An Altar by the River

by Christine Husom

  Gregory Trippen phoned as I was hanging clean towels in the bathroom off my bedroom.

  “Hello, Gregory.”

  “Sergeant Aleckson, call me Greg. I wanted to let you know I got home safe.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Any word yet on Jeff? I know you said you’d call, but I had to ask.”

  “No, no word. And I promise to let you know as soon as there is.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of all my stuff and be in touch.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Talk to you later, then.”

  “Sounds good. ’Bye, Greg.”

  When I ran down the steps to put away my cleaning supplies, I was pleased that my house not only looked clean, it smelled clean—it seemed clean. Mother would notice.

  Sara came in the back door and hollered, “Honey, I’m home.”

  “You’re funny,” I yelled back from the laundry room.

  “What are you doing? You need help?” I heard her setting bags on the kitchen counter.

  I walked into the kitchen. “There are paper and plastic products in there—” I pointed to a base cabinet, “—plates, napkins, forks, spoons, cups.”

  Sara was freshly showered and dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a coral-colored belted blouse. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back on each side and secured in place by barrettes.

  “Cute top. Good color on you.”

  “Thanks. It’s gotten so nice outside, I decided to stop at your mother’s shop after work to get something fun for spring.”

  “She must have just gotten those in. I didn’t see them when I stopped in the shop the other day to check out the paint job.”

  “Which looks very nice, by the way.”

  “I agree. I was a little skeptical when she showed us the paint samples. I thought it would be more purply-lilac, but it’s very subdued.”

  “Yes, it is. I like the color a lot.” Sara glanced around. “Your house looks good. Really clean.”

  “Thanks. Believe it or not, I found cleaning very therapeutic today. I let my mind wander and processed some things I’ve been thinking about. A good mental and physical workout.”

  “Heard from anyone who’s planning to come over?” She pulled a bottle of wine from a bag.

  “A bunch of people from the sheriff’s department. There’s Todd and Kayla Mason, Brian Carlson, Vince Weber. Mandy Zubinski can’t make it. Darn. Smoke, my mom, and the sheriff. Oh, and Bob Edberg—”

  “Deputy Edberg?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’ve never seen him at a party before,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Maybe he figures it’s time to socialize. He’s only like sixty.”

  “More like fifty.”

  “Oh, and Casey gets off work at eleven. He said he’d stop by to see if anyone’s still here then.”

  “Any word on the county attorneys or the public defenders?”

  “No, I should have told them to RSVP,” she said.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Saved me answering phone calls. If we get ten people or fifty people, we’ll make it work. We can spill into the garage, or outside if we have to.”

  “You’ve got a great house for entertaining. Nice and open, so it seems even bigger than it is. Hey, you better get a move on. I’ll get things lined up here while you get ready.”

  Me. The thing I’d forgotten needed cleaning. “Okay.”

  I showered and shampooed, standing under the warm spray an extra few minutes to loosen my shoulder muscles and relax my body before an evening of hosting. I dressed in a red print V-necked shirt and black jeans. I brushed the snarls out of my straight blonde hair, which hung a couple of inches past my shoulders, then used the blow dryer to remove most of the moisture. The air would finish the job by the time our guests arrived. I pulled on a headband and gave my hair a final brushing.

  “Nice transformation,” Sara said when I joined her.

  “Thanks. You found everything, it looks like.”

  “And I got the white wine and champagne in the fridge. I hope I got enough champagne.”

  “It’ll be enough. A sip is all anyone needs for a toast anyway. I’m going to back my car out of the garage in case we need the space.”

  “Won’t hurt.”

  Winnebago County Attorney Ray Collinwood was the first to arrive promptly at seven o’clock, a bottle of wine in one hand and a plate of deviled eggs in the other. My mother and Sheriff Denny Twardy were close behind.

