by T C Miller
“Where’re you going?”
“Take a quick look around…Be right back…Close the door and lock it, if you want to.”
“I have mygun…I’ll watch your back.”
He scanned the area around the bus with the powerful beam of the four-cell flashlight. Fog and dark woods absorbed the beam like a sponge and showed only a few fern fronds rustling in the ocean breeze. Pointless…Get back on the bus.
Nora was holding a bag of ice against her head with one hand while putting jars back into the refrigerator with the other. She turned to him with a look that conveyed both confusion and annoyance. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on? Never seen you react like this to a couple of deer on the road.”
“I’m telling you, Babe, it wasn’t deer…They were full grown men…I know they must’ve heard the brakes squealin’ and horn blowin’…didn’t even flinch…Like they were ghosts or something. Dadgum it, I know what I saw.”
A laugh burst through her lips before she could stop it. She saw his reaction and held up one finger, “Sorry, Sweetie… haven’t heard you use this many expletives in a long time…Caught me off guard. I didn’t see anything…had my head buried in the refrigerator…You sure you saw them?”
“Sure as the sun rises…Just can’t prove it.”
“Maybe we can…Security system’s on, right?”
“Sure, why?”
“Then the cameras should have caught it.” She was already booting up the computer and turning on the monitor. “The cameras are made for close-ups of the bus…Have a limited range in the dark…Here we are…There’s movement in front of the bus, but the fog’s so thick you can’t tell what it is.”
Bart glanced over her shoulder—the picture was fuzzy and mostly gray. “Maybe the NSA techs can clean it up with their super computers.”
“Good idea…Have to wait ‘til we’re out of these trees to get a line-of-sight shot at a satellite, though.” The skepticism was gone from her voice. She patted him on the arm, “Let’s go on to the RV park. I’ll take care of everything else…You want a sandwich or something?”
“Thanks, no…What I’d really like are some answers…But guess that’ll have to wait.” He moved to the driver’s seat, pulled back onto the road and started shifting through the gears.
***
CHAPTER 14
“So let me get this straight,” Jack Banner shifted the phone to his left ear and spoke slowly, “You think you saw robed figures crossing the road in front of you?”
“I know what I saw.”
“You weren’t drinking by any chance, were you?” “Don’t drink when I’m working or driving the bus.” “But you do realize how crazy it sounds…”
“I don’t give a damn what you or anybody else thinks…I
know what I saw.”
“All right, sorry…Remember, I’m on your side.” Bart paused for a moment. “Wasn’t totally sure.” “Take my word for it, I am…just know how some people
will react…You say you saw them…Far as I’m concerned, you saw them…End of story.”
“Good…glad to know you got my back.”
“That’s what I’m here for…Now, let’s get down to business…I’ll have the photo geeks take a look at satellite shots from the area and see what turns up…In the meantime, what’s your plan?”
“Figured we’d mosey on into town for breakfast tomorrow and ask a few questions…Rally doesn’t start for a few days, so we have time…How’s that sound?”
“Like the best thing to do…Follow your instincts and keep me posted…And try not to make too many waves.”
“Only the necessary kind.”
They ended the call and Bart and Nora headed to bed for a few hours sleep.
They were up before sunrise and headed into Seawind Bay. “Well, my sweet little darlin’, where does your inner investigator think we should start today?” Bart already knew the answer.
“All of the years we’ve been together, have you ever known me to skip breakfast?”
He chuckled. “Not if it could be helped. Looks like the Seawind Café is the best place in town, judging by the cars parked around it…I’ll park along the road.”
“This place is as old-fashioned as the general store,” Nora exclaimed as they pushed through the heavy wood and glass door, ringing a two inch brass bell attached to the header. Typical of small-town eateries, six booths and five tables with mismatched chairs were crowded together so that diners sat practically shoulder-to-shoulder.
