by Leslie Leigh
“Sounds like fun,” I enthused. “So are you tagging along with a seasoned guide, or will you be braving the wilderness alone?” I was being terrible, but I enjoyed it immensely.
“What? Oh, um, there’s another person going with me. Yeah, more experienced. I’ve got to get going here so we can meet on time.” He released the pump handle and returned the nozzle to its holder.
“Oh, sure. I don’t want to keep you.” Was it my imagination or did Gary look different somehow? Then it struck me. “You’ve shaved your mustache!”
Reflexively, he held his hand up over his lip, as if concealing a naked body part. Nodding, he squeezed between me and the hood of his car. “Yeah, I did,” he mumbled from behind his hand. “A while ago, actually.”
I recalled how I’d blurted out once that the mustache made him look older. Hmmm. “Well, good luck with the hunt.” I began to turn, but then fired off one last volley. “Just curious: firearm or bow?”
Opening the driver-side door, Gary had that irritated, furtive look common to public figures embroiled in scandal and desperately trying to evade reporters’ questions.
“Bow,” he replied, putting one leg into the car.
“Oh, did you have to invest in one?” I called out, in my best Sam Donaldson approximation.
“Borrowed one,” he barked, easing into his seat. “Bye!” He slammed the door shut and turned the ignition. Afraid that I’d be run over like some pesky paparazzo, I stepped back and waved until Gary was gone from view.
I suspected that I may have forfeited some good karma points for that little episode, but it was worth it!
***
Shortly before noon, Charlene Bradshaw-Cooke arrived for our meeting. Margaret had just relieved me at the front desk, and she looked like she was about to faint when Charlene entered. Charlene has that effect on people. When she enters a room, her pinched facial expression, squinted eyes and deliberate, purposeful stride combine to strike fear in the hearts of those around, as if an unannounced inspection were underway, leaving one to involuntarily review all their recent activities so as not to be found wanting.
Did I remember to dispose of that paper towel I’d used to clean the rest room? Is my desk tidy enough? Are all the morning’s returned books put away? Is that loose button on my blouse secured? And on and on, etcetera, etcetera.
“Melody, you need to button that blouse,” she hissed as her way of greeting me. “Has Gus Whitehead arrived?”
“Haven’t seen him yet,” I chirped, fumbling with my button. Why didn’t I reinforce that thing last night? I hoped it didn’t completely fall off!
“Well, I called him this morning to remind him to be on time, and he assured me that he would. Is the conference room ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, opening the door for her. I was glad I’d dusted the most visible areas of the room. A small platter with the Snack Shack donuts served as a centerpiece, framed by a pitcher and plastic cups for cold water.
“What are those?” she sneered, staring at the donuts.
“Donuts,” I said, avoiding any trace of sarcasm in my reply.
“Those aren’t Geri’s donuts,” she deduced.
“No. Geri’s Bakery is closed on Wednesdays.”
“Well!” she harrumphed, “I’m glad I wasn’t hungry!”
As we took our seats, Margaret appeared in the doorway with a woman with whom I was unfamiliar.
Charlene rose from her chair. “Ah, Marlene, I’m so pleased by your punctuality. Marlene Simmons, this is our librarian, Melody Reed. Melody…Marlene. She is our new board member.”
We shook hands. “Welcome aboard,” I quipped. Marlene was a well-dressed, well-coiffed woman in her late forties, with a charming, if fleeting, smile.
“Marlene is replacing Lou Kemp,” Charlene explained. “Lou felt he was getting on in years and wanted to retire. I trust that we’ll get a few good years out of Marlene before she’s put out to pasture.” Both women looked at each other and shared a squinty smile.
As if on cue, Gus Whitehead appeared, his appendages darting this way and that, steadied by a cane, as he wobbled toward a chair. I jumped up and pulled back a chair for him.
