Chasing The Case

by Joan Livingston

  His head swings side to side.

  “Ninety-two, really?” he says. “Hey, I didn’t know the woman. She was kinda outta my league. But you’re welcome to come take a peek.” He snickers. “But unless ya got x-ray vision, it ain’t gonna do you much good. My garage has a concrete slab.”

  Shit, I believe this guy, and I’m not going soft.

  “That’s all right. I got what I came for. Thanks a bunch.”

  I shrug as I walk back to the car.

  “Not him?” Ma asks when I slide into the front seat.

  I give Victor a wave.

  “Nah, too bad. It would’ve made a great story. Plus, he had the right profile: a guy who’s quiet and keeps to himself. He was also packing heat right now, and he wasn’t going hunting.”

  “Another dead end.”

  “Yup. I believe it’s back to Bobby.” I frown. “Then there’s Jack’s creepy cousin. She did cheat with him although Jack didn’t find out until much later.” I heave a short sigh. “Or maybe this will just remain a cold case.”

  “I was pretty hopeful at first.”

  “Me, too.”

  When we get home, Ma gets to work making kale soup. I have a bowl before I leave for the Rooster. I’m not about to eat any of Eleanor’s food tonight. Maybe she’d put poison in it. Of course, I’m only joking.

  It’s a pretty normal night at the Rooster, steady but not overpowering. At one point, Jack sits on a stool at the bar during a lull in the action.

  “Hey, I’ve some news for you,” I tell him.

  “Did you solve your case?”

  “Nah, not that. My mother said she wouldn’t mind if you stayed over.”

  Jack slaps the counter.

  “Hot damn. Really?”

  “I was surprised, too. If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait a while. You could come for dinner and hang around, so she gets to know you better. Make her feel comfortable first.”

  “That works for me. We can still come to my place sometimes. I’ve got my room mostly dug out. You should’ve seen what I hauled to the dump today.” He nods. “I’m thinking of even buying new sheets for the bed.”

  Jack looks past me. I turn to see old sneaky-foot Eleanor behind me. I jump a bit.

  “Sheesh, Eleanor, you scared the shit outta me,” I say.

  “Somethin’ you want, Sis?” Jack asks.

  Eleanor shakes her head no.

  The Chase

  On Sunday, I take my mother to church, of course, and mercifully, God doesn’t strike me down dead for all the sinning I’ve done since the last time I was here. I take Ma out for a late breakfast afterwards. That’s when I tell her I have a gift for Jack. I framed three of the old photos I got from the Daily Star. A younger Jack behind the bar at the Rooster is one. The shots from the pig roast are the other two. I plan to drop them off at Jack’s while Ma watches the Patriots play today. Besides, I want Jack to show me the progress he’s making on his place.

  Jack’s pickup isn’t in the driveway. But I came all this way, so I may as well wait for him. I didn’t see his truck when I passed the Rooster. Maybe he ran to the store, which closes pretty soon. I came the back route, so I’m only guessing. Even if Jack went to church, which he doesn’t, the service was over a long time ago. There just aren’t that many places to go on a Sunday in Conwell.

  It’s a warm enough day that I can sit on the front steps of the porch and feel comfortable in the sun. This farmhouse is high enough elevation-wise that it has a view of the town and hills. I recall old-timers say that before the forest grew back you could see for miles in any direction. The early settlers had chopped down all the trees. I’ve seen photos from that time, so for once they aren’t spinning tales about the town.

  I hear Eleanor’s dogs. She’s got to be around here somewhere. She’s probably taking those mutts for a walk. Nobody can hunt on Sundays, an old rule that’s stuck, so she probably wants to give the dogs a good run. I did the same for Maggie when Ma and I came home.

  Now that I think of it, I’ve never asked Eleanor about Adela. Jack’s sister may be slow and unfriendly, but she could’ve heard or seen something useful. I look down at the top photo on my lap. It’s the one where Adela and Jack are having a fun moment, and Eleanor appears put out. Perhaps, it’s a case of three’s company, but she doesn’t disguise her feelings of disgust. That’s how I’d describe it. Something’s really bugging her.

