The Burgenton Files

by C. Ruth Daly

  The woman who had been engaged in the risqué dancing suddenly dropped her jeans with the rainbow patch seam, gave us the moon and a glimpse of a big scarlet rose tattooed on her right cheek. Then she exited the room. The gym was enveloped in silence. In the corner Mr. Roberts and a few other teachers stood with hands over their mouths trying to suppress their laughter.

  Mr. Gonzalez walked before the mike and spoke to us all. “I’m sorry you kids had to witness this scene.” He stated in a matter-of-fact voice. “If any of you need to use the phone to call for your ride, well...go ahead.” About thirty kids lined up to use the one phone in the gymnasium.

  “What are you going to do, LBJ?”

  “I don’t know, Donna. My grandpa’s picking me up in a half-hour. Can I go to your house?

  “Sure, that’s fine. Glynda, are you walking?”

  “It’s over a mile and it’s dark outside now. Oh, but I don’t want to wait. I could wait for an hour to get on that phone.”

  The three of us left, heading toward the road leading into downtown. We walked silently, pressing each step into the hardened snow that stuck to places on the sidewalk. Our cheeks were frozen as we suddenly found ourselves in downtown Burgenton with dormant shops surrounding the courthouse square. Everything, as usual, was closed except for the gala event in the courthouse rotunda.

  “Let’s stay downtown for awhile. There’s nothing to do at my house.”

  “What are we going to do here, Donna?” LBJ was curious.

  The three of us stood in front of the courthouse. “We can sit on the monument steps and watch the cars go by.”

  “Oh you know how to have fun.” LBJ was angry.

  “Well, it’s better than sitting at my house with my mom and brother.”

  “We can go to my grandma’s house.” Glynda made the suggestion, but her grandma’s house had lost its appeal since Miss Brennan occupied our apartment.

  “Oh all right.” I felt trapped. The big night until spring break was the Valentine’s dance and now there was nothing left but Grandma Becker’s house. “Hey! I know. Let’s go check out the old Opera House.” I waited for the two of them to make excuses about dirtying clothes or LBJ mussing her hair.

  “Yeah!” Glynda was excited, and LBJ reserved. She only looked for adventure if a boy was involved.

  “Maybe we’ll see some of the boys from our class walk by on their way home and we can scare ‘em...” I looked at LBJ and waited for her answer.

  “Well...okay,” she sighed, “But let’s not stay too late. How do we get in?”

  It was a good question. I had only heard about kids and teenagers sneaking in at night, but I wasn’t quite sure how they did it.

  “Let’s cross and find out.” I said as I motioned for the two to follow me.

  Back across the street we stood in front of the double glass doors, peered into the steep, dark stairway and jiggled the door handle. The lock and doorknob were both loose so I was able to move the handle to the right while Glynda pushed on the left door. With some force we were in.

  “This is like breaking and entering. What if the police see us?” LBJ asked and glanced down the street in both directions.

  I shrugged. “Everyone does it. Don’t you think they would fix this lock if they cared if people broke in here or not? There’s nothing to steal up there.”

  We lifted our chins to the top of the stairway and in the darkness we gently climbed the steps. At the top of the stairway we turned to the left and with our feet, found the stairs leading to the Opera House. It was hard to see and with hands guiding us we made our way to the stoop. The door to the room was warped and the only latch securing it was a wire wrapped around the doorknob and secured to a nail on the jam of the door. I released it and the three of us stepped into the Opera House. Light from the street lights seeped into the room’s three long windows, and we were able to see shapes and figures in the shadows. The balcony hung low above our heads and I ducked as I moved into the audience section. Glynda and LBJ followed close behind.