“Ah, thank you, Melody,” he said, sitting. His eyes opened wide at the sight of the donuts. “Well, we’ve got the goodies in place; now we can get down to business!” He rubbed his hands together like an excited child.
“May I get you a donut, Gus?” I asked.
“Maybe later, but I would like a glass of water, if it’s cold.” He pulled out a handkerchief and pretty much covered every square inch of it between vigorous nose-blowings and coughs. Charlene and Marlene looked at each other and waited, saying nothing.
The meeting itself was fairly uneventful. I pitched my Summer Reading Program, along with a pre-school storybook hour once a week. I mentioned that I was thinking of approaching Marian Schultz, my predecessor, to ask if she might be interested in the storybook program.
“Why ask Marian?” Charlene asked. “Aren’t you capable of doing it yourself?”
I remained relatively unruffled by Charlene’s tactless method of asking for information. Some people seem to think that civility while interacting with others is optional.
“Yes, I’m sure that I am, but this would free me up to oversee the rest of the operation during that hour, not to mention preparation time. And I thought Marian might enjoy returning in a limited capacity.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Gus exclaimed. “And you should have some kind of treats available for the kids. Make it fun!”
“I’ll take a look at the budget and see what’s available,” Charlene intoned while scribbling a note on a pad. “If Marian isn’t interested and you’re too busy, perhaps you could approach one of the elementary teachers in Crawford. Perhaps one of them could be stirred from their hammocks to participate. I would think they’d be bored to death taking the whole summer off.”
She looked up for some sign of consent, which Marlene provided, nodding her head up and down. Gus and I pretty much just stared at the ceiling.
Charlene noted that we’d be gearing up for a bulk mailing to all patrons asking for donations for the library’s annual book sale, and that we would need to set up special donation boxes in the building. The sale would take place during the town’s Fourth of July celebrations.
Soon after, the meeting was adjourned, with Charlene scheduling the next meeting on a Tuesday “so we can be assured of some decent pastries.” Charlene and Marlene departed, but Gus stayed to munch on a maple log.
“You know who she is, don’t you?” he asked, pointing the pastry toward where Marlene had sat.
“This is the first I’ve ever seen of her,” I said.
“Marlene Simmons, or Marlene Simmons-Cooke, to be precise,” he winked.
“She’s related to Charlene?”
“Sister-in-law,” Gus chuckled. “Talk about stacking the deck, eh? I’m pretty sure they’ll see eye-to-eye on most issues. Marlene’s married to Nathan’s brother, Nick. He’s the vice-president of the paper mill operation. They say Nathan treats him like a bastard stepson, but then I don’t know anyone that Nathan’s ever been nice to, except for Charlene. I wonder what she’s got on him.
“That one, though,” he gestured with his now-dwindling maple log, “it’s pretty obvious. She was in her early thirties when she hooked up with Nick. Nick must be sixty-six, sixty-seven by now. That’s the only way these old, rich men can land a pretty girl, you know.” He rubbed his fingers and thumb together to illustrate. “Gosh, I wish I was rich!”
I told Gus I hoped he never retired from the board, and helped him through the library and down the outside steps. “Are you going to be okay, Gus? You’re not driving anymore, are you?”
“Nope. Gave that up, along with most everything else I used to enjoy. I still like to have a drink though, and after that boring meeting, I could use one now. Join me?”
I would have liked that, but Gus was known to
overindulge, and I didn’t want to get caught in an awkward situation, like having him fall asleep on my shoulder or needing to prop him up the rest of the way home.
“Thanks, Gus, but I’ve got some catching up to do. Some other time?”
“Sure. You won’t have to twist my arm. You have a good day, sweetheart.” And then Gus launched himself forward.
Chapter 9
At the end of the day, I locked up and exited through the back door. It was 6:05, and the sun was just slipping behind the taller trees. As I crossed Third Street, I saw Deputy Jimmy pull his cruiser into the police parking space at the station. After he’d unlocked the station door and disappeared inside, I decided to stop by and congratulate him on his interim appointment. After all, I’d certainly felt my spirits lifted when members of the community came out to wish me well.
