“I’m not serious, of course. Just pointing out that we ought to be prepared for any eventuality, not just the obvious.”
“Just because I said his coat might be in the boxcar doesn’t mean I’m not prepared for there to be another explanation,” George said as he expertly maneuvered around a cow that had escaped the confines of its pasture. He honked a few times to try to get the thing off the road, but it wouldn’t budge. So as we slowly took a big arc around it, George called the station. “There’s a cow out here blocking the road. Find out whose it is and let them know,” he told the dispatcher.
He started up his conversation with me as if we hadn’t been interrupted. “I think it’s important for us not to have any preconceived notions before we check out the scene.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” I responded, and didn’t remind him that I was the one who said it first.
By then we’d arrived at the train, located a little over a mile west of the body, west of the intersection of 24th Street and the tracks. Here, the tracks had veered south as well as west, so we were between Wismann Lane and Locust Street. I was anxious to reach the boxcar, so didn’t wait for gentlemanly George to open my door. I kept up with him stride for stride though, which normally didn’t happen since I was short and he wasn’t. I heard him laugh as we progressed, but chose not to mention it, primarily because I could hardly breathe from the exertion.
We looked for the Burlington Northern car that the woman had described. Trouble was that BN was the most common name on the boxcars. George said, “She also said there was graffiti on the car that looked like a vase or urn.”
“Odd,” I said, and kept walking and gasping for air.
Finally I saw what we were looking for and pointed because I had no air left for talking. There, directly ahead, was the Burlington Northern boxcar with a vase drawn on the side. When I’d caught my breath, I said, “I wonder if the urn or whatever is important.”
George either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me. I took a picture of the graffiti with my phone and patted the phone after I put it back in my pocket. I had a feeling that somehow the vase meant something.
For once, my hunch was 100% correct.
THREE
The boxcar was one of what looked like a hundred in a straight line; most of them bore the same red-rust color with various names and numbers on them. I had looked at all of them we’d passed, and glanced ahead at the next few, and saw there wasn’t a vase on any of the others.
“George, I think the vase drawing is significant,” I said, before trying to climb into the boxcar.
“Okay,” was all he said as he lifted himself quickly into the train.
I shrugged my shoulders and tried to get my 5’ 2” body to jump through the door of the boxcar. It wasn’t looking promising, considering that the floor of the car began at my neck level.
“George,” I said, and realized that my voice sounded almost whiney, which I abhorred. So I swallowed and tried again. “George.” I spoke loudly and the words came out decidedly unwhiney. “I need some help.”
He was already well inside the train car, but walked back to the door and bent down to give me a hand. Our fingers barely touched and I couldn’t grab onto his hand.
Ever the gentleman, he lay down on the floor of the car and then reached for me. This time I was able to grab on to him, and we did the wrist-to-wrist grab that is common in adventure movies. I didn’t feel like a movie star though. I felt like just what I was—a short, slightly overweight, 44-1/2-year-old woman. I was grateful this wasn’t being filmed for posterity, and after a lot of groaning I was able to get my belly half in and half out of the train. George then stood up and pulled some more. I knew my stomach was getting scraped, but the effort was worth it when I was finally in the car. I rolled from my stomach to my back and looked up at my helper.
“Thanks,” was all I could manage, but there was a lot more I wanted to say. Like, “I promise I’ll start running again and get in shape,” and “You are so wonderful, helping me like that, even when you wanted to be looking at the place the body came from.” A few gulping breaths later I was finally able to stand.
The inside of the boxcar was dark, and we couldn’t find a light anywhere. I turned on the flashlight function on my smart phone. George had thought ahead as usual and brought the flashlight from his car.
“You go to one end and I’ll go to another. Try not to disturb anything, and we’ll compare notes afterward.”
I nodded, then realized he might not have seen my nod. So I answered, “Sure thing.”
I took off in the indicated direction. When I noticed the entire back of the car was empty except for some litter, I told myself to remember a question we needed to ask the train guy—was the entire train empty? Or just this car?