  When they came through the door, it struck me how good they looked together. Mother kept trim by continually moving. She highlighted her dark blonde hair to mask the gray and was sometimes mistaken for my sister. Denny Twardy’s face was more deeply etched with wrinkles, but he had a youthful appearance when he was relaxed, like when he was with my mother. They assisted Sara and me with the hosting duties, directing the guests where to set food and beverages.

  By eight o’clock my house was filled to capacity. People. Beverage coolers. Plates of food. Bowls of chips and salads. Boxes of crackers. Even with the windows open, the house was warm from all the body heat. A few people spilled out onto my deck. The trees had not fully leafed out, so there was a good view of Bebee Lake for the short while before dark. Other guests headed into the garage.

  The deputies I had expected came, joined by others I hadn’t. I was surprised when Mandy Zubinski showed up.

  “Hi, Corky. I hope it’s okay to be here. I had a change of plans.”

  “Of course, join the party.”

  I was more surprised when my mother opened the door and there stood Eric Stueman, the new assistant county attorney. She pointed him in my direction. The most notable thing about Stueman was his dour expression. Some people were more protective of their smiles than others. Stueman? His were under lock and key somewhere. It was a shame, because he was an attractive man underneath his cover. He nodded at me by way of a greeting.

  “Welcome. There are quite a few from your office here,” I said.

  Stueman looked around, caught sight of Collinwood, and nodded again before walking away. Apparently his words were locked away with his smiles.

  Smoke arrived at nine o’clock looking haggard. His sky-blue eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I didn’t sleep last night and thought I could catch a nap this afternoon, but no such luck. It’ll be an early night for me.”

  “Help yourself to food and drink.”

  “You know how to throw a party, little lady. How many are here? Sixty, seventy?”

  “Yeah, about seventy. Some are here for their fallen colleagues, others because there was nothing else going on, I guess.”

  “Mandy Zubinski seems pretty cozy with those guys.”

  I looked at the group standing near the sliding glass door that opened to the deck. Mandy was laughing and flirting with Deputies Bob Edberg, Brian Carlson, Fred Brooks, and Devin Stauder.

  “Edberg. That’s a surprise. I need to talk to him. About that deal we got going.”

  “Too many people here for that,” I said.

  “No, I didn’t mean tonight. Just talking out loud. Speaking of which, I gotta yell to hear my own voice.”

  “Good thing I live in the country. No close neighbors to call the cops on a noise complaint. It’ll help keep you awake, at least.”

  Ray Collinwood stepped in beside us and clapped Smoke on the back. Ray was Santa Claus, sans the beard. Round and jolly, with a red face and white hair. “Here’s the man of the hour. Got the deputies here in time to save our favorite sergeant here.”

  The long dimples in Smoke’s face deepened. “I’m glad it turned out the way it did. Looks like a lot of people from your office are here.”

  “Arthur was respected by all of our staff. When he died, we found out how much we really lost.” He thought a moment. “Corky, should we organize that toast soon?”

  “Sure. Anytime.”


  Collinwood waved at Barbara Jacobs, the secretary and receptionist for the Tenth Judicial District Public Defender’s Office. Barbara was past retirement age, but loved her job too much to leave. She ambled over and joined our huddle.

  “Hi, Smoke.”

  “Barbara. You’re looking lovely, as always.”

  She smiled. “You, too. A little tired, but lovely.” Barbara turned to Collinwood. “You needed me, Ray?”

  “We’re going to have that toast, and I wondered if you’d be the first to say a few words about Marshall?”

  “I can do that.” She patted her fresh-from-the-beauty-shop hair.

  “Let’s start opening bottles,” Smoke suggested.

  The inside of my refrigerator looked like a champagne cooler. Sara didn’t need to worry whether there would be enough. A number of people had added to the collection.

  “Hey, Todd, Brian, you guys want to help pop some corks?” I asked.

  Brian cracked a silly grin, and the light configuration of freckles on his face shifted.

  “My specialty,” Todd said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Champagne bottles.”

  They both laughed and followed me to the kitchen. An assembly line had formed. Sara dug bottles out of the fridge and handed them to Barbara, who set them on the breakfast bar in front of either Collinwood or Smoke. Each was opening a second bottle.

