York's Moon

by Elizabeth Engstrom

  She got into her car, and vowing not to even mention it to Steve, before she was halfway down the hill, she had her cell phone out of her purse and was speed dialing his office. When he answered, she didn’t waste any time. “Steve, just tell me two things.”

  “Honey? Are you all right?”

  “Are you going to run for mayor, and have you ever had sex with that stupid Susie Marie?”

  There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Athena to dive into it and begin to wither. She couldn’t breathe.

  “The answer is no to both questions,” he said.

  Tears spurted out of her eyes as if pressurized. She pulled off to the side of the road.

  “Why would you ask me those things?”

  “I’m sorry. Susie Marie said–”

  “Why don’t you come by here—better yet, why don’t you meet me for coffee? I’ll buy you a piece of pie. You sound like you could use a piece of pie.”

  Athena hiccupped and nodded, then drew in a ragged breath and smiled. “Okay.”

  “Gretta’s. Five minutes.”

  “Steve?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I love you more than you could ever know.”

  “Me, too,” he said, and then hung up.

  Athena felt stupid for doubting him, but felt very good about having the type of spouse she could be stupid with.

  She clicked off the cell, put her car back on the road and headed for the diner. Gretta made the best pies in the county. And homemade pie was, without question, Athena’s one dietary temptation. This time of year, there’d be blackberry. When she saw Steve, she’d ask him what he thought Susie Marie was up to. She couldn’t even hazard a guess.

  ~ ~ ~

  Clover saw her mother off, changed into a sundress and sandals, and put on a pink lipstick to match the fresh polish on her toes and fingernails. Then she picked up her purse and headed for the police station. It was only a couple of blocks, but the afternoon was hot, and before she got there, she dashed into Gretta’s for a cold lemonade and to freshen herself up before approaching Deputy Travis.

  She was sitting at the counter when Sheriff Goddard and his wife came in. They sat down at a booth, had a little chat with Gretta, refused menus, and then held hands over the Formica table. Clover was charmed. She had always liked the sheriff, but had never met his wife, had only seen her. Clover turned away on her counter stool and thought for a moment. Maybe she could get the information she needed from Sheriff Goddard and not have to deal with Deputy Travis. She knew what the deputy would have in mind. He’d want a favor for a favor, and she wasn’t about to make any such deals with that creep. No, this would be much better. She’d wait until Mr. and Mrs. Sheriff spent some time together, and then, as if she were walking out after lemonade, she could stop by their table and initiate a little conversation. Maybe she could turn that around to the questions she needed to ask about the dead guy.

  But then maybe the sheriff couldn’t answer those questions. It was an ongoing investigation, right? Why would he want to tell her anything?

  It was a bad idea. She should go with the original plan. Deputy Travis.

  Clover’s spirits took a tumble, and she sipped her lemonade right down to the ice cubes.

  “Clover?”

  She turned and saw the sheriff standing behind her. “Sheriff. Hi.”

  “My wife and I were just about to have a piece of pie. Would you join us?”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude . . .”

  “I’m inviting.”

  Clover smiled shyly. “Well, okay.” She picked up her empty lemonade glass and followed the sheriff to the table, where he slid in next to his beautiful wife, and Clover sat facing them. Clover felt young and inexperienced and completely inadequate. Mrs. Goddard looked completely put together, even though her makeup was a bit smudged at the corner of one eye.

  “Hi,” she said, and held her hand out over the table. “I’m Athena.”

  “Clover.” Clover shook the cool, smooth hand with closely cut, conservatively polished nails. Athena wore no jewelry except a plain gold wedding band. Very classy. Even her name was classy.

  “So,” Sheriff Goddard said, “what’s going on with York and the boys?”

  “They’re preparing for battle,” Clover said. “They’re armed.”

  Gretta set down two pieces of pie, two cups of coffee and a fresh lemonade.

  “Armed?” Steve asked.