  Two bats flew out from the corner and clipped our heads. Glynda screamed louder than LBJ and me, and we quickly crouched to the floor protecting the top of our heads with folded hands. I turned to my right to look out the window where I saw Ned Hollis leaving the courthouse dance with Rita on his arm. A few other couples exited with them and our screams caught their attention. They stopped and some of the adults looked in the direction of the Opera House while others to the adjacent alley

  He’s always spotting me I thought to myself, but did Hollis really see me? Maybe I only thought he saw me. “Glynda? Do you think Hollis saw me? What the heck is he doing with Rita?” It was a disgusting thought to think of the two of them together. I had a lot of respect for Rita, and I didn’t want to see her acting stupid by hanging out with him.

  Still in our crouched positions we moved on our haunches between the few seats displaced about the auditorium floor and away from the window so we were not seen. From our spot in the center of the room we were away from the light of the window. I could see the heads of the people by the courthouse and noticed they were no longer interested in the screams they heard. I watched as Hollis took Rita’s hand and placed it through the crook of his arm. The two strolled out of sight.

  The Opera House was cold, and without heat and the light of day it was creepy, but actually the bat had scared us and took away our sense of adventure so we collectively decided to leave and return at a later time and explore. It was getting late, and the boys from our dance would have come past by this point. We each grabbed the other’s shirt and formed a line out the door of the Opera House and down the narrow flight of stairs where we waited by the double doors along the sidewalk for the coast to be clear.

  We decided to head down the alley between the tall brick stores. The buildings’ dark walls were windowless where they faced the alley.

  “This is creepy at night.” Glynda moved closer to me as we entered the alley.

  “Oh, this is Burgenton, Glynda. And Brian Reynolds is in jail. What do you have to worry about?” LBJ was frustrated with Glynda, but also frustrated because she had hoped to dance with her newest boyfriend, an eighth grader. Her hopes had been crushed. The boy was on his way over to ask her to dance when the nasty dance couple hit the floor.

  We heard a rustle and the low voices of a man and woman. Steady and frozen in our tracks, we listened and slowly approached the corner where the voices grew louder. Rounding the corner we saw Ned Hollis hovering over something or someone at the corner of the phone company’s building.

  “No, Ned. Please go away. I’ll walk home by myself. No, Ned.”

  But Ned Hollis pushed himself onto Miss Brennan even more.

  “This is weird. What do we do?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know. Should we help her out?” LBJ was right.

  We needed to help her out, so I screamed. Poor Glynda, unaware of our plot jumped and shrieked so loudly that she took off running down the alley to the safety of the street on the other side. Ned Hollis in surprise jumped back from the wall where he had pinned Miss Brennan. Miss Brennan came running over.

  “Are you girls all right?”

  “We’re fine. Um, uh a cat, I think... ran in front of us and well we got scared.”

  “You girls shouldn’t be walking home alone. What are you doing out now? It’s 8:30.”

  “It’s 8:30? My grandpa will be at the school in ten minutes to pick me up. I better get to your house to call him.”

  “I’ll walk with you girls. Is that Glynda I see up there?”

  “Yes. It is. We were going to her grandma’s house, but we didn’t realize how late it was.”

  “I’ll go with you girls. YOU don’t mind, do you Ned?” And Miss Brennan with all of her spunk and vocal inflections told Ned Hollis that she had had enough of him.

  “No. Go right ahead, Rita. Go right ahead.” Ned Hollis gave her a steady glare. His gaze was long and hard, but Miss Brennan didn’t seem to
care.

  “Ned. You can walk home by yourself and I hope that you don’t hold these girls responsible for ending your evening. IT had already ended.”

  “Wow. Miss Brennan. Thank you.” It was all I could manage.

  “Oh, you can call me Rita.”

  She was pretty. Looking down at her in the light of the street lamp her straight brown hair was neatly in place. Her complexion was clear and unmarred. She was petite and perfect. The three of us towered over her. Yet we felt safe in her presence. Ned Hollis slowly walked about a block behind us.

  At Grandma Becker’s house we looked behind us and I waited to make sure Ned Hollis walked through his front door. He couldn’t see me standing behind the tall sugar maple by the sidewalk. Everyone else had gone inside. Rita popped her head out the door. “Are you coming, Donna?”