  Eleanor and her mutts eventually emerge from the woods and make their way across the snowy field. The mutts bark and begin to run when they see me on the steps. I’m guessing they don’t get many visitors. I will admit to being skittish about dogs, especially ones that look like they’re going to bite the hell outta me. I’m hoping Eleanor’s mutts are just bluffing, or she calls them off if they aren’t. Finally, she whistles to the dogs and grabs the collar of the most aggressive.

  “What you want?” she greets me.

  “I’m here to see Jack. I have a surprise for him.”

  “He’s at the store.”

  I eye the dog she holds back. It has sharp, white teeth.

  “Are your dogs friendly?”

  “They don’t know you,” she says. “Stay here.”

  That’s exactly what I plan to do while she brings the dogs into her side of the house. Now they’re in the sunroom, barking their heads off at me. Eleanor is back. She doesn’t offer to let me inside, I notice. It doesn’t hurt to be friendly. I believe I’ll try it out on her.

  “You want to see what I’m giving Jack? They’re old photos I framed. You’re in one.”

  Her head tips from one side to the other. I seemed to have sparked her curiosity.

  “Me?”

  I hand her the photo from the bottom. It’s the one I shot of Jack when he bought the Rooster. Eleanor’s lips curl ever so slightly when she recognizes her brother. She hands it back.

  “Here’s one from the pig roast way back when.”

  She nods as she studies the solo image of her brother. She hands that one back, too.

  “This one was taken at the same pig roast. You’re in it.”

  Her smile fades when she sees the photo. Maybe she doesn’t like the sour expression on her face or the happy ones on Jack and Adela’s. She takes her time studying it. Here is my opportunity. Keep it light, Isabel. Don’t spook Eleanor.

  “Turns out I took that photo a couple of weeks before Adela went missing. You must’ve known her pretty well since you grew up together. Jack says you and she were in the same class. You saw her at the store all the time.”

  Eleanor raises her eyes for a second.

  She grunts.

  “Your brother told me they were spending a lot of time together the months before she disappeared.”

  Grunt.

  “Jack told me he loved her. I wonder where they would have lived if they got married. Do you think she would have liked it here? This is a nice old house, but she had one, too.”

  No grunt this time. She hands me back the photo, almost flinging it, but I make a lucky catch.

  “I get the feeling you didn’t like Adela.”

  “No,” she blurts.

  Finally, I get something from her although I believe she means yes.

  “How come?”

  “She was bad,” she says.

  “Bad about what?”

  “She did it with my cousin. I was gonna tell Jack. I told her that.”

  “Is that why she came here the night she disappeared?”

  Her mouth drops open. Her brows dig inward.

  There’s no turning back for me.

  “You two have a fight about Jack?” I ask. “You didn’t want to lose him?”

  “Uh.”

  “Eleanor, what happened?”

  Her head shakes. She blinks hard and fast.

  “Did she have an accident? Is that how she died?”

  And then Eleanor’s gone, running toward the woods. Her boots kick up wet snow. Her arms pump. She’s wailing.

  I se
t the photos on the porch and chase after Eleanor, past the barking dogs in the sunroom, across the sloppy field and toward the woods. I have a hard time keeping up since she has a head start, and she knows where she’s going. I follow her boot prints in the snow into the trees. I haven’t any idea what I’ll do when I finally find her. I wonder if she’d come peacefully anyways. Right now, I’m more concerned she could hurt herself out there.

  I definitely need Jack’s help. I slip the phone from my jacket pocket. Damn it, there’s no service out here.

  “Eleanor, come back!” I shout.

  But she doesn’t.

  I slow my pace. I think the last time I ran this fast I was helping one of the kid’s teams. I’m winded, but that’s not going to stop me. Besides, Eleanor can’t be too far ahead. She’s way older than me, for God’s sake, and she’s not the jock type.

  But fear is on her side. She knows I know about Adela.

