Winter Watch

by Klumpers, Anita;

  “Neither Bud nor I know anything yet, and we’re two big bundles of nerves. I can’t sleep, but I rested and feel fine.”

  Ann’s customary rapid-fire delivery, Claudia noted with relief, had replaced the fatigued tone from earlier.

  “Philip is pretending to do a social studies worksheet while practically sitting on the phone. Don’t worry a bit about coming into my kitchen. You only violate regulations if you try to cook for other guests, which is a moot point at the moment. Oh, and I tend to talk to myself and call uncooperative inanimate objects nasty names. Pretend you don’t notice, and you won’t violate any protocol. Come on in. Can you bake if I oversee? One package of cookies won’t satisfy us, and I’m too restless to do nothing.”

  In the kitchen Ann motioned Claudia to sit by an enormous mottled green Formica table. She obeyed, and looked around. From earlier prowling, she knew the rest of the house had carefully restored antiques blended with new and comfortable furnishings, soft braided rugs and soothing colors. Here, the bright tangerine kitchen walls were covered with nails and hooks and utensils and pots of all sizes. Open shelves held canned goods, a few store bought but most in canning jars. A disreputable rocking chair crouched in the corner. Mismatched stools and chairs, some of wood, some of chrome, some made with material vaguely resembling road kill, surrounded the table. Ann patted it complacently.

  “Bud hates this room, but I won’t let him change anything. The colors keep me awake when I need to be up before dawn. Everything is in easy reach so I don’t have to hunt or bend. I learned that from Amos. Besides, it scares away guests who want to give advice on my cooking.”

  She handed Claudia a knife and a bowl of apples. “Could you peel, core and quarter those? I have some prepackaged dough on hand for turnovers.”

  “Sure.” Claudia began peeling. “Can I ask you a question about something that’s been bothering me?”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why does everyone treat Felix Rich as though he has leprosy?”

  Ann stopped unrolling the pastry dough and cocked her head. “What an excellent analogy. He is almost a leper around here.” Ann stood silent a moment and considered Claudia through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “I’m going to tell you and don’t think I’m a gossip for doing it. This gives me no pleasure. But it’s a matter of public record that Felix is a registered sex offender.”

  A fury of blood rose in Claudia’s face. “And everyone let me ride around the countryside with him? Alone?”

  “Oh honey, you weren’t in any danger! Felix is uninterested in you. Sadly he’s not interested in grown women. That isn’t what got him into trouble.”

  Claudia’s growing comprehension turned to dismay. “Oh no. Children?”

  “Yes.” Ann paused and showed Claudia how to assemble the apple turnovers. She put them in the oven, set the timer, and sat back down, this time putting her feet on a stool she pulled from under the table. “Sordid, isn’t it? He served time in prison, though he denies any wrongdoing. Since his release all of Barley watches him. He’s on parole yet and can’t have contact with children but was given few other restrictions. Barley didn’t need to allow him to live here so we could set our own terms. One is that from 11:30 to 12:30, when kindergarteners are out, Felix stays in his house. Same before and after school. If he isn’t home, he has to be with someone, and often that someone is Lem, or Ezra, or Amos. They were all otherwise occupied today, so it sounds as though you were the one to keep him accountable.”

  “That must be why it took forever to get me here. He had to kill time before 12:30.” And they still got to the edge of town with time to spare. No wonder he dumped her there. “Did he grow up here?”

  “No. His grandma lived a couple of miles outside town. After his release from prison, he needed a place to live and moved in with her. She kept her eye on him, but she’s in a nursing home now, so the rest of us keep him on a tight leash. There haven’t been any incidents at all since he moved back. Thank you for doing your part to hold that leash today.

  “It’s interesting what you said about him being a leper. We won’t let him go far, but we don’t want to get too close, as though he has a contagious disease. It makes us feel soiled to be around him. Experts say this... sickness... is incurable, although I hope they’re wrong. Yes, Felix would be our resident leper.”