  She saw me watching the Hollis house.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s just a harmless macho guy.”

  I followed Rita into the house where Mrs. Becker was lounging in a reclining chair. Every piece of furniture was covered with a doily. With the single light of a standing lamp Mrs. Becker was busily crocheting another lovely white doily.

  “This is for you, Rita, dear. I hope you like it. You sure need one for the other end of that circular sofa.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Becker. It’s lovely. I really appreciate how you’ve decorated the apartment.”

  Rita Brennan was cool. She was polite and poised. She thanked us all and told us goodnight. Then she said, “Why don’t you girls come by tomorrow for some hot chocolate and I can get to know you. I haven’t met too many people in Burgenton and I spend my day with five and six year-olds, so it would be nice to find out what life is like for a thirteen-year-old in Burgenton.” She smiled prettily and turned to the porch toward the stairway which led to her apartment.

  “Wow. Rita is so nice.” I was enchanted. LBJ and I quickly said our goodbyes and I ran the half-block to my house.

  NINE

  It wasn’t my Saturday to clean the church so at 10:00, I zipped over to Glynda’s house to see if she wanted to take Rita Brennan up on her offer of hot chocolate. LBJ lived out in the country and couldn’t make it in to town. It was just Glynda and me who ventured to her grandma’s house and Miss Brennan’s apartment.

  Glynda’s grandma had been up since 5:00 and was making lunch for herself when we walked through the door.

  “How about some chicken salad, girls?”

  “No thanks, Grandma. Miss Brennan invited us over for hot chocolate. Maybe later if it’s okay.”

  “Okay girls. I haven’t heard Rita rousing yet, but she’s such a little thing, why she hardly makes any noise at all. I can’t hear her feet clomping around like that man who rented from me last year. You remember him?”

  “I think so, Grandma.” Glynda yelled from the top of the steps by Rita’s apartment.

  Next thing we knew we were at her door and about to knock when it opened, and there stood Rita Brennan in her blue bathrobe with pink flowers. She had pink fuzzy slippers on her feet and her hair was tied back in a sky blue bow to match her eyes.

  “Hi Glynda. Hi Donna. Couldn’t your friend make it?”

  “No, she lives out in the country and she can’t always get into town.”

  I was amazed. Miss Brennan had transformed the card table into a lovely tea table with a yellow checkered cloth and a dark blue square of fabric centered in the middle of the table. Four cups and saucers were set on each side and a small vase with plastic purple flowers was placed in the center. The table looked like the essence of summer despite the harsh cold of February that stayed outside the window glass. She had been expecting us.

  Both Glynda and I were thrilled. We each pulled back a wooden chair. None of the chairs matched, but the setting was still the height of elegance. Then we sat down and sipped the rich chocolate not made from a powder and milk, but from real chocolate and milk. I had never tasted anything so sweet and perfect.

  Rita Brennan told us all about herself. How she grew up in Charleston, Indiana, which accounted for her slight southern accent. Then graduated from high school and headed for college where she majored in elementary education. She had graduated midyear in December, and was in need of a job. Rita found the position posted in the Education Department’s job listings. She interviewed and was hired.

  “Are you going to be here next year, Rita?” I asked. It made me sad to think that maybe she wouldn’t come back.

  “I don’t know. I’ll see what happens in May. I’m not sure if the other teacher is returning in the fall or not. Right now it’s still her job and I’m just filling in. I’ve sent my resume out all over the place—even as far as California, so I’m sure to get some kind of position.”

  “I sure hope you stay, Rita.” Glynda was very sincere as she sipped the sweet chocolate nectar from the bottom of the cup.

  We felt important and included when we called her Rita. Somehow or another we were reaching the point where we were no longer such little kids, but growing more like Rita, who seemed older and worldlier at twenty-two years-old.

  Suddenly the phone rang and broke our reflective silence.

  “Hello. This is Rita.”

  There was a pause.

  “Oh. Hello, Ned.” Rita Brennan sounded irritated.

  Another pause.

  “No, I don’t think I am interested.”