  Crap, why couldn’t it be some jerk like Walter Bartol? Or even the old Bobby Collins or Victor Wilson. I would gladly nominate Jack’s creepy cousin. But his sister?

  I am past the hardwoods and into a thick stand of pines, where Eleanor’s boot prints stop. I stop, too. Okay, this woman couldn’t just fly or disappear. But as I study the ground, I realize she made a sharp left through the pines.

  Eleanor can’t be too far away.

  Of course, she isn’t.

  But I realize that too late, when I get a hard whack to my head and I fall to the snow.

  Kind of a Mess

  I’m told Jack carried me back to his house. He came home to find my car. His sister was tearing from the woods. Eleanor wouldn’t say what happened, but he guessed. He made her show him where she left me.

  I remember Jack holding me. He kept saying my name.

  I was in and out of it, but I told him, “Your sister.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “No, Adela.”

  I’m lying in Jack’s unmade bed. Chief Ben Jr. already has been here to see me. Jack called him after he got his sister to talk.

  An EMT, one of the Rooster regulars, is checking me over again.

  “How many of me do you see?” he jokes.

  “Just one, thank God,” I answer.

  My head hurts like hell, and if this guy isn’t careful I just might barf on him.

  “You’ve got a good bump in the back of your head. Lucky for you she didn’t catch you on the side with that piece of wood. You probably have a concussion, but you’re gonna be okay. Do you wanna go to the hospital to get checked out?”

  “No hospital. No ambulance. I just want to go home. My mother must be wondering what in the hell happened to me. I have to tell my kids.”

  “You wanna do that now?”

  “No, no, get me home, please. How long have I been here?”

  “A couple of hours.” He flashes a light in my eyes. “I’ll take you. One of the other guys can follow me.”

  “Thanks.” I raise my head but let it drop onto the pillow. “Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s next door with Eleanor. Chief Ben Jr.’s with ’em. The state cops showed up, too. They’re figurin’ things out. It’s kind of a mess.”

  “Yeah. What’s gonna happen to her?”

  “No clue.”

  Moments later, I zip my jacket and walk outside. The driveway is filled with vehicles, including three cruisers.

  I point to the photos on the porch floor. The glass is cracked on the one with the threesome at the pig roast.

  “Could somebody bring those inside? They’re for Jack. Please?”

  “Sure enough, Isabel.”

  I turn. Jack, Eleanor, and the cops are in the sunroom. Eleanor’s head is down. Jack has his arm around his sister. The cops lean forward in their chairs toward them. This is serious business.

  Crap, why did it have to be her?

  Old Farts’ Blessing

  It’s too early for my night owl mother to be up, but I do know who is awake at this hour. I leave a note for Ma: “Gone to see the Old Farts.”

  I haven’t been out of the house much since that Sunday almost two weeks ago. First, there was that knock to my head, but then I just felt funny seeing anyone, except my mother and the kids. Ma has been thoughtful, of course, making me enough kale soup to grow hair on my chest, as we Portagees like to joke. She admonishes me when I say I should’ve quit the case.

  My mother put it best when she said, “The good news is you solved this case. The bad news is you solved this case.”

  Andrew Snow came over the Monday after it all went down. I felt awkward taking his money, but he said I deserved it. There were tears in his eyes.

  “It’s not what I expected,” he said. “But at least we know what happened. I’m grateful for that.”

  Andrew did say he’s heard from someone in the next town over who wants to hire me. Another hilltown mystery. Another cold case. I can’t think about that now.

  Of course, the papers and TV stations went nuts over the story. The news went national, I heard. I’m not surprised. This story has so many great elements like the former reporter who covered a local woman’s disappearance solving the case twenty-eight years later. My landline rang constantly for a few days although I ignored it. I did do a brief interview for the Daily Star, for old time’s sake, but I downplayed any heroics on my part. I called for compassion.

  Who really knows what happened twenty-eight years ago?

  As for the town of Conwell, I suspect people closed ranks and were typical tightlipped Yankees with the press. They, at least the natives, would be torn up about the case. Now maybe Bobby Collins can finally get everybody off his back.