The litter caught my eye and I leaned down to pick up a piece of what looked like newsprint. I aimed my light towards it. The heading said “Henderson Gleaner,” with a date of January 3, 2015. I wondered where Henderson was, and why this scrap was here. I picked up a few more random pieces of scrap and found part of a Snickers wrapper that automatically set off a salivating response; another small piece of newspaper that had the name Nibby Hender on it plus something about a bed and breakfast; and a blank scrap of what looked like notebook paper. Even though George had told me not to disturb anything, I put these treasures in my pocket and planned to talk to George about them when we were finished canvassing the area.
I didn’t find anything else that interested me, so walked the rest of the inside perimeter until I met George.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Not really. I picked up a couple pieces of paper that might mean something, but we’ll talk about that when we’re done. Okay?”
I was able to see his nod since we were standing by the door. We each repeated the same process on the other side of the boxcar. I didn’t see anything but dirt. Suddenly it hit me that I shouldn’t just be looking down, but should be looking at eye level and upwards as well. So I did just that—and saw a vase drawn on the wall. I got closer and noted it was probably spray-painted since the edges weren’t well defined.
Does this have something to do with the body? I wondered. Normally I would have yelled at George to come see this immediately, but was able to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from doing so. I decided to wait until we were both done with our respective sides of the train car.
I did take a picture of the vase, and it was the only one I saw. The rest of the car was the same rust red as the outside.
George and I met at the opposite door and he asked me the same question—“Anything?”
This time I was able to give him more information. “Yeah, I saw the vase painted on that wall over there.” I turned and pointed in its general direction. “I still think it’s significant,” I said, “and I took a picture of it and also the one outside.”
“Thanks. Good instinct.” Praise from my beloved. My day was made, and that was no exaggeration. George was sweet and gave me compliments freely. However, for him to say something good about my police instincts, well, that was a fairly infrequent occurrence.
I think I might even have blushed. George gave me a quick hug and then said, “Okay, it’s time to jump down. You up for it?”
“Yep. If you go first and help me.”
Of course that had been what he had in mind anyway. He jumped to the ground, giving lie to the fact that he was the same age as I was.
When I looked down, it appeared to be the distance from the earth to the moon. “I know I’ll break my leg if I jump.”
George smiled. “Then turn around, get on your stomach, and scoot until you are more than half-way off. You’ll be able to drop to the ground easily. Plus, I’ll catch you at the same time. C’mon, you can do it, honey.”
His pep talk was helpful so I said, “Okay.” However, I was still a little nervous. Plus my bottom would be sticking out right in front of the face of my soon-to-be husband. I hoped the sigh
t wouldn’t deter him from marriage.
I did just as he suggested, although my stomach was tender and scraped from the climb up, and I had the feeling the same thing would happen on the downward “jump.” I inched my way backward until I could feel my legs dangling. Although the idea of all this was scary to me, I felt George hold on to my legs around my knees. I did my best not to think of my bottom near his face and kept progressing on my backward trek.
Inch by inch I moved, until the balance of my body was out of the car and I had no choice but to push the rest of the way. With a final “Oof,” I landed on firm ground with George’s arms around my entire body from behind.
I turned, with him still holding me, and said, “I love you.” I kissed him. “Even though this wasn’t a life or death situation, it was scary for me, and you were there as usual.” I kissed him again, and repeated, “I love you.”
“You are quite the distraction,” he said, and kissed me again. “But I’m on duty and need to get moving.” He started walking, but held his hand backward so I could grab it. “We probably need to set some ground rules for those rare occasions when we work together.”
“You’re right. Let’s do it later though. I love holding hands while we walk.”
It wasn’t long before I had to let go of his hand and lean over to gulp some air. “I will… I will… start running… again. I will. And Clancy will appreciate it.”
