Every shadow beckoned and every sound rang with evil portent.
He rubbed his arms, trying to push away the tingling nervousness.
Ruth shifted on the seat beside him. “How did he die?”
The room, the darkness and the stench. Feathers slipping under his feet. Mr. Charlie’s body. He took a few deep breaths. “He died in his recliner.”
Her eyes burned with hope. “So he died quickly, in his sleep?”
“Ruth, I’m no coroner…” Never had he been more reluctant to share the truth, to spare the pain that honesty would bring. He wished he had never driven by the empty pharmacy, never found Ruth standing alone. Maybe she would have gone home, and both of them would be better off.
But eventually someone else would find Mr. Charlie’s body. If more time had passed, some of the evidence might be gone…
After a lifetime of waiting, headlights streaked down the narrow road as a patrol car made its way toward them, followed by a second car, and an ambulance.
“Stay in the truck if you want.” Nate opened his door and jumped out.
As Nate moved toward the patrol cars, a spotlight hit the house.
“You the person who called?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir. We were looking for Mr. Charlie, the old man who sits…used to sit on the courthouse steps. My friend,” Nate nodded toward his truck, “hadn’t seen him for few days and was worried.”
They walked toward the house: two police officers, the coroner, and one male and one female paramedic pulling a cart and carrying a large, red medical box. The beam from flashlights fell through empty windows lined with shards of broken glass.
The group stopped outside the open door.
Nate felt a warm hand clutch his; Ruth stood at his side, her unblinking eyes staring at the house.
The police entered, then the coroner, leaving the two paramedics outside.
Mumbled voices slipped from the open door and through the broken windows.
An owl left the safety of a tree branch, probably searching for an unwary mouse.
The paramedics murmured between themselves.
The coroner exited, nodded for the paramedics to enter. The coroner glanced at Nate and Ruth and walked through the weeds toward his car.
Ruth sprinted after him. “Wait!” She stumbled through the overgrown ground.
Nate chased after her.
The coroner stood by his car.
“How did he die?” Even in the darkness the urgency of her need-to-know was visible in her tense face.
“Are you family?”
“No, I don’t think—”
“I can only give information to the family.”
“But he doesn’t have any family. I’m all he has.”
Nate put an arm around her trembling shoulders.
The coroner’s mouth formed a hard line as he glanced toward the house. “It’ll take an autopsy to confirm cause of death. The results will be released to the police when available.”
Ruth stared hard at the coroner. “He was in his chair…”
“Yes, but…until the autopsy is available….”
Before Ruth could ask more questions, the man got in his car and drove to the turn-around, loose gravel dinging against the sides of his car. They were still standing by the side of the road when the car passed again, on its way out of the dead-end street. Dust swirled in the reflected taillights and settled on their moist skin.
“I need to see Mr. Charlie before they take him away.” Ruth’s voice shook.
Nate squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t. Mr. Charlie isn’t there, you know. His soul is gone. That’s just the shell.” Oh, please God, she can’t see him. Not like this.
She slipped from his arm and headed toward the house. The paramedics pushed the cart out the side door with Mr. Charlie’s body zipped inside dark plastic. “I want to see him. Please.”
The paramedics glanced at each other.
A police officer walked toward Ruth. “They can’t open the body bag, not until the coroner is ready to do the autopsy.”
Ruth stared at the shrouded form on the cart.
“We have to maintain integrity of evidence.”
Ruth jerked her head his way. “Evidence? Was he murdered?”
Nate groaned. Great, the police suspected murder. So did he, but he had hoped it was his imagination. The broken windows, the feathers, the bites on the body. Empty eye sockets…
“I’m not saying he was murdered.” The officer planted his feet in a wide stance. “When anyone dies without a witness, we have to investigate.”
“What about the windows?” Ruth asked.
“That will be part of the investigation.” The officer’s face softened. “I know you’re probably the only friend the old guy had. I’ve seen you at the courthouse steps with him. I’ll do my best to help you. But now, the two of you need to go home. Lock up and stay in your houses. We’ll be in touch.”
25
Wednesday, July 3, Pre-Dawn
Mr. Charlie murdered! The police all but confirmed it. Ruth didn’t know how he died, but Nate knew. Something besides the smell had shaken him enough to cause him to empty his stomach.
The sky was still black when Nate took her home. He offered to stay with her, or to call Betsy, but she had declined both. After warning her to keep her doors locked, he left.
What she needed more than company was time to think. She dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor and stood under the shower. She scrubbed until her skin hurt, trying to rid herself of the the smell that seeped into her pores. By the time the water turned cold, she looked red and chaffed. Wrapping in a towel, she stepped over the soiled clothes, knowing she would never be able to wear them again.
Tears dripped down her face as she pulled out a nightshirt from the bedroom drawer. She flopped flat on the bed. Water from her hair soon soaked her pillow. Minutes passed as she stared at nothing. Eventually, truth would push its way in, but right now Mr. Charlie was gone and she was alone.
She walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Out the window, tree limbs stretched black across the moonlit sky, making the heavens appear fractured. Water flowed over her hand. Turning off the faucet, she set the filled glass on the counter and walked to the living room.
