Those Who Mourn: A Wolf Creek Mystery (Wolf Creek Mysteries Book 1)

by Barbara Bartholomew

  “You don’t have to do that. June can cook for us.”

  Time to be honest. “Grandpa nobody’s cooking for you but me until we have an explanation for what happened.”

  It was revealing, he thought, that this time his grandfather didn’t argue.

  Susan listened to the gossiping group with horror. The three women and one man were seated at one of the reading tables, their heads close together and their voices muted. But still, standing as close as she was, she could hear clearly.

  They were talking about David Johnson.

  “They say he was hurt so bad over there in the fighting that he’ll never be the same again,” a woman with too-dark artificially colored hair that didn’t go well with her pale skin, told the others.

  A smaller woman with a thin sensitive face protested, “But he was such a sweet boy. When my Michael had trouble on the team, he helped him out by letting him practice with his friends. Mike said everything got better because he had friends on the varsity.”

  “These men come back changed,” the dark-haired woman hinted grimly. “And they say he had a head injury.”

  “Women too,” the other woman said. “They go to war. My niece is in the navy.”

  “Don’t approve of that,” the man objected. “Just makes it more dangerous for the troops, trying to protect some little girl.”

  The sensitive-faced woman straightened indignantly. “Nobody has to protect my Julie. She can shoot as good as any man.”

  “That’s beside the point,” the other woman insisted. “What we’re worried about is happening right now and that poor old Harry Johnson could be murdered right in his bed just like dear Marian.”

  “I thought you didn’t like her. I thought you said she was pompous and bossy.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” the man intervened, “She didn’t deserve to be killed.”

  This was all so irrational that Susan felt driven nearly out of her mind by her inability to respond. Was this what they were saying about David in this town? Didn’t they know his grandfather was already in the hospital when he’d returned to his home?

  Someone brushed by, startling her. She looked up from her focus on the little group of three to see a red-faced Mrs. Kaye standing there, her arms propped against her sides in defiant fashion. “I would like to request you folks to lower your voices. This is a library and there are those who are here to read and study.”

  “Oh, dear, we’re so sorry,” said the smaller woman, but the other two glared.

  “Well, I never,” said the other woman, flouncing from the library as though she would never come back.

  “Just a little harmless gossip,” the man said with an amused air.

  “Gossip is never harmless,” Mrs. Kaye responded. “And David Johnson would never kill anyone.”

  Susan wished she could cheer.

  “I’m no longer leading the investigation,” Jon Hartz told his friend over coffee and blueberry muffins at the Coffee Shop. Coffee drinkers abounded at this hour of the morning but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. “OSBI will be taking over. Seems the feeling is I have too many connections with those involved.”

  Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation. David absorbed that, deciding this was a logical move, even though he felt a kind of irrational hurt that here in his own home town there should be those who thought he could be capable of crime. He’d been a quiet enough kid, but along with his buddies he’d been a good student and a locally well known athlete. He’d been used to approval as his grandfather’s grandson as well. Harry Johnson in his younger years had been a community leader. Well, he supposed it was only fair. Everybody should know what it felt like to be undeservedly standing in the light of the town’s disapproval.

  He broke off a piece of muffin, but hesitated before putting it in his mouth. “Probably for the best, Jon. You shouldn’t have to take heat over this.”

  Jon grunted. “Not my choice,” he said peevishly and took a big gulp of coffee.

  “You probably shouldn’t be seen here in public with me.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool, David. Nobody believes you had anything to do with this. You weren’t even here when your grandfather was brought down.”

  David considered. “You can’t be sure of that. Of course I said I was in New York and on the flight out. But I stayed in the city for an extra day and didn’t get here when expected.”

  Jon squirmed uncomfortably. So that fact had been considered. Well, if they checked it should be provable that he was on that plane and spent a night in a motel before taking the a bus out. Of course the hours he’d spent walking Oklahoma City streets he’d been recognized by nobody.

  “Let that all go for now. We’ll get to the truth, or at least somebody will.” Belatedly Jon seemed to have to remind himself that the discovery wouldn’t lie in his hands. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Dave. What really happened to my brother?”

  The last thing he wanted to talk about. “Surely they told you. A suicide bomber. The two of us were there, overseeing local troops we’d helped trained. This old woman, didn’t look like anybody dangerous, said she was sick and needed help.” He told the story in as clipped fashion as was possible, not choosing to elaborate over the most horrible moments of his life. “Steve was close, trying to help. I was a little further away. I survived. He didn’t. Neither did the Iraqi soldiers.”

  Jon stared down at his cup. “Damn that Steve. Always playing the good guy. He should have known better.”

  David smiled drily. Impossible to explain to anybody who hadn’t been there the constant danger in what looked to be the most innocent of circumstances. “Don’t blame him, Jon. Blame me. A warning had come in. I was running to tell him, to tell the others, but I couldn’t get there in time. It happened in front of my eyes.”

  Jon frowned. “Lord, David, you can’t think it was your fault.”