  They sat in melancholy silence, broken only by the timer buzzing for the turnovers. As Claudia pulled them from the oven, she heard a rumble in the parking lot followed by a rattle and a screech. The door behind Claudia burst open and Ezra staggered in. Ann rose to meet him and to grab the shopping bag swinging from his stiff arm. He dropped coat, hat, and gloves on the floor, kicked off his boots and rubbed both hands vigorously while stomping his feet.

  “Stick them under your arms,” Claudia told him.

  He obeyed, and they grinned at each other. Claudia’s stomach did something oddly reminiscent of a somersault, and she wondered why. Last weekend she’d been contemplating a possible future with Peter. Now her insides shifted at the smile of a widower she’d met only days earlier. She blamed Jacy’s sausages and bustled to pick up the divested outerwear.

  Ann poured a mug of coffee and pushed a platter of steaming pastry toward him. “Apple turnovers. Don’t dare eat them until they’ve cooled. And no, I didn’t do any work to make them. Claudia did. Sit down and keep mum until I get Bud and Philip in here.”

  Philip must have been waiting outside the hall door because he was in the kitchen and at the table as Ann left through a door labeled ‘stairs.’ He snatched a turnover from the plate and before Claudia could stop him, bit off the corner. His eyes widened, and Claudia held out a napkin into which he deposited the steaming chunk before dashing to the freezer for an ice cube. Rubbing it on his tongue, he said something unintelligible to Ezra.

  “You heard your mother, you greedy youngster. I’m not saying a word until your folks are here.”

  Moments later, Ann and Bud came into the kitchen.

  “Lem and I checked each slat and tie of that snow fence and everything seemed intact,” Ezra said. “I started to worry about Amos, that maybe this was the first sign of senility. But eagle-eye Lem found a wire twister in a drift about a half mile from the house.”

  “That’s used to loosen or fasten the ties holding the slats together.” Ann explained to Claudia. “But Ezra, the twister could have been lying there since September when the fence went up.”

  “Afraid not. The plastic casing looked new, and in these temperatures would be cracked or chipped by now. Somebody used it to loosen the ties, unwind a section, and refasten them after Amos got off track. Mighty careless to drop it. But they probably thought Amos wouldn’t survive the night, and no one would be the wiser. Whoever left Amos to wander around ’til he died probably figured to have plenty of time for retrieving the twister.”

  Claudia waited for an explosion of outrage that never came. Ann’s lips tightened, and she stomped to the stove. Ezra, clearly familiar with the kitchen, found plastic wrap and covered the plate of pastry with the care of a new parent swaddling an infant. Philip set down his third turnover, pushed the plate away, and looked as though he wanted to be sick. Bud pulled out his pipe and a bag of tobacco. Claudia slumped back in her chair.

  Who, she wondered, had intentionally cut the ties on the fence? Bernice, the resident suspected dog and human killer, was in no shape to romp through snowdrifts. What kind of small town had two murderers? Claudia shuddered. Whoever unwound the fence must have, after reattaching it, watched the elderly man in his red coat stumble through the storm, groping for his lifeline.

  SIX

  Ann asked Ezra to stay for dinner on the precept that misery loves company. “It’s going to be soup and sandwiches. I hope you don’t mind. You probably eat a lot of that at home.”

  He looked over her shoulder into the pot on the stove. “I think I’ll manage to choke it down. That isn’t out of a can.”

  “No, but it is out of the fr
eezer. It has to simmer for over an hour, so I want everyone to vamoose. And stop looking like somebody died. Amos is fine, and we really can’t be positive somebody tried to hurt him.” Even Ann didn’t sound convinced by her reasoning, but they all obediently vamoosed.

  Ezra disappeared with Bud into some deep recesses of the inn. Claudia and Philip headed to the parlor, Philip with a stern injunction from his mother to finish his geography and Claudia with directions where to find magazines, books, and games. She chose a deck of cards and played Solitaire, though technically, she told Philip, it wasn’t Solitaire because he was forever putting down his textbook and telling her which card should go where.

  An hour later, Ezra entered the parlor, smelling of Bud’s pipe tobacco. He sat next to her and surveyed the cards.

  “Red queen on black king,” he told her, and her stomach flipped again.