I’d been neglectful of my physical health since we got back from Missouri. No surprise. My days were always filled. I worked hard as a part-time therapist at Quincy Community Clinic. On my off time, I was busy with my huge extended family, and planning our wedding. Not to mention my forays into detecting, when George and others allowed it. Today was just a lucky break for me. George had been in a good mood, as usual, but this time didn’t complain about me wanting to tag along. Well, it was a lucky break for me, but not for the poor dead guy.
As we walked I said, “I wonder how long he’s been dead.”
“There didn’t seem to be any decay, but that’s probably because it’s freezing. Conrad will let us know his conclusions as soon as he gets done with the post-mortem. He’ll be able to tell if the body was frozen a long time or a short while, and if he was frozen before or after death. I took a pic of the dude’s face and will send it around to police departments to see if it matches any missing persons they have.”
We made it back to George’s car without me passing out. “I’ll drop you off at my place,” he said. “You have a wedding shower to get ready for.”
“So do you,” I said. “Remember, it’s a couple’s shower, so you have to be there. You have to.”
“I will. I will,” he said, patting my knee. George started the car and added, “Unless of course police business prevents it.”
“Nice try,” I said. “I need you there.”
He just smiled.
We rode in companionable silence to his house, where I’d left Clancy and my car. My last words to George before he drove away were, “Two o’clock at the Dairy. Don’t be late.”
He smiled that smile again. The one that crinkled his eyes. The one that made me melt. I was resolute however, and repeated my words, “Two o’clock at the Dairy. Don’t be late.” This time I smiled too. I couldn’t help it.
There were a lot of reasons for the smile—George, my family, the shower, the wedding, and the Dairy itself. It was a traditional gathering place when our family went out for breakfast, and they had a room large enough for us to rent for the shower.
Clancy greeted me with her leash in her mouth. “Yep, we’re going, girl. And stop complaining. I wasn’t gone that long.”
I grabbed a few personal belongings from George’s house and stuffed them in a bag. Picking up Clancy’s leash, I opened the back door and walked her toward the garage. My little blue Beetle was parked next to the garage on a stone slab. While Clancy watered a few plants I put my gear in the back seat of the car. The front passenger seat was reserved for her.
I buckled the doggy seatbelt and filled her in on what had happened. “Yeah, a graffiti drawing—some kind of vase or urn. I wonder what that means. Any ideas?”
After watching her think for a minute, I said, “I never thought of that. Maybe it’s a gang sign for country folks, or maybe it’s a sign from where the body was murdered.” I listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know we’re not certain it’s murder, but it probably is, or I wouldn’t be so worked up about it. Wonder how I can find out more about those urns.”
She didn’t have any ideas, but I knew that sometimes she liked to think before she “talked.” A lot of folks didn’t understand my connection with Clancy, but most people in my family understood. And George. George knew and believed me when I told him about my psychic connection with Clancy. He believed me… or at least, he chose to pretend he did. Either way, he was a smart man.
My home was only a half-mile from George’s, but miles away away financially. His blue-collar neighborhood was the one I had grown up in; in fact, we’d been neighbors all through school. Where I lived now was about two tax brackets above where I’d lived as a kid. I took 18th Street and drove from Spring to Maine. Not far at all—four blocks—but my carriage house stood in the midst of a lot of wealth and power. I certainly didn’t fit in wealth-wise, and it was only because my friends owned the mansion associated with the carriage house that I benefitted from it.
I had no sooner closed my car door than I heard, “Oh, Sam. Sam. Yoo-hoo.” I knew who it was without even looking. Georgianne Granville, one-half of my landlord couple.
“Hey, Georgianne. What’s up?” Yeah, I was friendly to her. In fact I really did count her as a friend. In the recent past, however, her “yoo-hoo” would have driven me to hide. She had been on my “dislike” list, but in the past year I’d come to appreciate her nearly as much as I loved her husband.
“Just wanted to tell you that Gus and I are looking forward to your shower. Do you want to ride with us?”