  “I lived,” David said simply. “They didn’t.”

  Susan, deciding she needed a change of settings, slipped downstairs to the children’s library for the summer story hour. This was a frequent little adventure for her and she enjoyed seeing the intent expressions on little faces even more than the youth librarian’s readings.

  Today they had a good crowd. She counted fourteen boys and girls, preschoolers and first and second graders gathered around Ginger, the children’s librarian, as she read from one of Richard Peck’s amusing books about old times, Here Lies the Librarian.

  Just as one of the little boys giggled, showing the missing front teeth of a first grader, she looked up to see the golden-haired granddaughter of June Allie. The girl who had also shown an uncomfortable interest in the little poison booklet had been in several times since Susan first saw her and she’d come to know her name and identity as other youngsters greeted her. She seemed popular with the other teens and didn’t have a trace of her grandmother’s sour expression.

  She was a little old for the children’s library, Susan thought, and wondered what she was doing down here. No poison books here, she commented in what would have been out loud for anyone else, but naturally didn’t resonate with any sound for her.

  The role of the girl in the plot puzzled her. She could see Mrs. Allie trying to kill someone. She was so obviously full of hate and bitterness. But why would this innocent looking young girl cherish such intentions.

  She remained where she was in her too-small chair, but only half heard the words that made the children laugh as she watched the newcomer move among the low shelves.

  She moved listlessly around, seeming to have little interest in the books, until story hour ended and the children, a cookie in the possession of each child, were collected by their parents or older siblings and were taken away. Then she approached the librarian.

  “Hi,” she said.

  The librarian, standing next to where Susan sat, had been watching as the children left and turned with surprise at the greeting. “Meri,” she returned, “What can I do for you?”

&n
bsp; “I just thought . . . I mean I was wondering.” Merilee’s forehead wrinkled into a thoughtful frown that did nothing to lessen the beauty of her pretty face. “I always loved story hour when I was a little kid. I even thought when I grew up I might come to work for you and tell stories too.”

  “I’d love that, sweetie, but you know our budget has been cut and I’m afraid I can’t hire any help right now. In fact we’ve had to reduce hours for those already working here.”

  The girl’s peaches and cream facial skin flushed pink. “I wasn’t asking for a job,” she said, slightly indignant. “I have a job.”

  “I know you’ve been working at the Pizza Planet.”

  “Yeah. No, what I wanted to ask you about. . .well, it’s kind of personal.”

  The librarian waved the girl to a seat and took one herself. The children’s library was empty now that the story time kids had left. Susan was the only witness to the conversation.

  “What if you think you know something about somebody. Something kind of bad, but you’re not sure. You just think you know. Should you tell or is it like, you know, like when you’re in school and not supposed to snitch to the teacher.”

  The librarian straightened with indignation. “It seems to me you should always go and talk to a responsible person.”

  “That’s what you think now,” Meri Allie said earnestly. “But that’s because you’re old and a grownup. But if you were a kid again, you’d know the rules are different for kids and we’re not supposed to snitch. It isn’t fair and everybody hates you if you do it. Anyhow I’m talking to you.”

  “You must be honest, Mari. Go to an adult you trust and ask them to help if it’s that serious. You’re only fifteen . . .”

  “Sixteen,” Mari corrected earnestly. “My birthday was in May.”

  “Sixteen then. That’s still young enough to ask for help. You shouldn’t have to carry a weight like this on your shoulders. If someone is abusing you, you need to tell.”

  “Abusing me. You mean like . . . no, it’s nothing like that. I can take care of myself. This is about somebody else.”

  “Then talk, Meri. Tell someone. I’ll listen if you want.”

  Meri shook her head, getting to her feet. “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe I’ll just have to work it out by myself.”

  The librarian watched with a troubled face as the girl departed without a backward look. Susan had a feeling she knew what the girl was worried about. She suspected her grandmother might be a murderer.

  Chapter Ten

  After his interview with the OSBI officer now leading the investigation, David signed his statement and went out to Grandpa’s caddy. He didn’t feel quite like going home right now and debated which refuge he would choose, the library or the Coffee Shop. He decided for the library with the notion that most of the people there wouldn’t expect conversation while coffee drinkers just might be in a talkative mood.

  What he needed most was to shake the dust of this town off his feet and go someplace where he hadn’t known three fourths of the residents since he was twelve. Trouble was, even if the police would look the other way when he’d just been warned not to take any long trips until this matter was settled, he still couldn’t bail out on Grandpa.

  As he walked from the late August afternoon that sent sidewalks sizzling into the cool library David felt a sense of release. It was safe here and he was beginning to like the scent of lilac that always greeted him. Something they sprayed into the air, he supposed, though it didn’t have the usual heavy artificial tint, but seemed natural like the flowers that had grown at so many pioneer homesteads back in the early days.

  He nodded to Mrs. Kaye and Molly before finding his way to the chair he usually chose in the back, picking up a magazine for cover, then closing his eyes in a brief moment of utter relaxation.