  “I never knew Solitaire was such a complex game. Now it takes three of us to play.” Philip, abandoning all pretense of study, sat on her other side. Together they determined this particular layout to be unsolvable, and Claudia swept the cards from the table as Ann called them to eat.

  Ezra insisted on setting the table, and he helped Claudia carry out the soup tureen and platter of sandwiches. The mood lightened only a little at dinner. Bud refused to eat in Ann’s kitchen and the little breakfast table in the sitting room was too small. With just Philip home, Ann explained, they usually ate in the family wing on TV trays, but she refused to serve guests on trays, so tonight they would eat in the inn’s dining room. It seated thirty comfortably, five awkwardly. A light over their table had been switched on. The rest of the room remained in shadow.

  No doubt the soup was wonderful, but Claudia barely tasted it. The burden of inactivity and the blasted watch weighed her down as she pondered what to do and when. She came out of her brown study to a lagging conversation.

  “I can guess what you’re thinking,” she said, putting down her spoon.

  “Yeah,” Philip answered. “We’re wondering about the sadistic maniac who might be on the loose. The one who enjoys leaving an old blind man to almost certain death.”

  Claudia covered reddening cheeks with her hands. “No. I was going to say you must be wondering why I’m so secretive where the watch is concerned.”

  Philip looked at her with pity. “Good thing you didn’t major in mind-reading. You aren’t even close.”

  “Hush.” His father spoke for the first time since asking grace. His tone was level but his brows bristled. “Ignore him, Claudia. It takes work, but you’ll improve with practice.”

  Ezra had been listening with a glimmer of a smile. “Let me guess. Claudia is now thinking we assume she’s a heartless big city girl who only cares about herself. Right?”

  Claudia nodded.

  “We can tell you like Amos. You didn’t want anything to happen to him, and you’re glad he’s safe. Now you’re wondering what to do next. Acting secretive is against your nature but you owe it to Amos. And by the time your thoughts had worked to there you figured ours must have too. Am I right?”

  Claudia took her hands from her cheeks and nodded again, with an answering glimmer of gratitude.

  Ezra looked down his nose at Philip. “Take that.”

  Before Philip could retort and get her off track, Claudia rushed to explain. “I really would tell you all, since it isn’t a big deal. It is just something Amos should hear first.”

  Ann smiled. “Honey, in a tourist town, the locals are either curious about guests or couldn’t care less. But we know how to keep curiosity to ourselves. Nothing drives away paying patrons like innkeepers who mess in private business.”

  “That also goes for innkeepers’ sons,” growled Bud.

  “Fine by me,” Philip continued, unabashed. “I’m the one who wants to talk about the homicidal maniac, remember?”

  ~*~

  The following morning arrived with little fanfare. The sun didn’t so much rise as fade the inky sky to nondescript gray. To date Claudia had seen little of Lake Superior, so touted on the brochures in the lobby, and she opened her curtains in anticipation. Lake and sky appeared welded together into a monochromatic horizon, and she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. She trudged down to the sitting room, significantly less intrepid in attitude than the previous mornings. Ann met her with baked oatmeal, sausage, and the news that one of Amos’s daughters had called. He would remain in the hospital an extra day.

  “He has some frostbite, but nothing serious. They just want him for observation,” Ann told Claudia. Philip lingered in the background trying to be unobtrusive. His mother took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the parlor. “Now you know he’s going to be all right, please get that schoolwork started. At this rate you won’t finish your junior year until your senior year starts.”

  Claudia knew if she had to spend another day waiting, she would jump out of her skin.

  “Ann, do you think I could go visit Amos in the hospital? I’ll ask Felix Rich to take me again. I seem to be his best customer.”

  “No you won’t. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” Ann dashed from the room and returned in minutes. She tossed Claudia a set of keys.

  “Take the Jeep. Here are directions to the hospital. I know Amos’s family either needs to get back to work or they’re in school or ready to give birth. They hate to leave him alone though. He’ll be bored, and the nurses haven’t got time to sit and chat with him. Just wait until after ten. The hospital maintains pretty strict visiting hours unless you’re immediate family.”