A six foot long glass counter with a cash register on it held a dozen T-shirts in assorted sizes that proclaimed “Seawind Café, Best Pie on the Coast.” There was no pie to be seen—only baseball caps with the pie slogan and three other caps that featured different artwork—an intricate coat of arms surrounding a Redwood tree that shared the center with a silhouette of a fishing trawler. A garland of leaves around the artwork held the word “Druids” embroidered in Roman-style letters. There’s that word again.
“Warmth sure takes the chill off,” Bart said. “Man, that bacon’s making my mouth water, and the smell of fresh coffee brewing…good place to start the day. There’s an empty table along the wall.”
Booths and tables were filled by a mostly blue-collar crowd. Jeans and T-shirts hooded sweatshirtsover them were the most common clothing. Baseball caps were worn by most, including two or three of the red and green caps advertising the Druids.
They settled into faded turquoise plastic chairs with a spider-web of cracks. A middle-aged waitress in a lemon-yellow uniform with white trim snaked her way through the tables toward them carrying a coffee pot, stopping to top off a cup or two at each table.
She sat the pot down on their table, produced an order pad out of the white apron she was wearing and pulled a pencil from behind her ear—all in one fluid movement as she greeted them with a practiced, “Hi, folks, what can I git you to drink?
Bart read the worn name tag. “Mornin’, Joyce. How about a cup of black coffee for me and a menu?”
“There in back of the napkin holder.” She used the eraser end of the pencil to point toward the wall. “What about you, Honey?”
“Hot tea,” Nora replied.
Bart leaned across the table after she left and said in a low voice, “Did you notice the not-so-subtle change when we came in?”
“Yes, but that’s probably because we’re strangers.
“Okay, maybe I’m paranoid…especially after the monks in the road thing…Let’s have breakfast and talk later.”
Joyce showed up a few minutes later with their drinks and took their order. Breakfast came surprisingly fast and they ate in silence, while occasionally smiling at each other.
He paused in between bites. “Still noticing people watching us and I don’t think it’s because we’re strangers.”
“Could be right…I’ve caught more than one sly glance.”
“Here’s your check, folks…So, what brings you to our little slice of heaven?”
“We’re here for an RV rally over the hill in Red Branch… Name’s Bart Winfield, and this is my wife, Nora…You from around here, by any chance?
“Born and raised…Married a coastie from Bodega Bay and moved away for seven years…Fresh out of high school and looking for a ticket to anywhere else…Turned out, he punched my ticket a little too often, if you get my drift…Mean-spirited SOB…So, I left him and moved back…Ain’t much here, but at least I know people’s names…Why? You looking for something in particular?”
Bart took the ticket and stood. “We saw the building that said ‘Druid’ on it and wondered what that’s all about.”
“Druids? Nothin’ but a bunch of old fools sittin’ around telling fish stories…Does keep ‘em off the streets, though.” She started wiping the table with a kitchen towel, moving things around as she went.
“Seems kind of unusual for it to be here in Seawind Bay.”
“Grew up with it, so I guess it don’t seem so odd…Back in the old d
ays it was the center of life in town…Kind of a combination social and booster club.”
Nora spoke as she stood up, “Why the name Druids?”
“You got me there, Honey…Had something to do with trees and the moon and God knows what else…Started over a hundred years ago by some Englishman. Actually, if you wannna know more, talk to ol’ Joe Barsconi…He’d know better‘n anybody what they’re all about…Used to be their grand poo-bah, or whatever.”
“And where might we find this Mister Barsconi?”
“Call him Joe…everybody does. Runs the little gas station at the south end of town…Usually opens up around seven or so…if his arthritis ain’t acting up.” She finished cleaning the table and put everything back in place. “Come on over to the register and I’ll take your money.”
They strolled out of the diner into the cool mist. The sun was poking through in a few spots and the fog was starting to lift. Bart absent-mindedly picked at his teeth and turned to Nora. “So, what do you think?
“Honestly…I’m not sure…Seems like what it appears to be…Isolated small town with few visitors this time of year. Sure, some of the other diners were staring at us…But again, that’s to be expected…Most tourists sleep in and here we are at seven in the morning.”