  “Wrist rockets and ball bearings.” The smell of the warm pie made Clover’s mouth water. “Is that blackberry?”

  Athena nodded and signaled Gretta. “I’ll get you a piece.”

  “They’re expecting trouble from the railroad guys. And Deputy Travis. Tonight.” Clover watched a look pass between the Mr. and the Mrs. and wished with all her weight that she had a spouse she could share looks like that with. Knowing looks that required no words. “But I have to tell you, Sheriff, none of this has anything to do with Denny and York and Sly. It’s all about the dead guy, right? Who killed him? Shouldn’t there be an investigation into that instead of how to get York and those guys out of there? They’re not hurting anybody. They’re just living down there. What’s the problem all of a sudden?”

  “I’m on your side, Clover. I think York ought to be left alone to live out his life down there. But you and I are the minority. They’re breaking the law by living down there, and this murder has brought them to the attention, to the glaring attention, of everybody in town. People can’t go on ignoring them the way they have in the past.”

  “I know that,” Clover said. “York said he’s not ready to go die in some old-folks’ welfare home, and that’s exactly what’ll happen if he goes there.”

  “I know.”

  “It isn’t fair.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s the stupid mayor’s fault. Can’t you do something?” Gretta set the pie down, but Clover was no longer interested in it. “What if we solve the murder? Hey, yeah, what if we solve the murder? Isn’t that what this is all about? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were before?”

  “Things can never go back to the way they were before,” Athena said.

  Clover took a long look at Mrs. Goddard, whose eyes were fixed on the untouched pie before her. She didn’t look up, and Clover didn’t know what she was talking about. In a flash of calculations, Clover figured that the Mrs. wasn’t talking about York and the guys, but Clover better act as if she were. “Maybe not,” she said to break the weird silence. “But things could be better, and not worse. What’s better for the mayor isn’t necessarily better for the guys.”

  She cut her pie and waited for somebody else to say something.

  “Well, I think you’re right about solving the murder, Clover. That’s what we’re doing, of course, working on that murder case. But I’m afraid it isn’t going to help your cause.”

  “Got leads?” she said around a mouthful. Man, that pie was good. “How come the blackberries around here aren’t sweet like this?”

  “Not enough rain,” Athena said. “Blackberries like lots of water.”

  Clover thought about the blackberry brambles by York’s place. That would be a good source of vitamins, minerals and fiber for the boys, but the berries were always bitter and hard.

  The sheriff put a forkful into his mouth, too, and the Mrs. picked the top crust off hers. “No leads yet,” he said, trying to speak politely with his mouth full.

  “Train records? Know who was on the train? Investigate the dead guy’s background? Gambling debts? Jealous husbands?”

  Mrs. Goddard smiled.

  “Whoa,” the sheriff said. “You’ve been watching too much television.”

  “But that’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Motive, method, and opportunity? We know the method, we can see the opportunity, but what about the motive? Find that and you’ll find your killer.” Clover scarfed another big bite of pie and let her words hang in the silence. She felt foolish for presuming to give
the sheriff a lesson in detective work. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. Like you don’t know that stuff.”

  “Your enthusiasm is good, Clover,” the sheriff said, and the Mrs. looked up, smiled, and actually put a bite of pie in her mouth.

  “Well, I don’t know much, but I know I want to help. If you need me to help, Sheriff, I will. Those guys are my friends. And I’m afraid for them tonight. Do you have somebody who can go down there and protect them?”

  “Not really. The land belongs to the railroad, and they have a right to evict trespassers.”

  “But the land doesn’t belong to the railroad. That’s the whole point.”

  Steve watched her carefully as he sipped his coffee. “It doesn’t? Who does it belong to?”

  “Seems like nobody at the moment. I don’t know. The lease to the railroad has expired. They’re renegotiating it, but until they do . . .”

  “But who owns it?” Athena asked.

  “Maybe the city.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Well, it looks like the city owned it and then sold it to the railroad. Then it looks like the railroad sold it back to the city, or to some Golim Corporation, I guess, who leased it back to the railroad. But now the lease is up.”