  As I step through the store’s side door, one of the Old Farts says, “She’s here,” as if they’ve been expecting me all along.

  I take my usual spot next to the Fattest Old Fart. He reaches his arm around me and gives me a half-hug.

  “How’s your noggin?”

  “As hard as ever,” I say.

  “You did good, Isabel,” he says.

  I sigh.

  “Why did it have to be Eleanor?” I say for the millionth time.

  The Old Farts hum low in their throats.

  “I would never have thought it myself,” the Serious Old Fart says for everyone. “None of us did.”

  “Eleanor strangling Adela?” the Bald Old Fart beside him says. “Unbelievable.”

  The Old Fart with Glasses looks over his shoulder, I suppose, to see if Jamie Snow is in earshot.

  “That was awfully decent of the family to ask the judge for clemency,” he says.

  Yes, it was mighty noble of the Snows. My understanding is she won’t serve time, except at home. Yes, she admits to choking Adela Collins to death, but it was precipitated by a fight that got physical, with Adela starting it, at least according to Eleanor. That’s when her necklace broke. Eleanor found it on the floor under her kitchen table later and hid it beneath her mattress. Why she placed the locket at Adela’s grave is beyond me and everyone else. I wonder if she understands why. She told Chief Ben Jr. she didn’t want it anymore.

  And you probably guessed correctly the baseball cap found in Adela’s car belonged to Eleanor. Yeah, her head is that big.

  Jack recalls his sister’s face was bruised and scratched when he came home from his fishing trip, but from his recollection she claimed one of her dogs accidently knocked her down.

  The Fattest Old Fart shakes a fat finger.

  “We all know Eleanor is real slow, but she sure figured out how to clean up things,” he says. “Driving Adela’s car to that logging road and then hiking back in the dark along a snowmobile trail. Then she used the bucket on the farm’s tractor to bury her body where they were building that sunroom. I scratch my head about that.”

  I heard the ground beneath the sunroom has already been excavated. I bet the Old Farts heard, too.

  Now Adela’s remains are in her grave.

  The Fattest Old Fart nods to the Skinniest Old Fart, w
ho gets up to pour me coffee.

  “How do you take it, Isabel?”

  “A little milk, please.”

  He hands me the Styrofoam cup.

  “Sorry, the espresso machine’s getting fixed,” the Skinniest Old Fart jokes. “We should have it back next week.”

  Yup, there’s a chorus of chuckles.

  “Oh, you guys.”

  Jack

  Later that day, I’m in the cellar sorting through Sam’s tools. With the snowstorm that moved in this morning, I have nowhere to go. I have a buyer for all the machinery. The boys and Gregg are not interested although they did move the big stuff to one spot for me. I’ll hold onto the hand tools, like the German planes and Japanese saws Sam prized, but getting rid of the power tools will reduce the shop’s size greatly. It will mean I can get an entire winter’s supply of firewood in here from now on and avoid that chore mid-January.

  Plus, I could use the cash with Christmas being two weeks away. Yeah, Jack didn’t have to tell me, but my job at the Rooster is over. The Rooster has been closed since that Sunday.

  On the floor above me, Ma talks with a man. I recognize Jack’s voice. The conversation is so brief he’s out the door before I get upstairs.

  “What did Jack want, Ma?”

  She holds an envelope.

  “He says it’s a check.”

  I peek out the window. Jack walks toward his pickup through the falling snow. His hand is on the door as he gives a backward look. Shoot.

  I grab my jacket from a chair and rush outside.

  “Jack, Jack!” I shout.

  I run until I can catch up to his pickup. He looks a bit startled when I knock on his window, but he stops the truck. He rolls down the window.

  “Jack, where are you going?”

  The man is uncomfortable. I read it all over his face. There’s no Jack Smith grin or mischievous twinkle in his eye. I don’t blame him. It’s been a mess since his sister’s arrest.

  Jack finally speaks.

  “How are you, Isabel?” he says. “How’s your head?”

  I stick my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. The snow is coming down harder.