“Guess you’re right…Still, couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions…See what turns up. Let’s walk off our breakfast as we stroll on down to Joe Barsconi’s place…See if his arthritis let him open up today.”
BARSCONI’S SERVICE STATION
SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA “Man, haven’t seen one of these in years. It’s like a museum tableau or a time capsule from the fifties.” Bart stood staring at the side of one of four gas pumps topped with backlit semi-transparent white globes the size of basketballs.
Nora looked at the pump. “It’s old, all right, although in pretty good condition…What’s the big deal?”
“See the crank on the side of the pump? It resets the amount pumped and the price.” “Yes, I remember when I was a girl…Going down to the gas station with my older brother to get kerosene for our heating stove. There was a pump like this…I’d forgotten all about it… But why four of them?”
“One for each grade of gas, plus one for diesel…And look off to the side over there…Another pump for kerosene…A gas station that hasn’t been converted into a convenience store…Now, don’t that beat all…Service bay and office with rest rooms along the side…And look at that old ceramic drinking fountain on the wall between the rest room doors… Let’s head inside.”
Ceiling-mounted fluorescent lights provided green-tinted illumination for the sparsely furnished office and spilled out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that angled out at the top.
A silver-haired man wearing the now familiar red and green Druids cap was filling a stainless steel thirty-cup coffee maker that sat on a dark green linoleum-topped counter. His matching green shirt and pants had the look of the service station uniforms of the fifties. A red shop-rag drooped from his back pocket, and when he turned around, a tire-pressure gauge poked out of the flap of his shirt pocket.
He hardly glanced up as they entered the office. “Coffee won’t be ready for ten minutes or so…You’re welcome to one of them donuts whilst you waits.”
He pointed to a flimsy, rose-colored cardboard bakery box sitting on a gray metal desk. An old wooden office chair was behind it, with two folding metal chairs in front.
“We’re looking for Joe Barsconi.” The old man turned around, pointed to the embroidered name above his shirt pocket and extended his hand, “Well, then, you done good…Who’s askin’?”
“Bart Winfield, and this is my wife Nora.”
“Please to make your acquaintance, Ma’am,” he said, while touching the brim of his cap. “Sit yourselves down whilst the coffee brews. How kin I help you?”
They sat in front of the desk. A rotating wire rack with receptacles for road maps and tourist brochures stood next to it.
“We were talking to Joyce down at the diner…Says you’re the local authority on the Druids.”
“Don’t pay her no never-mind…Joyce likes to puff things up a little.” He turned to check the coffee maker, which was starting to make gurgling noises. “Fact is, I was head of the local Grove back in the seventies…That’s what they calls a local chapter. Goes back to the start, since it were ‘bout trees and moon worship.”
He noted the change in Bart’s expression. “Course now, bein’ God-fearin’ Christians of the first order, we always follows what the good book says and don’t worship no other thing.”
“No offense, sir, but that’s what I’m having trouble with… Christians taking part in pagan rites?”
“None taken…An’ I hears what you’s sayin’…Weren’t no harm in it…Start of the last century, they was a lot of fraternal groups jest like ‘em…Some was even part of one church or ‘nother…T’was a different time back then, what with fact’ries takin’ over from fishin’ and farmin’ an’ such…Sort a like now with all them computers.
“Folks had a hankerin’ to look at new ways a thinkin’…Jest harmless fun…Pretendin’ to be some Egyptian phay-roh or dancin’ under the trees at night brings folks together. An’ besides, Druids was a givin’ back in more ways ‘n one. Weren’t no welfare back then…Jest plain folks helpin’ others out in times of need.”
Nora broke in, “What about the government…Didn’t they help?”
“You’re joshin, ain’tcha? ‘Bout all folks got outta the gov’mint was a lotta hot air…Like now. Folks counted on neighbors to help ‘em through hard times. Somebody gits hurt, couldn’t do no work…Grove helped. Now and agin, it meant a little cash…Mostly, though, ‘twas a box a victuals here and there. Somehow, we made it through…Tries to remember those what helped us.”