  Still another pause, but considerably lengthier.

  “No thank you. I said NO THANK YOU.”

  The pause was even longer. Ned Hollis must have been using artful means to persuade Rita to go out with him because finally there was a long sigh from her.

  “Yes, I understand. No, I don’t hold anything against you.” She giggled playfully.

  “Tonight would be lovely. I would love to get out of Burgenton and go to Indianapolis for dinner and a show.”

  Not so long of a pause.

  “Okay. See you then. Good-bye.”

  And all the admiration I had for Rita Brennan sank to the bottom of my cup like the leftover chunks of chocolate.

  SPRING

  TEN

  It was April and a couple of months had passed since Glynda and I had hot chocolate with Rita Brennan. I still saw her about town and mostly at Mrs. Becker’s house when Glynda and I ventured over there for one reason or another. Rita would be sweet and friendly to Glynda and me, but I could not bring myself to be as genuinely cordial because Rita had succumbed to Ned Hollis

  Once at the end of March she did invite us to her apartment. In just a month and a half she had acquired several nice items. There was a new kitchenette set that replaced the cutely decorated card table. She also had a nice silk robe instead of the blue wrap-around one she wore the morning she first invited us to her apartment. Another prominent article was a diamond necklace that simply hung on a single chain around her small neck. Yet the thing Glynda noticed right off when we entered the apartment was the black and white photograph of Rita which hung above the brick fireplace. The photo was done professionally, yet disturbing because it was a profile portrait of Rita Brennan with her hair flowing over her bare shoulder, barely covering what needed to be covered more than anything else. Glynda and I just pretended to ignore the picture and commented on the new kitchenette set. It was apparent that Rita had been hexed by Ned Hollis’s charm.

  A few other things also had happened during the time between Valentine’s Day and Easter. For one, LBJ was going out with the eighth grade boy who captured her attention and a lot of her time. My sister Irish still seemed to date Gil Rolf. Or they weren’t really dates; they were more like prison visits when she drove to his house to see him. Gil couldn’t even step out on the porch. He was truly a prisoner in his own home. Brian Reynolds’s trial was set for some time in the summer and there was talk about moving it to another county since the Burgenton and Gardenville residents all knew him or Linda Miles.

  Edgar Gerber became engaged to a New Order girl, much to everyone’s su
rprise, and converted to the German Baptist faith. We decided to rule him out as a possibility in Linda’s murder, which left Brian Reynolds as the suspect. Ned Hollis, too, but he seemed so unlikely. What about Thelma? We asked ourselves those questions every day at lunchtime. It did look like Brian Reynolds was the murderer.

  It was the last week in Lent and Mom was making Anna and me go to the Stations of the Cross at the church. It was Monday night during Holy Week. The one week out of the year that I dreaded. Monday was the Stations of the Cross, Tuesday afternoon I had to go and clean the church in preparation for the approaching Holy Days. Wednesday night was another Stations of the Cross with all night prayers. Luckily, I did not have to attend Wednesday night. Then of course, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and then Easter Vigil Mass on Saturday and there went the week. It was a Mass marathon.

  Anna and I were walking to church while the sweet beginnings of spring lingered in the air. Grass was popping to the earth’s surface and flowers were beginning to rise from their winter’s sleep. It was simply a pleasant evening to be out and to only remember the harsh days of winter that had passed less than a month ago. Neither of us was in a hurry to get to church. Dusk had fallen and we weren’t relishing the thought of sitting, standing and kneeling through church for the next hour.

  Before the sinful thought of escaping church and walking around town crossed our minds, a truck suddenly flashed past us. In the driver’s seat sat our sister, Irish.

  “Hey, what’s she doing? Where’d she get the truck?” Anna was furious. Not furious because Irish should have been going to Stations of the Cross with us, but angry because Irish was driving around town in a new pickup.

  “Hey, wait a second! Isn’t that Gil Rolf’s truck, Anna?”

  “Yeah, I think so. What is she doing?”