The cotton drapes covered the windows but failed to provide her with the usual sense of security. She checked the doors, both of them, and closed the windows in spite of the heat. Even wearing her thinnest t-shirt, she still was covered with sweat. Maybe it would be best to open the windows and doors, let fate do its thing. Life held little value. Even the furniture, so lovingly repaired and repurposed, looked tired.
She sat on the stuffed chair and pulled up her legs. Picking at the loose skin along her thumbnail, she pressed the raw tissue against her chest. Had Mr. Charlie bled? Had he suffered? Her sob cracked the silence.
Needing to move, she paced toward the kitchen. Oh, yeah, the water she forgot to drink. She took a swallow but the water hit her stomach like the weight of a truck. She emptied the glass into the sink.
Roaming the house one more time, she turned off lights as she went. In bed in the darkness, she saw Mr. Charlie’s house, the waving grass and shirts on the line. The broken windows. Nate’s pale face.
Heading to the bathroom, the now familiar stench greeted her. The soiled clothes remained on the floor where she’d left them. Taking a bag from under the sink, she shoved the clothes inside it. Holding the bag in front of her, she went to the back door and paused.
The police officer said to stay in the house. The plastic trash barrel wasn’t that far away at the corner of the house by the neighbor. His windows were dark.
Heat lightning flickered a silent show. A whiff of Mr. Charlie’s scent reached her, and she gagged in spite of herself. She couldn’t keep this reminder in her house all night. Removing the chair, she unlocked the door and opened it slightly. No footsteps pounded her way, no unexplained shadows danced across the lawn. She pulled the door
wider and a night breeze ruffled her hair. She lifted her face to the wind, a treat after the closeness of the house. Gathering her courage, she took a breath and ran down the steps and turned toward the trash barrel. As she pried the top off the barrel, a gust of wind caught the plastic lid, sending it flying. Ruth raced bare-footed across the yard, danced through the garden, and found the lid pressed against the fence.
A gust of wind pushed hard against her. A door slammed.
Startled, Ruth jerked to stare at her neighbor’s house. The door was closed. The windows remained dark. She crept over the grass, glancing at each shadow, tensing at the sound of leaves skittering across the grass.
She approached the porch. Her door was closed. Either the wind had caught it, or someone had entered and planned to keep her out. Her throat tightened as she stood in the middle of her yard. She sprinted to the back of the house and hugged the wood siding still warm from the day’s heat.
Was someone waiting inside? The source of Saturday night’s death threat? She needed to creep onto the stoop and see if the door was unlocked. Even if the knob turned in her hand, should she enter? Her teeth started to chatter.
Heat lightning grew to thick jagged streaks of power. Thunder rumbled.
Wind whipped hair into her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been enjoying the breeze, and now the temperature dropped enough to chill her bones. She sandwiched herself between the plastic lid and the warm siding of the house.
Most likely, the wind pushed the door closed. Taking a deep breath, she fastened the lid back on the trashcan. Glancing around and seeing no one, she crept to the door and turned the handle. The knob turned, but should she chance going inside? Fearful of being seen by whoever may be inside, she jumped off the stoop and leaned tight against the wall. The rain started, soft at first, and then hard drops that bit her skin.
The day’s events crashed in on her. She had planned to see Joe and challenge him about Mr. Charlie’s absence. But Joe was gone for the day, so she’d wandered alone until Nate showed up. Blinking against the onslaught of rain, she wondered at Nate’s rescue. Was it too much to hope he might be driving by in the middle of the night? Poor Mr. Charlie. Joe’s voice echoed in her head, stop seeing him or else…
Surely, he didn’t…no. She couldn’t let her mind go there. He might threaten Mr. Charlie into staying away from the courthouse, but murder? Even as she denied the possibility, she questioned her own answer. What did she know about this new Joe? Everything he did surprised her: the violence, the seduction, the alcohol. Was Joe inside her house right now? He would not raise their daughter, no matter the cost.
26
Wednesday, July 3, Daytime
Expensive leather shoes made a different sound than canvas or flip-flops on the hard courthouse floor. Murmured voices: Joe and Helen—probably discussing how she pushed the woman aside and demanded to wait in his office.
“Ruth…you look awful.” Joe rushed to put an arm around her shoulders.
She shrugged him off. After her episode last night outside, then searching the house with a knife in her hand and finding no one, she had laid awake waiting for dawn. She had a right to look less than glamorous. But even heartless Joseph Ackerman had to feel the ice in her eyes. “Mr. Charlie’s dead, but I suppose that’s no surprise to you.”
“The old man’s dead? How do you know?”
“I found his body last night.”
“You went to his house?”
“He’d been dead for a while.” She stared at him. This was her time. She would avenge Mr. Charlie.
“Well, he was old. We all die sometime.” Joe walked toward his desk.
Ruth was dismissed. It was eight in the morning. They were to be married at five, and already he ignored her. But she would leave when she was ready. And she wasn’t ready. “I need to know what role you had in his murder.” She spit the words out.