“No, thanks,” I answered. “My sister Jen is picking me up.” I tugged on Clancy, who pulled hard in the opposite direction, trying to charge up the verandah stairs to get a belly rub from Georgianne. “We’ve got to get inside. Lots to do.”
“All right, Samantha. We’ll see you soon. ‘Bye, Clancy dear.” With that she vanished as quickly as she’d appeared, though visions of her flowered housecoat remained.
“Maybe I’ll get her a new one for Christmas.” Clancy knew what I meant.
I unhooked Clancy’s leash and gave her fresh water, all the while apologizing for leaving her. “I’m sorry. It’s at a restaurant, so you can’t go.” Silence. “I didn’t make the public health laws. It’s not my fault.”
Leaving a trail of clothes, I meandered to the bathroom and quickly showered and washed my hair. Talking over the sound of the water, I said, “I promise I’ll go over all the presents with you and will tell you who brought what. If there are any decent leftovers, I’ll bring them home.” I could almost hear Clancy chuckle. Leftovers at a Darling function? Absurd.
I laughed too, and dragged my towel with me as I went to the “climb-in closet.”
“Yeah, I know I need to clean it out. And I will some day. Now quit nagging me and help me find something to wear.” A year ago when I’d begun working at the Quincy Community Clinic I had owned one suit and a few pairs of pants. Not much to choose from. I’d thrown everything out that I’d worn when I worked for DCFS in Chicago. It had been symbolic rather than smart. And in the past year I’ve slowly built up my wardrobe again.
“What do you think about this?” I held up a pale purple wool skirt and an argyle sweater with various shades of pink, purple, and green. Clancy shook her head. “Not girly enough? Hmmm.” I looked further, but didn’t find anything that felt right. “Sorry, girl. I win. I’m wearing this. And the colors are feminine anyway, even if you don’t like the style.”
I dried my hair and put on minimal makeup. I smacked my lips, making sure the mauve li
pstick was evenly distributed. As I twisted from side to side while looking in the mirror, I figured that I didn’t look too bad. Sure my hips were bigger than I’d like, but those hips allowed for a wide pelvis that had let me give birth easily. “Yeah. There’s that,” I said out loud, laughing at myself.
Clancy had finally stopped following me around and was on the bed sound asleep. That would help cut down on the guilt I felt about leaving her alone.
The beep of a car horn cut my reverie short, and I said, “Bye, Clance,” as I grabbed a deep blue, fiberfill, full-length coat from the closet. I looked around to make sure I didn’t forget anything while I zipped up my coat. The coat itself reminded me of the lady in the full-length down coat. Was there more we should have asked her?
The thought was fleeting. I opened the door to a chill blast of air that made me grateful for my coat, and grateful that my sister’s car was already warm.
“Hurry. Close the door,” Jen commanded as I tried to get in her white SUV as quickly as I could. Before she took off, she added, “Did you lock the house?”
I know what I said sounded like, “Grumble, grumble,” but that was better than what I was thinking. I got back out of the car, locked the door to the carriage house, and returned as petulant as a fourth-grader. My mood changed abruptly, though, as soon as I remembered what we were about to do. “I’m so excited, Jen. Thanks for giving me a ride.”
“No problem,” she said. “What was George doing?”
“Well, there’s a body…”
“No more,” she held up her hand. “No more. I don’t want to think about you with your nose in another murder.” She moved her hand from the steering wheel so she was patting my arm. “I worry about you.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice totally un-whiney. “I promise I’ll be careful. George made me promise too.”
“Okay. Let’s have fun then.”
It only took a minute to get from my house to the Dairy. Located between our family home and our elementary school, the Dairy was a casual restaurant and our childhood hangout. It conjured happy memories every time we entered. We had the back room reserved, and Jen and I walked in to find it full of people, mostly relatives. I looked around. No George. I was confident he’d arrive when he could.
Where Is Henderson? (Sam Darling mystery #5) Page 2
