Oliver Crum Box Set

by Chris Cooper

  While they were cleaning up and closing the bakery down, a knock came at the front door.

  “We don’t have any pickups scheduled this afternoon,” Anna said.

  “I’ll go see who it is,” Oliver replied. He rounded the corner to the front of the bakery.

  The stranger made another frantic tap tap tap on the glass, and Oliver had an unpleasant flashback of Simon tapping on the bakery door with the tip of his metal cane.

  A thin silhouette was standing on the other side of the drawn blinds, and Oliver flipped the lock and pulled the door handle.

  “Oh, thank God,” the woman said as she huddled closer to the door, rubbing her exposed arms as the wind whipped against her dress.

  “We’ve actually just closed.” Oliver noticed her gaunt face and deep bags under her eyes. “Is everything all right? Can I help you with something?”

  “Just a moment to warm up before I head back out there, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. The coffee should still be hot, if you’d like a cup.” He opened the door wide to let the woman in.

  “Awfully kind of you. I promise I won’t be long.”

  Her flats slid awkwardly as she tracked snow across the floor.

  Her dress was tattered and thin—an outfit that was no match for the storm—and although she was out of the cold, she continued to shiver as if the chill had settled deep inside her. She looked truly out of place against the hazy winter backdrop and appeared to have stepped in a deep snow pile since several clumps hung on the edges of her shoes, rubbing against her exposed ankles. She attempted to brush the snow off the sides of her flats but only wedged it deeper within.

  “Take a seat,” Oliver said as he turned toward the kitchen to grab the coffee pot. He returned a moment later and poured a cup. “Not prepared for the weather, eh? What brings you to town?”

  She held her coffee cup tightly, trying to absorb its warmth. The woman pulled the glass sugar shaker closer and poured for an unusually long amount of time. “I have little time for small talk.”

  “Oh?” Oliver was taken aback by her bluntness.

  She took a swig of coffee. “Do you know Asher? I have a message that I have to get to him.”

  The hairs on Oliver’s neck stood on end. He tried not to let his expression show his discomfort.

  “Um, no, never heard of anyone with that name,” he lied. He eyed the back of the kitchen, but Asher was out of sight, probably leaning over the sink, doing dishes.

  She rubbed a tear from the corner of one eye.

  “Do you need for me to call—”

  “No, no,” she replied. “You can’t. There isn’t time, and it wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “What’s going—”

  “Just listen!” she shouted, slamming the mug on the table and splattering coffee everywhere. “I have to find Asher. I know he is staying in this town.”

  “Oh,” Oliver replied. “How did you get into town? Seems like no one’s been able to get in or out today.”

  “I came in on the train,” she replied.

  “The train’s up and running again?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I was on the last train in. His train.”

  His train?

  She slid out of the booth seat.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She turned toward him and gripped his arm, bringing her face uncomfortably close.

  “If you find him, tell him to find a safe place to hide until the storm passes.”

  Anna emerged from the kitchen. “Everything okay?” she asked, brandishing a wet dish towel.

  “She’s looking for someone named Ashton.” Oliver had played this game before.

  “Asher,” the woman corrected.

  “Oh, right. Know anyone named Asher?” he asked Anna.

  Anna shook her head. “Nope. And in a town this small, pretty sure I’d recognize a name like that.” She was the perfect accomplice. “You might look at the pub, though. They have a few rooms—maybe your friend is staying there.” Anna pointed. “Just across the square, next to Fletcher Antiquities at The Horseman. You can’t miss it.”

  The woman turned toward the door and stepped back out into the cold.

  He walked toward the window and watched her stumble awkwardly across the square.

  “What the hell was that about?” Anna asked.

  “I don’t know. Looked like she’d been through hell. I will give the pub a call—let them know she’s coming.”

  “What did she want?” Asher asked from the kitchen doorway. “I heard my name and figured I should make myself scarce.”

  “She said she had a message for you: hide,” Oliver replied.

  Asher bristled. “That’s creepy. Should I be worried?”

  “I don’t know,” Oliver said as he walked to the phone behind the register and picked up the receiver. “Static. Forgot the phones are down.”

  “Seems like we’ve lost everything but the power. Surely the folks at the bar won’t be dense enough to tell her where Asher is, you think?” Anna asked.

  The woman had already crossed the square and was well on her way to the pub, wind whipping her tattered dress.

  “I hope not. She said she came in on the train. His train. Who do you think she meant?”

  Anna shrugged.

  “I’ll look at the train station,” he said. “Would you go to the police station and tell Eric what happened?”

  Eric, the Christchurch chief of police, had had his own firsthand experience with the unusual occurrences around town. His run-in with the Siren a few weeks prior left him temporarily her brainwashed thug.

  “Will do,” Anna replied.

  “We’ll wait for you!” Izzy shouted from the kitchen.

  Oliver slipped on his pea coat and hat and stepped out into the cold.

  He walked the path toward the station but, from a distance, saw little activity. Snow had covered the benches, and the place was a ghost town. As he walked through the archway, though, he saw a mammoth engine resting on the tracks next to the platform. Oliver had seen many types of trains pass through, but this black riveted beast looked more like a steam engine than a modern passenger or cargo train.