“You think I killed him?” His face paled as he sank into the chair behind his desk. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I refused to stop seeing him. Because he was my friend, so you hated him.”
“Ruth, I don’t know where this delusion is coming from.”
“If I find out you had anything to do with his death, so help me Joseph Ackerman, I’ll kill you with my own hands.”
“Not a nice thing to say to your groom on our wedding day.” He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You’re in no shape to be married today.”
Ruth stared wide-eyed. Did he mean to postpone the wedding?
“Ruth.” His smirk frightened her, along with the fact that he wasn’t upset about delaying the wedding. And it hadn’t bothered him that she accused him of murder. There was something she didn’t know. Life seemed to be a game for Joe. He was getting his players in a row. But for what?
“You still seeing Nate?”
“Of all the nerve! You talk one minute about marrying me, and the next you want to know if I’m seeing someone else. You destroyed my chance with Nate.” Her body burned with heat. She took a few deep breaths, trying to gain control. “What do you really want, Joe?” She gripped the back of the chair.
“I want to know where Nate’s church is meeting.”
She lifted an eyebrow, surprised. There had to be more. “Why? You want to come?”
He shot her the now-familiar smirk. “Hardly. But at the mayor’s request, part of my job is to collect the church’s Sunday locations for the police. You know, so cruisers can patrol the areas. All the other groups in Logan are reporting, but I don’t have anyone from Nate’s group. I know you’re going.”
Ruth tried to think what his motive could be. He wasn’t telling her the truth. “Why can’t the churches report to the police department?”
“Come on, Ruth. Even you know the number of calls they get. Someone has to help take the load off.”
Ruth stared at him, guarded, cautious. But what harm would there be? “This is all I have to do?” This would delay the wedding she didn’t want. “For how long?”
Joe moved to the front of his desk, and Ruth waited stiffly for his advance. Instead, he leaned against the wood frame. She could see the thoughts shuffling in a hypothetical deck of cards inside his mind. Would the ace land on top?
“Ruth, there’s so much out there you don’t understand.” His face softened. He looked more like the old Joe: eyes sparkling with excitement, the worry lines smoothing. “There is so much power, if we open ourselves to it.” He looked toward the window then back to her. “I’m going places. I’ll be doing big things.”
“You always said that, Joe.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He settled a hip on the desk, one foot on the floor. He stared at her with intensity. “My dad’s a neurosurgeon. He’s saved lives no one thought could be saved. The awards for his work cover a wall in the den. My brother—his technology corporation has gone global. I can only guess his worth right now. And me. What have I done?”
A small part of Ruth ached for the boy she knew, the not quite grown man who may have only wanted love after all.
“And then I found the power. I don’t understand it all yet, but I will. And the crows—” he smiled, and this new Joseph returned. “I won’t tell you, not yet, but I will do things that will make this country stand up and take notice. I want you to be a part of it.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she sensed that it would be better not to know.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t force you to marry me as long as you report the weekly location of Nate’s church.”
“Why is Nate’s church so important to you?”
“I have my reasons. It’s all part of the big picture.”
“I’m holding you to your word.”
“Get some rest. You look like you could use it.”
~*~
She got as far as the cement steps where she used to sit with Mr. Charlie. Joe never answered her question about his involvement in Mr. Charlie’s death. A sudden longing for
her dead friend gripped her, and she sat on the still-cool steps.
Traffic lined Main Street, more than in the evenings. It was not yet eight thirty. She wasn’t due to work until nine. The air felt balmy this early in the day. She took a deep breath, feeling free and chained at the same time. Her meeting with Joe had bought her time but had strengthened her fear that he was involved in Mr. Charlie’s death. Something about his behavior seemed off, even for the new Joseph.
She hadn’t planned to take her wedding day off. Now she was glad she didn’t. She headed toward the crosswalk and the office where she would wait for Attorney Dunlap. He had the answers to her child’s future.
~*~
Ruth sat across from Mr. Dunlap. His office smelled of leather and old books, and with the blinds drawn, the space felt like a safe haven.
“I had a baby and gave her up for adoption. I listed the father as ‘unknown’ on the birth certificate.”
“But you know who the father is?” Mr. Dunlap asked.
She bristled. “Of course I do.” After a pause, she continued. “I was trying to save his name. He’s an important person.”
Mr. Dunlap scribbled notes on his yellow legal pad. She had seen notes just like those many times and had created files for them that hung in his locked cabinet. Even though most attorneys put their notes in a computer file, Mr. Dunlap still liked to do things the old-fashioned way. Her cheeks reddened as she imagined her name suspended on one of the metal arms.
“That was almost four years ago. Now the father’s angry that I gave the baby up for adoption without his permission. He says he has rights to the child and,” she steadied her voice, “he plans to seek custody.”
Mr. Dunlap tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the desk blotter.
She swallowed. “Does he have that right? Can he claim a child that’s been legally adopted by another family?”
“First of all, I don’t deal with child law, so take that into consideration. But my opinion, based on what I know, is that unless he has proof of paternity, he doesn’t have any legal basis to declare himself the father.”
Light of Logan Page 22