  “At your service,” Brian said. He and Todd stepped up to the bar and pushed themselves in between stools opposite the other two men. Twelve corks were popped in short order.

  Mother, Denny, Sara, and I lined glasses on the counters and poured champagne in each. “Listen up!” Smoke called out to the masses. “We’ve reached the program part of the party. Corky?”

  “We’d like to toast some people tonight. We’re pouring bubbly in the kitchen, so everyone come and grab a glass.”

  I went to the garage, then to the deck, and invited everyone in. About five minutes later we all crowded together, glasses in hand. Sara stood next to me. “You talk,” I said.

  Sara raised her glass. “Corky and I had the idea to have a get together tonight to thank the people who saved us. And Corky, you know, put up quite a fight against Alvie Eisner, so she’s one of the ones I’m personally toasting.”

  She waved her glass at me and continued, “We were the lucky ones. Arthur Franz and Marshall Kelton were not so lucky. Their colleagues are here to remember them tonight, also.” She lifted her glass higher. “So here’s to Smoke Dawes, Mandy Zubinski, Todd Mason, and Brian Carlson for rescuing us. We can’t thank you enough.”

  Smoke smiled and winked at me. Zubinski, Mason, and Carlson all shrugged and said they were just doing their jobs. There were shouts of “cheers” and the sound of hard plastic cups clinking together. Sara and I touched each other’s glasses first, then turned to those around us.

  My mother moved next to me, put her arm around my waist and squeezed, then gave Sara a hug. She had tears in her eyes and was as thankful as we were. At least. The sheriff stepped in close to Mom and rested his hand on her arm.

  Ray Collinwood spoke next from the other side of the room. “Arthur Franz is truly missed. He ran a tight ship in the county attorney’s office, but he never expected more of anyone else than he did of himself. He taught by example. A true professional. He sought justice. He fought for justice in the courtroom. He suffered an untimely death because of it. Here’s to Arthur.”

  “Arthur!” Julie Grimes, an assistant county attorney, called out.

  More cheers and clinks.

  Barbara raised her glass. “A lot of you probably don’t know me because I work for the other side. The public defenders. No booing—”

  A few people chuckled, me included. The deputies arrested people, and it was up to the public defenders to mount a good case for their clients, guilty or not.

  “—I’ve been an administrative assistant with the public defenders for about a hundred years. And in all that time, I have to say Marshall Kelton was one of the most brilliant attorneys I have ever known. No offense to the rest of you. And he was fun to work with. He was not the most organized, and far from perfect, but he was a true friend and a great boss, and I miss him every day.”

  “We love you, Marshall!” I don’t know who said that.

  I was mingling when I saw the door to my den office open and Bob Edberg step out. As he pulled the door shut, I caught up with him. “Looking for something?”

  He appeared taken aback. “Oh, no. Just needed to make a phone call, and it’s so noisy out here, I went in there and shut the door. I guess I should have checked first.”

  “No problem.”

  Small groups of people, talking and laughing, formed and changed throughout the evening. The unwritten rule was to stay away from work talk at social events, but that was impossible for us. It seemed our best stories stemmed from what happened at work.

  I joined Julie Grimes, Vince Weber, and Todd and Kayla Mason. They were sitting in a small circle of chairs on the deck.

  Julie was saying, “Collinwood won’t say. I don’t know what the big secret is.”

  “Exactly,” Todd agreed.

  “Secret?” I asked.

  “We’re talking about the big team-building deal next week.”

  “Ah.”

  “You’re a sergeant. You know what we’re doing?” Julie asked.

  I held up my hands. “I know nothing.”

  “All right. I’ll have to work on Ray some more.”

  “Or wait until the big day.”

  She wiggled her nose and crossed her eyes. “Way too snoopy for that.”

  I laughed at her funny expression.

  Smoke was leaning against a living room wall watching people. “Nice party. Even the old guys are hanging in there.” He indicated Bob Edberg and Dennis Twardy with a small movement of his head. Denny was talking. Bob was listening and nodding.

