Chapter 17
Monday morning, Sunny phoned to tell me her father had arrived late Sunday night. She said he was planning to spend some time with them and she and Star wouldn’t be able to work on their sewing projects until he had gone home again. She didn’t sound either pleased or unhappy, but oddly indifferent, as if she were discussing the weather.
I called Adele at the store to find out if there was going to be a meeting of the Family Friends committee soon. Justin Gorlowski, Robert’s nephew, answered the phone. He was working at the grocery for the summer months. I learned that Adele had gone on a trip to check out a possible produce supplier, and wouldn’t be home until Wednesday. From this I deduced that there would be no committee meeting earlier than Thursday, and that Justin must have come a long way in understanding the grocery business since I had watched him bumble through his first few days at the store, back in May.
At long last, I assembled a dog travel kit and put towels, blankets, a filled water jug, the new bowl, a brush, an extra leash, plastic bags, a couple of balls, some treats and a plastic container of food into a large carton and stowed it in the back of the Jeep. It took up almost as much room as the dog himself.
It appeared that I had the rest of the day free, and I knew just how I was going to use the time. After taking Paddy for a short walk down my familiar trail, I clipped him on his cable run and drove in to Cherry Hill to Jouppi’s Hardware to look at paint samples. I returned with primer, ceiling paint, and several gallons of a buttery off-white paint that wasn’t quite yellow, but looked very rich. A handful of color cards displaying shades from seafoam green to teal were jammed in my back pocket. I was toying with painting one end wall a bright color.
None of the window trim was in place yet, and only the sub-floor was laid, so it was a perfect time to paint. I didn’t have to worry about splatters very much at all. By late afternoon I had finished the primer coat, and two coats of ceiling paint. I washed the brushes and rollers. Paddy was anxious to go out, and I was hungry, having skipped lunch. It had been a quiet day, and I appreciated the respite from all the activity of the weekend. I was in the kitchen, making a sandwich and stretching my sore neck muscles when Paddy began to bark from the driveway.
I looked out the window and saw Star coasting into the yard on a bicycle. She looked like a woman on a mission, not like a carefree teenager. I opened the door just as she was stepping onto the porch, and she stamped into the living room, followed by Paddy.
“Hi there!” I said. “Come in the kitchen and have a drink. I’m just eating. Would you like something?”
“Just some water. Can we talk? I’m so angry at my dad I could... I could... I don’t know what, but he just doesn’t understand.”
“Did you ride all the way here? It must be fifteen miles.”
“I just couldn’t stand it any longer! It was the only way I could get away. Poor Sunny is stuck there, but she said she’d be OK and that I should come tell you.”
“What’s happening?” I led the way into the kitchen, and poured Star a glass of cold water from a pitcher in the refrigerator, trying not to look alarmed. We sat at the kitchen table.
“It’s Dad.”
“What’s the matter? Did he hurt you?”
She took a long drink of water. “No, no. He’s not like that. I know he’s our dad, but he thinks he runs everything, when he hasn’t even seen us since Grandma’s funeral.”
“Tell me about it.”
“First of all, he acts like he owns the place. The trailer is small, you know. He has to sleep on the couch when he comes. Maybe it just bothers me more, now that I’m older, but he seems to fill up all the space. The recliner section of the couch is the only place Grandpa can sit and be comfortable, but Dad slept late, and then didn’t fold up his blankets. So Grandpa had to sit on a hard chair till Dad got up, and then Grandpa had to fold up the blankets himself, just to be able to have his place to sit.”
DuWayne’s behavior sounded rather thoughtless to me, but hardly serious enough to have caused Star to ride her bicycle all the way to my house. I took a bite of sandwich and Star went on with her tale.
“Then he used up all the hot water taking a shower, and ordered me to make breakfast for him. I would’ve fixed his old breakfast, you know. I just didn’t like being told to do it, like I was his slave or something.”
“I can understand that,” I said.
“I guess this kind of stuff is nothing new, but it made me so mad, on top of the other things he said.”
“Like what?”
Star squirmed in her chair. “He wasn’t very nice.”
“In what way?” I was hoping that offering a listening ear was going to be sufficient help, because I had no interest in interjecting myself into a family argument. From what Len had told me, DuWayne didn’t even have parental rights, legally.
“It’s like he doesn’t care about Mom. He said that we should have known she must be dead. But, why wouldn’t we want to dream that she might come back? I remember what it was like when we were together.” She sighed and finally slowed down the pace of her rant. “A little bit anyway.”
“Were things good for you, back then?”
“I guess we must have been really poor, but I didn’t know it. I remember Dad being big and warm. He would hold us on his knees and give us horsey rides. Sunny would giggle and giggle, but I had to hold on tight because he bounced me harder since I was older. We would go to town for baby-size soft ice cream cones, and watch the sun set from our porch.”
“Were you hoping things could be like that again?”