Joe stopped talking and turned around to the counter, “Coffees’s ‘bout done. How’s you take?”
“Black for me,” Bart said.
“A little sugar would be nice,” Nora answered.
Joe handed them steaming mugs of coffee so strong the first sip Bart took tasted like it might dissolve his teeth. “Whoa, pardner, that’s some serious brew.”
“Figger if you gonna drink somethin’ first thin’ of the mornin’, oughtta git you goin’ straightaway.”
“Believe you hit the mark there, no doubt about it,” Bart replied. “So you’re telling me the Druids were originally a combination social club and charity?”
“‘Zackly.”
“Is it still active?”
“Now, that’s a kinda sore spot with me…Looky here, I been jawin’ too much, anyway…Maybe yous best be gettin’ along.”
“Did I say something to offend you? If so, I apologize…”
“Ain’t you…Jest the way thin’s be aroun’ here since Peters turned the Druids upside down.” Joe took off his cap and stared at the logo while he brushed back his thinning silver hair with his fingers.”
“What happened?”
“Everythin’ changed, that’s what. He takes over and puts a bunch of his own men in office…Us older ones don’t like what they’s doin…”
“Like what?”
“Like nothin’, that’s what…Puts a stop to helpin’ folks out, for one thin’…An’ meetin’s used to be a time for seein’ ol’ friends an’ jawin’ a bit…Nowadays they gits through ‘em fast as they can…then tells ever’body to git along…Most of the old fellas is up an’ gone, now.”
Nora shook her head. “Where did they go?”
“Some passed with age or sickness. Coupla ‘em had accidents.”
“What kind of accidents?”
“Us’al…Car wrecks gets Harold Boyd an’ Jim Harland and ol’ Bob Russo falls overboard whilst fishin’…Least ways, that’s what the coasties says. Found his boat driftin’ a couple miles out to sea. Had a hard time swallern’ that load of flotsam, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“Agin, pro’bly jawin’ too much…Jest a ol’ feller w
hat’s seein’ boogeymen.”
“Still, there’s some reason you’re suspicious, isn’t there?”
“Damn right! Knowed Bob all his life…Never goes out by hisself…Eyesight ain’t no good, an’ got a bad ticker. Always goes out with somebody else.”
“But, nobody was with him when he disappeared?”
“Nope…Leastwise not that anybody could tell.”
“Was he one of the critics of the new leadership?”
“Dang sure was…Pardon my French. Says they’s jest after the money, an’ that’s all. Seems a might farfetched, though…‘Cause, truth be told, weren’t much there…Had to have fundraisers jest to fix the roof when a bad storm tore it all up…Fact is, Peters threw in most of the money what was needed.”
Bart sat back in the folding chair and clasped his hands in his lap. “Sounds like sour grapes to me…I mean, Peters can’t be all bad if he donated money to fix the roof. Maybe Russo just resented younger members.”
“Wouldn’t know ‘bout that…An’ that’s jest Peter’s way of makin’ folks beholden to him. We shoulda listened to Bob when he says he had proof of somethin’ that weren’t right…”
“When was that?”
“At a meetin’ three or four days ‘fore he comes up missin’.” “What happened to the proof he had?”
“No tellin’… Drifters broke in his place the day after he was lost an’ tore it all up…I’m tellin’ you, world’s goin’ to hell in a hand basket.”
“Interesting. Guess we should get on with our tour of the town. Thanks for the coffee and the information.”
Nora stood and shook Joe’s hand. “Thank you…Maybe we could stop by sometime and say hello.”
“You’d be more‘n welcome. I ain’t here…likely be at home…301 Elm Street…Blue cottage on the corner of Third.”
Bart and Nora walked out of the station and turned left to go back toward the diner. The sun had broken through the clouds, and they basked in its warmth as they strolled along. He looked down at her. “What do you think? Something going on here…Or just small town jealousy?”