  The locomotive’s smooth metal sides gave the train the appearance of an austere bullet, perched on the tracks like a mobile fortress.

  Oliver took the bridge to the other side of the station and stopped midway, looking down onto the top of the train. He stood silent for a few moments, hoping to hear someone else shuffling through the station but heard nothing more than the wind echoing through the stalls.

  He looked for doors on the sides of the train cars, but all were shut tight. The two cars attached to the engine appeared to be passenger cars, but the windows had all been blacked out.

  On his way back to the entrance, he noticed a light in the station office and stopped in to speak with the attendant.

  “Any idea of where that train is from? It’s odd looking, isn’t it?” Oliver asked.

  “I haven’t seen a train like that in years,” the attendant replied without looking up from his clipboard. “It’s a private train.”

  “What’s inside?”

  “It’s a private train, which means the contents are none of your nor my business.”

  “Thanks,” Oliver said sarcastically.

  The attendant seemed to sense Oliver’s frustration and looked up from the counter. “Odd trains sometimes come through here. Could be on its way to a museum or to a tourist route. Won’t be going anywhere for a while, though, not with this weather. Nothing’s been in or out for hours and likely won’t be until the storm passes. Can’t get through on the radio to Amberley station to check their status either. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  As Oliver approached the bakery, he saw Anna entering the police station in the distance and looked across the square toward Martin’s. Maybe he’d know something about the train.

  The tent sign in front of Fletcher Antiquities had fallen over in the s
now, so Oliver picked it up, dusted it off, and repositioned it closer to the building to protect it from the wind.

  Every time he entered Martin’s antique shop, the place seemed more claustrophobic than before. He often wondered if Martin made any money on the shop or if it was more of a personal collection than anything else.

  Martin was sitting at his desk in the back of the store, head in hands until the jingle from the door caught his attention. He bolted up from his chair and raced to the front door.

  “Oliver!” he shouted. “Come to do a bit of early holiday shopping? Great deals today. Izzy’s been eyeing that boa over there—would make a perfect Christmas gift.”

  “Just had a question for you, Martin. Sorry to disappoint,” Oliver replied.

  “No worries,” Martin said with a noticeable sag in his smile.

  “Know anything about trains?” Oliver asked.

  Martin cocked his head to one side.

  “A girl wandered into the bakery this morning and said she’d come in on a train. She looked like she’d just crawled out of a dungeon. I went to the station to have a look, and the only train that’s been in or out is still there, but it’s not like anything I’ve seen pass through the station before.”

  “Cargo train, perhaps?”

  “Maybe, but aren’t those typically long? This one’s only a few cars. It looks old, too, not like the modern ones that come through.”

  “You know, Harry’s built a massive model-train display in his basement. I’ve been helping him locate a few hard-to-find models. Can’t say I know a lot, but tell me what it looked like.”

  “It’s shaped like a bullet and has sleek lines and skinny windows. This sounds odd, but it kinda reminds me of Izzy’s station wagon—like it comes from the same era.”

  “You don’t suppose it could be an old steam engine, do you?”

  “I thought it could be, but do they still use those?”

  “You don’t see them often, especially not one that old. But—something interesting—when I was helping Harry find a particularly rare model, I ran into someone who collects full-size train cars. Runs a museum out west. Perhaps it’s going to a collector.”

  “Sounds like Harry’s serious about his trains,” Oliver said.

  “He’s got to keep himself busy. Still has music, too, but I think the trains help him keep his mind off Francis.”

  Oliver still saw Francis in his dreams now and then. He couldn’t bring himself to sketch her, though, like he’d sketched the Witch or the Siren. The bodies were just too personal, too painful. He’d resigned himself to seeing them forever in his nightmares.

  “Maybe a collector, then,” Oliver said, snapping back to reality. “You didn’t see the woman walking by, did you?”

  “I wish,” Martin replied. “Aside from Madeline this morning, the place has been dead. She was right about opening up today—what a stupid idea.”

  The bell jingled against the door glass, and Martin perked up once more.

  “Are you coming or what?” Anna asked from the entryway. “We’re done at the bakery, and Izzy’s ready to go. She saw you cross the square.”

  Oliver looked back at Martin, who tried to hide his disappointment with another forced smile. “Tell you what.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and rifled through a thin stack of bills. “I don’t have enough cash to cover it now, but I’ll take the boa. If you could set it aside for me, I’ll come back with the rest when I can sneak it back to the house.”

  Martin beamed. “Will do. At least I’ve made one sale today. Black Friday didn’t go as planned.”

  “Stay warm, Martin,” he replied as he turned toward the door. Once he and Anna had left the shop, he asked her, “Did you talk to Eric?”

  “He said he’d head over to the pub and talk to her.”

  Izzy had warmed up the car and pulled in front of the bakery. Oliver climbed in the back with Asher, while Anna hopped into the front passenger seat.

  Izzy pressed the pedal hard, and the car skidded around, doing a donut in the other direction.

