the Conwell General Store, so I can easily date them. I put them in order on my desk.

  They’re all written in a manly scrawl, but definitely not the one on the card that says “Happy Birthday my love.”

  The first one was mailed Jan. 7.

  “Adela, I’m sorry about the other night. I was being a jerk. I don’t blame you for kicking me out. Give me another chance and I’ll make it up to you. I’ll show you a good time. Walter.”

  The second came the following week.

  “Adela, I said I was sorry. I really mean it. All I want is another chance to show you how I feel about you. Walter.”

  Here’s the next one.

  “Adela, Why won’t you talk with me at the store? I tried to tell you the other day it wasn’t my fault. You shouldn’t have led me on that night. I thought you wanted it like that. Call me. Walter.”

  The tone changes in the next letter.

  “Adela, stop ignoring me. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have to write you like this. Stop making me feel bad. It’s not like I really raped you. Walter.”

  The letters get progressively more hostile. It’s typical of a relationship gone bad in the mind of this man. In this case, at least reading between the lines, Walter Bartol tried to force himself on Adela. It must have been rough sex or even rape because I’ve gotten the impression Adela enjoyed a good romp in the sack. Walter starts being nice, apologetic, and then ends up blaming her for what happened.

  “Adela, I saw you with that guy. I bet you let him do what he wants. You are just a tease like all the others. I thought you were different. Walter.”

  I pause at “that guy.” Is this Adela’s mystery lover?

  In one letter, Walter Bartol accuses her of being a lousy mother. He could tell when he saw her and Dale together. He wrote the boy looked scared. She probably beat him. Actually, Dale was probably scared of Walter.

  The last letter, dated April 10, is the worst.

  “You bitch. I’ll get you for this.”

  He didn’t sign his name on that one, but the handwriting is the same. The restraining order is dated early the next week, presumably after she got the letter at the store. I reread the form Adela signed. Walter Bartol stalked her. He watched her house and followed her to the Rooster. She didn’t dare go alone into the city, and the time she did with Dale, he scared her something awful.

  I sit back in my chair. I wonder why the cops didn’t consider Walter Bartol a possible suspect. Or maybe they interviewed him but did nothing about it. After all, they treated Adela strictly as a missing person. In their minds, there was no foul play. Too bad I can’t ask the old chief. It’s unlikely he would remember even on a so-called good day. I feel sorry for him and his family. People shouldn’t end up forgetting their way like that.

  But these letters are pretty damning. Walter Bartol shoots to the top of the suspect list. That’s what I tell Ma when I call her.

  “You’re really going to visit that man?” she asks.

  “I’m not going alone. I asked Jack, and he said he would join me.”

  “Jack, your boss? You two getting chummy?”

  I smile. Chummy is a funny word. I’d say it was more than that between Jack and me, but I’m not telling Ma over the phone. Once, she told me I should get remarried. I was too young to be a widow living alone. It’s interesting the perspective on what is young by someone who is ninety-two.

  “Yeah, we’re getting chummy.”

  “I go away for a few days, and you get yourself a boyfriend,” Ma jokes.

  My mother would laugh even more if she saw my red face.

  “Very funny, Ma. Anyways I’m glad he’s coming with me. I read you those letters. He sounds really angry.”

  “Maybe you’ll have this case solved before I get back,” Ma tells me. “Then we’ll have to find another mystery to solve.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “So, how are my cat and dog doing?” Ma asks, and I laugh because she didn’t ask the same question about me.

  “They’re just fine. Hunting season starts tomorrow. I’ll have to stay close to Maggie when she goes outside, so some knucklehead doesn’t shoot her by accident. Roxanne is not allowed out ever.”

  “I miss them. Your brother’s animals aren’t as nice.”

  “By the way, I’m watching Sophie for the next two days while Ruth works. I figure it’d be a good time to check out the addresses on those permits. I’ll just strap her in the backseat and take a drive. I’ll drive around looking for a hole big enough to bury a body.”

  “Let me know what you find.”

  “Don’t worry, Ma. I will.”

  A Question for the Old Farts

  I meet Ruth at the store to make the Sophie transfer. It’s early enough for the Old Farts to be inside the backroom gabbing about everybody’s business but their own.

  “Did Gregg’s folks have a good time?” I ask Ruth.

  “They left Sunday, so I guess they did,” she says. “Did you have to tell them about Adela?”

  “Hey, your brothers brought it up. I didn’t. Why? Something wrong?”

  She’s loading Sophie into the backseat. Maggie jumps from the back of the car to check her out
. Her tail wags as she sniffs the baby.

  “I just don’t want them to think we’re… ”

  “Nuts?”

  Ruth laughs. Sometimes I think she’s torn between loving her family for all of our eccentricities and wanting us to be more, let’s say, civilized.

  “Hey, what’s this I hear about you and Jack Smith dancing at the Rooster?”

  “Who told you that?” I ask, and then I remember a couple of her school friends were there on Friday’s blockbuster night. “Never mind. We’re just having a good time.”

  “Hmm, I see.”

  Ruth pulls away in her car. I gaze down at my granddaughter.

  “What’d ya say, kiddo? Wanna visit the Old Farts?”

  She gets those pink boots going. I take that as a yes.

  The Old Fart with the best view makes the formal announcement, “Here comes trouble and she’s got her sidekick.” It’s the Skinniest Old Fart, who appears to be the group’s lookout today.

  I laugh as I approach their group.

  “Very funny,” I say. “Just so you know, this is a pit stop. I have a question.”

  I have their undivided attention.

  “Go ahead, Isabel,” the Bald Old Fart says.

  “Do any of you remember Walter Bartol? He used to drive a beer truck, oh maybe twenty-eight, thirty years ago.

  They all have long chins as they ponder.

  The Fattest Old Fart snorts.

  “I believe we were all too young to be sitting back here then. We all had jobs.”

  The Skinniest Old Fart bends forward.

  “I kinda remember him. Loud guy. Why? Is he a suspect?”

  Their heads turn my way.

  “Maybe, maybe not. He’s just somebody that’s come under my radar.”

  “Aw, come on, Isabel, you can’t leave us hanging like that,” the Serious Old Fart says.

  “Sure, I can.” I adjust my hold on Sophie. “Well, it’s been nice seeing you, guys.”