I pulled on the heavy glass door and saw Deputy Jimmy leaning over the counter, making some notations on a clipboard. He looked up when he saw me, an expression of uncertainty on his face, as if he weren’t sure whether to smile or hop over the counter and escape.
“Hello, Officer Jimmy. Or should I call you Chief Lee?”
My question only deepened his confused expression. After pondering it for a few moments, he responded, “Either way’s fine with me. Just plain ol’ Jimmy’s what most folks call me.”
“Plain Old Jimmy,” I smiled. “I like that.” I held out my hand to shake. “Plain Old Jimmy, I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion, or appointment, whichever it is. And everybody I’ve talked with feels the same way: we’re glad that you’re in charge.”
“They are?” he asked, lunging forward and shaking my hand. “Really? Well, that makes me feel good. Thank you.” He looked down sheepishly, and then added, “I guess I should also thank you for this opportunity. If it weren’t for you….”
“You deserve all the credit, Jimmy. You must have had the patience of a saint to….”
A radio behind the counter squawked, startling both of us. Jimmy stretched his long frame and picked up the mic.
“Central Dispatch,” said the radio voice. “We have a report of a hunting accident in your vicinity. Prepare to copy details, over.” Jimmy jotted down the information. I was surprised that radio systems like this were still in use. I’d have thought everything was digitized by now, although I could see its value as some sort of back-up system. Anyway, listening to the dispatcher’s information, I had a rough idea of the location. It was near the lake, but wasn’t familiar to me. It must have been private property.
“Roger. Out.” Jimmy looked at his notes and pulled on his key ring. “Sorry, Miss Reed, but I’ve got to lock up. I’m the only one here.”
“I understand,” I said, stepping quickly out the door. A part of me wanted to ask if I could ride along. Of course, I knew that that idea was thoroughly bone-headed, but then I thought that maybe I could run home, get in my car and follow him. Instead, I just said, “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Deputy Jimmy replied, striding purposefully toward his car. His bumper banged on the street as he backed out of the drive. He stopped at the stop sign, turned on his flashers and siren, and roared away. The sun had nearly set.
My first thought was, ‘Well, accidents are bound to happen when you’re hunting’. But then I thought of Gary and Chrissie out there somewhere, and that hit me on a personal level. I also remembered Chrissie saying that she hoped Gary didn’t accidentally shoot her.
That would be terrible! Chrissie was at that onward-and-upward spot in her life, and I wouldn’t want anything to derail that. And if it was Gary who was injured…that would also be tragic. Once again, I felt the stirring of those unfamiliar feelings towards him. Viewing my old friend within a fresh context – dating a much younger woman, possibly being injured or worse – seemed to bring out feelings for him that I didn’t know I’d had.
An even worse possibility crossed my mind: Molly Spencer! Molly hadn’t come to the library after school, which had been her routine since long before I’d been hired. Had she gone hunting with Cat and her “mentor” Justin?
I desperately needed information. When I got home, I checked the Crawford Caller’s website for information, but there was only a scant entry, most likely gleaned from a police scanner, along with an assurance that more details would be provided when they became available.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night.
***
The next morning, before leaving for work, I checked a local news site for any updates on the hunting accident. It took nearly four minutes to play the minute-long piece, due to Mom’s less-than-stellar download speed, but it was worth the wait.
“Officials at Crawford Community Hospital have confirmed that the victim of yesterday’s hunting accident succumbed to her injuries and was pronounced dead at 7:15 last night. Her identity hasn’t been released, pending notification of her family, and at this point little else is known. The Lake Hare Police Department released a statement saying only that the circumstances of the accident are being investigated, as is routine for any hunting fatality. We’ll continue to follow this story and will update our viewers when more information is available.”