  “The railroad sold a lot of their land when they hit hard times. They raised a lot of capital, and it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Steve said. “But now they’re having trouble renegotiating all the leases all the way down the line. It could be years before that’s all settled in court. This Golim Corp probably wants to suck blood.”

  “Who owns Golim Corp?” Athena asked.

  “Exactly!” Clover said, so excited she couldn’t sit still. She wiped her mouth on a napkin and slid out of the booth. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Thanks for the pie. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Feeling better?” Steve asked Athena, after they watched Clover skip out the door.

  She nodded.

  Steve moistened the corner of a paper napkin in his ice water and handed it to her. “Your mascara is smudged at the corner of your eye.”

  She took the napkin from him and kissed his finger.

  “I would never cheat on you,” he said.

  Her mouth screwed up in that female grimace of pain, the one that said that tears were on their way.

  “Never.”

  She put her hand over her mouth to hide those stretched lips, squinted her eyes shut and nodded at him.

  He took her hand again, the one with the napkin still clutched in it, and stroked her thumb. “And I would never do anything like even consider running for any office other than sheriff without talking with you about it first. I swear to God, Athena, there has never been a word spoken about it, not around me, not in my office, and certainly not by me.”

  She nodded and sucked in a ragged breath. “Susie Marie . . .”

  “Consider the source.”

  Athena spit out a harsh laugh in spite of herself. Steve took that as a sign and followed the thread. “I mean, really, Athena. Susie Marie?”

  She laughed again, and then dabbed the damp napkin at the corners of her eyes. The storm had passed, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. This woman was his whole life. If he had the power, he’d always make her laugh rather than make her cry. He decided that his mission in life, from here on out, would be to make her laugh as often as possible. He picked up her hand again and kissed that perfectly manicured thumb. “You’d make a perfect First Lady, you know. Of West Wheaton.”

  She jerked back her hand and gave him a look.

  “Kidding,” he said. “Unless you want.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said playfully.

  Her smile set the world right. Now he could go back to work and deal with the mess swirling around York and those guys. And really. Who did kill that guy?

  They finished their pie and coffee, Steve saw her to her car, and gave her a long, lingering kiss before closing the door firmly and seeing her off.

  Then he jumped into his cruiser and made a beeline for Milo Grimes’s house. He had a few things to say to Susie Marie, and there was no time like the present.

  ~ ~ ~

  Denny felt much better with a prescription in his pocket and a few of those pain pills in his bloodstream. His skull had not been cracked, but they figured he had a pretty severe concussion. Rattled his brain. He could believe it. Brenda was waiting for him when he came out of X-ray, and she sat with him while the doctor talked to him and then as the pills took effect. He probably wouldn’t have gone to the clinic on his own, and was very happy that she took the initiative to take him there.

  The pills didn’t make him woozy like he thought they would. They seemed, in fact, to give him a little energy, now that he didn’t have to struggle against the pain. She bought them a couple of burgers on the way home, and Denny wolfed his like there was no tomorrow. He could have eaten another half dozen of those ninety-nine-cent treats, but she was buying and he still owed her for the steak dinner, so he couldn’t exactly ask her for seconds.

  They didn’t talk much; they didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. Not much in common, he guessed, and he was a little uncomfortable being seen with her in public when Clover could wander on by at any moment, since this was her day off. But Brenda was being a pal, and she hadn’t touched him, and he was keeping his hands to himself, so Clover couldn’t be anything but grateful to Brenda for tending to him the way she had. Clover should have been the one taking him to the doctor. But Clover was young, and probably didn’t have the kind of instincts Brenda had. Brenda was older. Wiser. More worldly.

  Brenda walked him to the top of the path and then said good-bye. He wanted her to come down and talk with Sly—maybe a little female company would settle his soul down a little bit—but she seemed kind of agitated and eager to get back to her day. She’d certainly wasted enough of it on him, so he didn’t press the issue. “Thanks,” he said. “I mean, really.”