  Someone brushed closely by him and his eyes flew open, but to his surprise no one was nearby. He bent forward slightly, hardly aware that his mouth gaped open as he saw the chair across from him slide forward half an inch of its own volition.

  Earthquake,he thought reasonably enough. Though back when he’d been growing up earthquakes were something that happened in distant places like the California coast. But he’d heard that in the last few years they’d become exceedingly common, though not usually in this part of the state. Some people blamed it on fracking and this was, of course, a heavy oil exploration area. Times were slow now, Grandpa had said, with gas prices down and people being laid off from their jobs and having to go elsewhere to look for employment.

  Just a little tremor. That had to be it. Because sure as hell he’d seen that chair move. He looked around and frowned to notice that nobody else seemed to be aware that anything had happened. They were all going about their business as if there had not been the slightest interruption.

  He was getting jumpy, that was all. This business of having to be constantly alert to make sure Grandpa was safe was getting on his nerves. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d have to get back soon. He’d promised to drive his grandfather’s to the memorial service honoring Marian.

  Still he lingered just for a moment, watching that suspicious chair. Maybe it had wobbly legs or something.

  Susan had been too anxious to be careful. She’d moved the chair closer without thinking and then watched his startled face with some satisfaction. Okay, so she knew it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see or hear her. Nobody could.

  But this situation was getting desperate. She had to get through to him before somebody else died.

  She saw him look at the clock, then put his magazine down on the table and knew she had to do something. It wasn’t like anybody had ever told her rules for existence like she mustn’t do anything that would overtly give away her presence.

  At first she hadn’t been able to move things, or push objects around. She’d had to teach herself to pick up books and turn pages and it hadn’t been easy. And now she was even learning to use the computer.

  But instinctively she’d been secret about her accomplishments, knowing that she could set off a storm that might make the gullible believe the library was haunted. She wasn’t a ghost. She was fairly sure of that. But she didn’t exactly know what she was.

  That didn’t matter. Not right now. Moving impulsively, she went over to pick up the magazine David had just laid aside and handed it to him. “Pay attention,” she demanded.

  He stared, his gaze fixed on the magazine which seemed to float through mid-air to him. Then he took it, looked down at it and then up again, seeking for the person who had delivered it to him.

  She sighed. This was foolish. She had accomplished nothing, but to alarm him. She had to do better than this.

  The funeral took place at the little church Grandpa and the Ellers had attended in past years years. A small white chapel-sized building it was stuffed fully of people, but thanks to his grandfather’s insistance that they arrive early, they were seated just behind the small contingent of family and Jill glanced back gratefully in their direction.

  For David who had seen too many deaths in his life, the event seemed less lost in sadness than those of the young men and women who had died in war at too-young ages. Marian had been in her seventies, not as old as his grandfather , but she had lived a full and purposeful life and it was obvious by this gathering of friends and family that she had been loved.

  Then he looked at Jill and the solemn-faced youngsters around her and thought of how he would feel if it was Grandpa being honored here. The grief was real and painful to the survivors no matter the age of the one that had moved on without him, perhaps even leaving a greater hole in their lives because the dear one had for so long been basic to their own existences.

  Seated in the thinly cushioned pew, David was more conscious of his own physical infirmities than usual. He was, he hoped, beginning to take his constant aches and pains almost for granted. But today, heightened by the need for rest and the tension of circumstance
s, he felt worse than usual. His knees and back ached and the healed wound in his chest seemed awakened.

  He had to think something else, something more pleasant. Even as a pretty girl in a pink dress began to sing an old hymn, he placed himself elsewhere. He was back at the old library, merged in its quiet atmosphere and, beyond his will, a chair moved without the help of human hands and a magazine wafted through the air to him.

  Considering his severe head injury from the blast in Iraq, his first analysis was that his mind was playing tricks on him. The earthquake explanation might work for the movement of the building, but it hardly stood up for that slow deliberate movement of the magazine through empty air, coming so purposefully to him.

  No, he still trusted his own brain. He wasn’t out of his mind. There had to be a reasonable answer as to how that had happened. Now, deliberately, he turned his attention back to the ongoing service, listened to the minister testify to the character and goodness of the late Marian Ellers and his mind went back into the past when Marian and her husband had been like aunt and uncle to him and their daughter Jill an elder sister.

  He glanced at Grandpa and saw unaccustomed tears collecting in the wintry eyes. He reached over to rest his hand against his grandfather’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort and received some surcease himself at the look turned on him by those pale blue eyes.

  The service seemed to pass in slow motion, his attention as much focused on the past as on what was going on around him. It wasn’t until he stood out on the front lawn with Grandpa, watching him greet old friends and feeling curiously removed from these others, that he came alive to the present.

  Jill and her family were the last to come out, having lingered for a final goodbye, and his old friend hugged him and whispered something he couldn’t quite catch about believing in him. So Jill, too, was aware of the rumors floating around town and this was her way of expressing support.