  I told Smoke about Edberg being in my den office with the door closed to use the phone. “Why didn’t he just step outside if he wanted to make a call instead of going in your office and closing the door?”

  “That’s what I wondered.”

  “Speaking of which, do you mind if I take a little rest on the couch in your den? I’ll get a little shut eye, and it’ll discourage anyone from going in there, snooping around, or making out on your couch.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “I’m sure that’s going to happen. Really, Smoke, you’re tired. Why don’t you go home and get a good night’s sleep?”

  “Humor me.”

  I shrugged. When Smoke got something in his head, he did not give it up easily. “Fine with me.”

  He slipped into the office, and I went back to the guests. One of the public defenders appeared intoxicated, so I retrieved my PBT—Preliminary Breath Tester—from the briefcase in my den office. Smoke was fast asleep and didn’t stir.

  Some watchdog.

  The light on my computer caught my eye, and I realized my computer armoire was open. I had closed it when I cleaned the room earlier that day. Did Edberg lie about making a phone call? Was he on my computer instead? But why? I unlocked my briefcase and grabbed the PBT. I’d pull Edberg aside and ask him about it. When I returned to the living room and inquired about him, Sara said he had told her thank you a few minutes earlier and left.

  Sara looked at the case in my hand. “Somebody drunk?”

  “One way to find out for sure.”

  I increased the volume of my voice about fifteen decibels. “Hey everyone, I’m going to PBT you before you leave. Since the party’s at my house, I’m responsible, and no one drives if they are under the influence. Okay?”

  There were a few protests, but as they left, each one submitted to the breath testing without argument. As it turned out, only one needed a chauffeur: the public defender I had spotted earlier.

  By midnight, the few people still on board were Sara, my mother, the sheriff, and a sleeping Smoke. Aside from overflowing trash co
ntainers in the kitchen, dining room, and garage, and a recycling bin filled with bottles and cans, my house didn’t look bad. People had taken the dishes and crockpots they’d brought back home with them, so clean up was minimal.

  The sheriff pulled a garbage bag out of its container, and my mother started wiping down a kitchen counter. Sara yawned. I took the dishcloth from my mother’s hand. When she didn’t resist, I knew how tired she was. “Time to say goodnight, everyone. You guys have done enough, helping all evening. I’ll finish in the morning.”

  “It was a really nice party, Corky. Thanks for being such a good sport about how it kind of exploded, number wise,” Sara said.

  I tossed the dishcloth in the sink. “Hey, we somehow all fit, and it was easy with everyone bringing food. Aside from cleaning, which I had to do anyway—”

  “I meant to tell you how nice your house looked,” Mother said.

  “Thanks. If you want to sit and relax for a while, that’s fine, but no more working.”

  “It’s been a long week, so I should get going. Thanks, my dear.” Sara gave me a hug.

  “Thank you. For all the food and drinks you brought.”

  Mom and the sheriff followed us to the front door, and we all stepped into the cool night air.

  Mother turned to me. “Why is Elton’s car in your driveway? I didn’t know he was still here.”

  “Sound asleep in my den.”

  “Maybe you should wake him.”

  “He is perfectly safe, and I am perfectly safe.”

  “I know that, dear, but—”

  “Mother, you are so funny sometimes. If people see his car here in the middle of the night and want to believe we are having mad, passionate sex, that’s their problem.”

  “Corinne Mae Aleckson! What a way to talk.”

  When I started laughing, Sara broke down too. “Yes, Corinne,” she managed to spit out.

  Even my mother and the sheriff smiled. I hugged them both, and they walked toward their cars with Sara. I went inside, locked the door, and started thinking about the evening. I wondered why Eric Stueman had showed up. He was hired as an assistant county attorney after Arthur died. He didn’t know Arthur and didn’t like me. Maybe it was a trial run before our team-building exercise the next weekend. He wanted to find out if he could tolerate being near me for more than an hour.