  “No problem. Glad you’re okay.”

  He kind of held his hand out to shake it, then kind of dropped it just as she kind of put hers up, and the end result was that their fingertips touched just a little bit. Then they both smiled at the ground and moved off in their own directions. Denny was glad the encounter was over.

  He was feeling much better until he got down there and saw the enormous pile of shredded paper around York and saw Sly pacing back and forth like a cat. The two of them were talking in low tones, and Denny’s day took a turn toward the dark. He didn’t want any part of this. Brenda and the emergency clinic had almost made him forget about their eviction troubles, and the confrontation that the deputy and his heavy friends had promised. Denny had the slingshots and lots of ammo, but what kind of defense was that? None. It was stupid kid stuff.

  Denny closed his eyes and stood still for a moment, looking for the pain in his head, but it seemed as if there was a giant vacancy where the pain used to be. It will be back, the vacant spot promised, but for now, live with the echo of it in your mind.

  For the first time in a long time, Denny wished that life were different. He wished he’d made different choices. He wished he had a future that he could spend on Clover and eventually a bunch of kids. He wished he had an education so he could hold his own in a conversation with people he admired. He wished he had a place to go every day where his brain could be stimulated by conversation about important things, like those people at the clinic. Those nurses and doctors and orderlies and the X-ray lady all had lives with meaning.

  “You okay?” Sly asked, busting Denny’s wishful thinking.

  “Yeah. They x-rayed my head and told me to go home. Gave me some pain pills.”

  “Anything good?”

  “No buzz. But no headache, either.”

  “Where’s the redhead?”

  “Brenda? She went home. What are you guys talking about?”

  “You got two girls?” Sly was very interested in Brenda, Denny realized. He should have
insisted Brenda come down and just hang out for a few minutes.

  “Nope. Brenda’s just a friend.”

  Sly shook his head, and squinted his eyes suspiciously at Denny. “No such thing,” he said.

  Denny ignored him and lay down on his blanket. That same pair of clean socks was still there. He put it over his eyes to block out the sun, which was lowering in the sky, but still bright as hell. Night was approaching, and with it came danger. Denny didn’t know what was going to happen that night, but he had a feeling it was going to change a few lives. That would be just fine with him. He felt ready for a change.

  Denny, at twenty-eight years old, had been living at York’s place for six years. He left home in a white heat after his stepdad had chased him around the living room with a lamp base. Denny had lifted some cash from his mom’s purse, just a little bit for a little bit of dope to smoke and some beer to go with it. It wasn’t the first time, but apparently it was the last straw. Denny had no doubt that Stan, big hulking stupid geek that he was, could easily crush his skull with that lamp, so he shouted some things at his mother that he immediately regretted, and ran out of the house. He’d never gone back. He’d never called, either. Not something he was proud of.

  He thought of his mom sometimes, and hoped she was well. He hoped she’d gotten rid of Stan and found herself a nice guy who treated her right, who had a good job and could provide some of those luxuries a good woman of her age deserved. He’d hate it if she turned out like Clover’s mom, used up and bitter about everything. A guy like Stan could make that kind of thing happen.

  Denny bounced around for a while, scamming this and scamming that, mostly scamming on women and their generosities until he learned the fine art of commercial theft, and the finer art of hopping freights. He’d heard about York’s place—it was legendary among rail rats—and one night when he was sick with some kind of a fever, he got off the train and followed the tracks down to York’s. York threw him a blanket, brewed him up a cup of beef bullion, and Denny had been there ever since.

  Denny’s life hadn’t been so great, but he’d never spent more than one night at a time in jail, and he lived free and had a girlfriend and a bedroll of his own. His dad had abandoned them when Denny was still in diapers, and his mother worked hard to provide him and his overachieving brothers with a good house and good nutrition, and he’d kind of shit on her at the end.