“Not really, oh, maybe a little bit... I’ve been thinking a lot this year, I guess. Mom was just a year older than I am when she had me. I pretty much take care of things for us since Grandma died, but I can’t imagine doing all that and having a baby, too.”
“Your mom must have worked very hard.”
Star changed the direction of her story. “Sunny and I walked down to our old trailer earlier this year. She didn’t remember it at all.”
“But you did?”
“Some things. I remember it being bigger. We used to chase each other up and down the hall. That Sunny could run even when she was a toddler! Now, when she runs inside our trailer I tell her to stop. The whole place shakes. Living in a trailer is really crappy.”
“You keep yours very clean and nice.”
“Thanks. I try, but we have some money from when Grandpa got hurt. I don’t think my mom had anything at all. That’s why she was trying to get that job. At least now I know that she didn’t walk away and leave us.”
“Did you think that, before?”
“I didn’t want to think so, but sometimes I would hear people talking, until they thought I might hear them, and then they clammed up. It was hard, not knowing. But now, I know she couldn’t come back and that means she really loved us. Right up until the end.” Tears began to run down her cheeks.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but we don’t know for certain yet that it is your mom.”
“Yes we do. The Sheriff called a while ago and said the dental records proved it. Grandpa is planning a memorial service for Wednesday.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling inadequate.
“I have to be strong for Sunny and Grandpa, but would it sound like a kid to ask for a hug?”
“Of course not!” We stood up and I held Star close while she cried silently.
“Grandpa’s really sad, and he’s letting Dad boss him around.”
“You’ve lost your mother, but he’s lost a daughter, too. I think he’ll be fine, but it will take some time. Your grandfather is a good man.”
We heard a diesel truck coming into the driveway.
“That’s Dad,” said Star, pulling away from me and running to the window. “How did he know I was here? Sunny must’ve told him.”
This was going to be awkward. It wasn’t exactly the way I had hoped to meet DuWayne Jefferson, but that couldn’t be helped
now. He walked purposefully toward the porch and seemed prepared to pound on the door, but I opened it before he had a chance. I wanted to take the initiative.
“Hi Dad,” Star said.
“Hello, Mr. Jefferson,” I said at the same time.
The man never looked at me, but glared at Star. “What are you doing here?”
“I came over to talk to Miss Ana,” she answered. Her voice was firm, but not as confident as I knew it could be.
“Get in the truck,” DuWayne ordered. “And put your bike in the back, first.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stepped back, and Star pushed past DuWayne and walked meekly toward her bicycle.
DuWayne turned to me. He was, indeed, a big man, probably six feet tall. He was solid and muscular with a shaved head, and he was wearing a tight black t-shirt and black pants. I’m not easily intimidated, but I certainly wouldn’t ever want to cross this man. Nevertheless, I didn’t appreciate his brusque manner with a young girl who had just figured out that she’d lost her mother and somehow grown up without a childhood, especially when that girl was his daughter and should have been able to count on some sympathy from him.
“I don’t like you messing with my family,” he said in a cold voice. “Those girls have a hard enough time as it is without someone making them think they’re better than they are.”
“I’m not sure what you mean—we’ve made cookies and are sewing some school clothes. Those aren’t exactly extravagant.”
“And I’ve heard about you solving mysteries. I’ve been here one day, and already people tell me you poke your nose into other people’s problems.”
I was shocked. “Look, I have nothing to do with this. Angelica was buried along the river, and my driveway provides good access. I enjoy spending time with the girls, but I’m certainly not going to try to solve a seven-year-old murder.”
“Good. And while I’m here, the girls won’t need you. Got it?”
I looked up at him and took a deep breath. “I understand you are upset that Star came over here without permission. I’m perfectly willing to keep in the background, but young girls need a woman around, sometimes. Please don’t punish Star. Naturally, she’s upset by everything that’s happened and needed to talk about her mother.”
“We’ll see. And you keep that mutt away from us, too.” He pivoted on his heel and marched back to the big black truck. As he did a K-turn and spun out of the yard it looked as if he was yelling at Star, and she was hugging the passenger door, trying to move as far from her father as she could.
Paddy had been crouched at my feet, growling softly in his throat, apparently trying to understand the angry human voices he was unaccustomed to hearing. I’d almost forgotten him. Now he stood up and nuzzled my hand. Suddenly my knees were weak, and I collapsed into an easy chair. The dog put his head in my lap.
“Now what, Paddy?” I asked, as I stroked his silky ears.
Chapter 18
There wasn’t much I could do about any of it. I hoped I’d be welcome at the memorial service on Wednesday; I couldn’t imagine that Len would uphold DuWayne’s wish that I stay away from the girls. Meanwhile, the next day was Tuesday, my regular day to spend with Cora. I said a little prayer that DuWayne wouldn’t upset Star and Sunny too much, and went to bed early with a copy of Bleak House. I thought a few chapters about the machinations of a broken legal system would make the Leonards’ situation look much brighter. The sun was not even all the way down when I fell asleep, a victim of hard work, high emotions and Dickens.