The report at least confirmed that the victim was a female, which eliminated Gary Van Dyke, but to learn that the victim had died only made me more anxious to learn her identify. I wanted to at least remove Molly from my list of potential victims, and I thought it might not be her since it wouldn’t be necessary for authorities to contact next-of-kin as her mother would have most likely been with her, but that wasn’t foolproof.
I resolved to periodically check for updates and hoped that a patron might pass along some information, even if it wasn’t from an official channel.
The day crept along slowly with no additional information forthcoming from any source. The few visitors to the library all made a point of mentioning it as they checked out materials, and expressed how awful it was, but nobody knew anything other than what they’d read or heard on television.
When Margaret arrived at 11:00, she wasted no time in bringing up the subject.
“I have a friend at Crawford Community Hospital, and even she won’t say anything,” she said excitedly, albeit quietly. “Not that I was snooping, but I just happened to call her, and she said the administration was very strict about giving out that sort of information. She said if someone had heard on a scanner where the accident had happened, and knew someone who was hunting at that location, any information, including the age of the victim could compromise their confidentiality. You know, someone could put two and two together, and the next thing you know, the victim’s family hears about it before it’s been confirmed. I never thought about that, but I guess it makes sense.”
“You’re absolutely right about that, Margaret,” I replied. “I guess it won’t be much longer before the family is contacted and we’ll get some details. Feel free to browse the computer for updates, if you’d like,” I offered, standing so she could take my place at the front desk. That enticed her to perch and immediately stare raptly at the news page up on the screen. Before she was lost to me forever, I leaned over to whisper. “I’ve got some errands to run before lunch. Will you be okay here if I leave now?”
Margaret just nodded, her eyes glued to the screen.
Perfect. Now I could skedaddle down to the police station and see if Deputy Jimmy had any information that he was keeping to himself.
***
Nearing the police station, I saw that my timing was good: Deputy Jimmy’s patrol car was parked in his assigned spot. Just as I reached for the door, it swung open and I stood face-to-face with Peter Proctor, ace reporter for the Caller.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Melody Reed,” he leered. “What brings you here?”
“That would be my business, wouldn’t it?” I sniffed.
He chuckled, unruffled by my rude response. I had a hunch that he was used to such condescension.
“Your amateur detective instincts g
ot the better of you, didn’t they? You just couldn’t resist seeing what you could worm out of Deputy Lee, eh? Well, good luck with that. Either he’s the tightest-lipped cop I’ve ever met, or he’s so out of his depth that he’s scared to open his mouth. Any bets as to which it is?”
“Did he tell you anything?” I asked. I don’t know why I expected him to share information with me, but I didn’t see any harm in asking.
“Name, rank and serial number; that’s about it.” Peter intentionally stood blocking the doorway as we bantered. Was he trying to keep me a captive audience for his taunts, or was there something else he wanted? “But I’ve found that if you can’t get the facts from one source, you just try another. I’ve already been to the hospital and learned a few things. Maybe something you’d be interested in.”
“Such as?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant.
He looked me up and down. “You’re a pretty resourceful lady, Miss Reed” he said. “Could be that the deputy would confide in a local more than he would a reporter. Can I count on you to share with me anything that you might find out? Of course, I would do the same.”
I considered his proposition. Basically, his offer implied that I would have to be willing to broadcast to the entire area anything I might learn. That wouldn’t bode well should someone choose to take me into their confidence.
“I’m sure I’ll read all about anything you should uncover, Mr. Proctor. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”
He stepped aside, holding the door for me. “Have it your way, Miss Reed. But remember, I’m always available to you if you turn something up.”
I was relieved to find that Mr. Proctor was the sole representative of the Fourth Estate on site. I’d half-expected a veritable “media throng” to be milling about in the lobby, shouting questions while flashbulbs seared the eyeballs, the way they used to do in the movies. The lobby was, in fact, completely deserted. I reached around the counter door and felt for the lock release and buzzed myself in.