  “Ann, do you how grateful I am to you? I’ve only been here a few days and you treat me more like a friend than a guest.”

  “Innkeepers are experts at making people feel at home. It comes with the territory. But I’m a good judge of character and I like you. Besides, we have excellent insurance.”

  Two and a quarter hours later Claudia was on the road to Weary, a town several times the size of Barley and, according to a faded sign half buried in snow, the county seat. The skies remained leaden but Claudia’s attitude improved with every mile. She found the small hospital with no difficulty and an amiably ancient volunteer shuffled her to Amos’s room. The patient was sitting in a chair next to the bed. His lips moved, but he stopped as they entered the room.

  “I hear you coming a mile away, Joe. Bunions bothering you again? Bet you brought me company. Good thing, I’ve been reciting the Constitution and got stuck in the middle of the fourteenth amendment.” He inhaled triumphantly. “It’s Miss Alexander!”

  “Hopefully the perfume is all you smell. I tried to wash most of my clothes in a sink last night, but this pants and sweater could almost walk in here on their own.” Claudia put her hand in his outstretched one. “Even so, you are pretty impressive at identification.”

  Amos chuckled. “I didn’t start to lose my eyesight until I was in my fifties. I haven’t been blind long enough to truly confound anyone with my prowess. Did you know there are blind folks who use echolocation, like bats do, to be able to get around?” He shook his head in admiration. “I’d like to learn to do that. But I’ve always had a good sniffer.”

  He let go of her hand. “You want to talk about the watch, don’t you?”

  A nurse appeared from nowhere with another chair. “She sure didn’t come to walk you to the bathroom. Here honey, sit down. I hope you left your donkey home because this gentleman could talk the ears off it.” She plumped the pillow behind Amos’s back and filled his cup with fresh water and a new straw before placing it in his reach. “Don’t give him any sympathy. He’ll outlive us all.”

  With the nurse’s permission Claudia put her coat, hat, and gloves on the empty bed next to Amos’s. She sat and leaned toward him conspiratorially.

  “I am here to talk about the watch. But you’re the one who needs to be a good listener. This is a complicated story.”

  “At the very least I’m a captive audience, and since they won’t bring me lunch for over
half an hour yet, you can tell away.”

  Claudia made herself comfortable. “It all happened long before I was born. My family on both sides is pretty dull and blameless, going back forever. I promise you, relations fall asleep doing genealogies because we’re such a well-behaved group. But my Grandfather Thorn liked to talk about his Uncle Dan, his father’s brother, a black sheep to offset generations of upstanding Thorns. Uncle Dan, who I think would be my great, great uncle, never married. Maybe today he would be diagnosed as bipolar or something, but back then he was just odd and mean. He moved around a lot. I guess he was sort of a hobo. He collected stuff, sold it, stole stuff, sold it, found stuff, and sold it. He never got in touch with relatives unless he needed something, or was too cold to sleep outside.”

  She leaned back and shut her eyes to remember the first time Grandfather had told the story. She’d been a small girl playing with dolls. Before long she left the toys to lean on her grandfather’s knee and listen, fascinated.

  “One day back in the late thirties when my grandfather was a little boy and his Uncle Dan was already very old, a terrible storm hit the Midwest. Winds, rain, flooding, dangerous lightning, the whole bit. There was a knock on the door and Grandfather’s mother, my great-grandma, went to answer it. On the doorstep crouched a ragged, frail old man. She wouldn’t leave anyone outside in that kind of weather, so even though she didn’t recognize him she pulled him inside, calling for her husband.

  “Great-grandpa Rich would have known his crazy brother Dan anywhere. The old guy was almost delirious and had a high fever. They got him into bed, and Great-grandma had to treat him herself. They couldn’t get to a doctor even if they had money to pay for one.

  “After hours of Uncle Dan writhing and crying and muttering incoherently, the fever broke and he calmed down. He looked sane. Well, almost sane. He didn’t really recognize anyone. He thought my Great-grandpa Rich, his brother, was their father. He grabbed his hand and kept saying, “Shut his eyes, Pa. Could you shut his eyes?” Great-grandfather could only hold his brother’s hand and try to talk to him.