  “Easy!” Anna shouted.

  Their station wagon garnered an odd look from a man loading groceries in his car in front of the market.

  Izzy giggled. “Always wanted to do that.” She eased off the pedal until the tires gripped the slick snow accumulating on the road around the square.

  “So, any luck at the train station?” Izzy asked.

  “None. I talked to the station manager, but he wasn’t much help. With the storm, I can’t imagine it’s going anywhere soon.”

  Izzy steered back toward the square and down the road by the market. A fresh layer of powder had already covered the tire tracks from earlier that morning.

  “Good thing I just had new tires put on a few months ago,” Izzy said as she pulled into the driveway.

  “What are you all up to for the rest of the day?” Oliver asked.

  “I’ve got a new vegan chili recipe I’ve been dying to try,” Izzy said.

  “Yum,” Oliver replied sarcastically.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it,” Izzy shot back.

  Chapter Three

  While Izzy and Anna busied themselves in the kitchen, Oliver took Pan to the backyard. The pup hopped to the ground from the bottom step of the porch and disappeared underneath a foot of snow, so Oliver grabbed the snow shovel from the garage and cleared a path for him.

  After fifteen minutes of shoveling, when Pan’s little corgi body began to shiver, Oliver opened the back door to let him inside. He turned toward the woods and noticed a smoky haze over the forest below.

  Another fire. Things in Briarwood must not be going well. But as Oliver looked at the smoke, he realized it wasn’t coming from Briarwood but blowing in from town. He rounded the house to the front yard. A column of black swirls was billowing from the side of the square.

  Oliver rushed inside. “Come look at this!” he shouted. “Something’s on fire near the square.”

  Izzy came flying in from the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand. “Not the bakery!”

  “I don’t think so. It looks like it’s coming from Martin’s side.”

  “We’ve got to get up there,” she replied.

  Asher tossed his paperback onto the coffee table. “Let’s go.”

  Oliver thought of the woman’s message and the Siren’s warning from a few weeks before, and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. “No, I think you should stay here.”

  Asher’s look shifted from confusion to terror. “You don’t think it’s got something to do—”

  “Just stay here. I’m sure it’s fine,” Oliver said, despite not being sure at all.

  “Let me drive,” he said to Izzy. Somehow driving made him feel as if he was helping.

  “I’m not a child.” Asher raised his voice as he stood from the couch, catching the others by surprise. “I’m going with you.”

  Oliver started to speak, but Anna cut him off. “He’s right. He shouldn’t stay here by himself.” She turned toward Asher. “But until we know what’s happening in the square, stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” She gestured for Oliver and Izzy to go.

  Izzy and Oliver climbed into the car, and he drove as fast as he could to the square although the roads were icier with each trip.

  “It’s not Martin’s,” he said as they approached the square. “Looks like it might be the pub.”

  As he pulled around the corner, tall flames lapped up toward the sky, shooting red-hot embers and black smoke into the cold winter air.

  A crowd had gathered around the burning building, and Oliver parked off to one side.

  Eric stood in a tan trench coat, watching as fire consumed the building and frantically trying to reach someone on the other end of his police radio.

  “Where’s the fire department?” Oliver shouted as he approached.

  “They’d have to come from Amberley, but the damned phones are down.”

  “What about the radio?”

 
“Static. I’m not sure how, but the storm must be interfering.”

  “But that isn’t poss—”

  Eric left Oliver hanging as something on the second floor caught his attention. “Someone’s still inside!”

  The crowd stood, hands clasped and mouths gaping, as Eric called over the two other Christchurch police officers, Will and Gary. A face appeared in a window on the second floor, a ghostly floating head surrounded by rolling smoke. Mitch, The Horseman’s bartender, gasped for air as he hung halfway out the window, trying to catch the wind blowing through town.

  “A ladder!” Eric shouted. “I need a ladder.”

  “There’s one by the garden shed out back.” Will rushed to the back of the pub and returned with a rickety wooden ladder.

  Eric leaned the ladder against the window frame as the flames crept closer.

  Mitch frantically grabbed for it, but his eyes seemed sealed shut by soot and ash.

  Eric climbed the ladder and pulled him over the windowsill by the back of his charred shirt, guiding his hands to the top rung. The two other officers waited below and eased the man down to the ground.

  Mitch lay in the snow, struggling to breathe and badly burned. He clutched his chest as Eric pulled the radio from his pocket and tried once more to reach someone, anyone outside of Christchurch. In a moment of frustration, he threw the radio to the ground and knelt next to Mitch.

  “We can’t wait here. We have to take him to Amberley,” Eric said.

  “I’ll grab a cruiser,” Gary said.

  “They’re snowed in. We don’t have time for that.” Eric looked at Oliver and pointed at Izzy’s station wagon. “Help me get him into the back seat.”

  Oliver looked at Izzy.

  “Take him,” she said. “I’ll stay here.” Her eyes were red and glossy as they darted between Oliver and the burning building. “Be careful.”

  The officers lifted Mitch gingerly and carried him to the back seat of the car. He let out a raspy scream as they slid him inside.