When Paddy and I arrived at Cora’s the next day, I thought she looked like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary. And I didn’t have to wait long to find out why. Paddy settled down in the office, and she led me to one of the long work tables in the museum where there was an array of photographs and a couple of newspapers.
“Look what I dug out of the files for your new case!” Cora’s enthusiasm was bubbling over.
“My new case? No way. I am not getting mixed up in this murder mystery. I just want to help Star and Sunny, not solve old crimes.”
“If you say so, but look at these things anyway. They can give you more understanding of the Leonard family. I’ve laid them out chronologically.” Cora was definitely grinning.
I leaned over the left end of the table and began to study the photos.
“Those are shots of Hammer Bridge Town when it was new and shiny,” Cora explained. “The construction company paid people to move there. They also convinced Howard Donnelly to build that gas station and convenience store. Probably gave him a subsidy.”
“What year was that?”
“1983.”
“No wonder the trailers are in such bad shape now. Was Len on one of the construction crews?”
“Look at this picture.” Cora pointed to a group photo in the next row. About twenty men were posed in front of a large bulldozer. Len was obviously the one seated on the machine. He was young and burly, but his long face was easily recognizable. Also in that row, Cora had placed a copy of the Cherry Hill Herald that carried the story of the opening of the new bridge. I read that the old bridge had become unsafe and Sheep Ranch Road had to be closed until construction was complete. Since it was a main route, a lot of people were inconvenienced, having to drive five miles south to cross the bridge on US 10.
I went back to the first row of pictures. There was one of the old bridge, a flimsy-looking thing with rusted, spidery railings. It looked like it should have been replaced long before 1983. There were several of various stages of construction, ending with a shot of the new bridge taken from a low angle, showing the beams in dramatic perspective. All of these photos were black and white, and looked professionally taken, but the next set consisted of colored snapshots of small groups seated at picnic tables, probably from someone’s family album.
“Those are of the picnic given for the construction workers and their families after the bridge was done. It was held over at Turtle Lake. Can you find the Leonards?”
I squinted at the square photos, with their colors fading to muddy purplish hues. I finally found a grouping at a picnic table with a man, woman, and a girl who looked about four years old. They were seated with another couple who appeared to be a little younger, with a boy about the same age as the girl.
“Here?” I asked.
“You found them! Do you know who that is at the same table?”
“Not a clue.” I thought about reminding her I’d lived in the area only a few months, but decided her question indicated acceptance of me into the fabric of the county rather than its being a set-up for failure.
“That’s the Louamas—Marko, Judy and little Larry. He doesn’t look like a terror in that picture, does he?”
“Not at all.” I contemplated whether future criminals could be predicted by looking at their pre-school pictures. “So this is Becky? And Angelica? It’s strange to think of them both being dead.”
“Isn’t it? Way too many people who are younger than I am are dead,” Cora said with a trace of sadness.
“The Louamas live in Hammer Bridge Town?”
“Not now. They moved into Cherry Hill right after the bridge was finished. They’re on the south end of Dogwood. It’s not the best part of town, but they do own their own house.”
In the next section Cora had placed newspapers covering Angelica’s disappearance. As she had noted the week before, there wasn’t much about it. It was as if the disappearance of a young woman, possibly entangled in the area’s drug culture, was of no concern to anyone except her family. The paper ran a head shot of Angelica on the first day after the missing persons report had been filed. It was her senior picture, the one I had already seen. The following day an article detailed the search efforts made near Hammer Bridge, and along Sheep Ranch Road. Apparently, serious effort had been made to check the creek, because the water had been high in June that year, and there was some consideration given to the idea that she might have fallen or been pushed int
o the water. Interestingly enough, the photo with the article was a shot of the bridge taken from the same angle as the glossy from the bridge completion. I wondered if the photographer realized the duplication, or if perhaps it was just an accessible vantage point for photo taking. I squinted at the grainy newspaper graphic. There was something on the lower edge of one of the large beams.
“Have you got a magnifying glass?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Cora, walking briskly to the desk and returning as fast as she could. “What have you found?”
“Get that other bridge picture, the one that looks like this one.” I held the magnifier over the square-sided bump on the beam. There was a round shape on one face, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Then I looked at the glossy photo, which was much more clear. There was no round bump, and no rectangular shape for it to be on. “You look. What do you think this is?”
Cora studied the photos. “It looks like a box of some sort, but I don’t know what that round thing is. Some kind of decoration, maybe?”
“Have you ever heard about a box being found under the bridge, in connection with any local story?”
“No, but it was probably just some treasure hidden by small boys. Bridges make wonderful hideouts, you know.”
“I know, but why don’t we go see if it’s still there? It’s a beautiful day, and we would have fun looking.”
“I thought you weren’t getting involved in this case?”
“What are the chances this has anything to do with Angelica? It will take my mind off that whole mess.”
Paddy Plays in Dead Mule Swamp Page 8
