whither Willow?

by Peter Ponzo

  "Sophie Brenner was found strangled in her back yard. A close friend, Brenda Lowe, said that Miss Brenner often spent many hours working on the garden. The police described the body as having been severely cut and covered in welts and bruises. Neighbours have established a self-imposed curfew and have asked the police to patrol the neighbourhood. "

  "What do you think of that?" asked Liz.

  Bryan was sitting straight up on the sofa.

  "Bryan? Sounds like a willow murder don't you think? Now how could that be?"

  Bryan slid off the sofa.

  "Bryan? Where are you going? Bryan!"

  "Liz ... that was a willow murder. The tree - it's not dead - it's still around - somehow. Now we must leave this place ... it's not safe, there is a willow tree, and it's not dead. Everyone died here - we might die here - Mrs. Perkins died here."

  "Bryan, our willow is dead," Liz said quietly. "This death ...," she raised the newspaper, "... it's just a coincidence. It just sounds like a willow thing, but really -"

  "I'm going to phone the police, talk to that police sergeant."

  Bryan hadn't thought about the willow tree deaths for years, since Mrs. Perkins. Now, another. He nervously dialled and asked for Sergeant Jaffre. The sergeant sounded as concerned as Bryan and promised to drop by after work. Bryan and Liz waited, hardly speaking a word.

  ***

  They jumped when there was a knock on the door. Bryan let Jaffre in and pointed to a chair.

  "I suspect," said Jaffre, "that you two are the only ones, besides myself, who suspect the willow tree. Even the chief inspector thinks it's a gang of hoodlums. I tried to explain, but he just laughs. Says I spend too much time at Moss Hill, listening to my grandfather. My grandfather used to be -"

  "Yes, we know," said Liz gently. "We spoke to him a few years ago about the willow tree murders."

  "Sergeant," said Bryan, "did you -"

  "Please, call me Sam. I'm Sam Jaffre, just Sam."

  "Okay Sam," continued Bryan. "Did you find anything that would suggest the willow tree? Roots or vines or -"

  "A wicker basket," said Sam Jaffre. "Miss Brenner had bought a wicker basket and tossed it - planted it - in her yard when it started to come apart. According to her friend, Brenda Lowe, she bought that basket in New Bamberg at the old Jacobs furniture place on Water Street. Anyway, the basket took root, grew into a small willow tree." Sam paused. "I killed the tree with herbicide. That seems to have solved the problem here, at Willow Towers. I assume it will solve the problem there, too."

  They were silent for some time, then Bryan spoke. "Your grandfather, he knew of the willow tree. I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He seemed - well, sort of -"

  "Senile, dementia," said Sam. "Just mumbles about the willow tree. No use trying to talk to him. He's getting on in years and isn't well."

  They sat silent again. Liz spoke. "We tried to talk to a Miss ... what was her name?" She looked at Bryan but he just shrugged. "Melissa, Melissa Kumar. That's it. She spoke of the willow tree - that's what the nurse said. Willow woggles, an epidemic of willow woggles she said."

  "Yes, I remember," said Sam, frowning and trying to recall. "Mrs. Kumar used to live in the house that - I think - yes, it was the house that this apartment … her house was demolished and this apartment building was built on the site."

  "I thought it was the Bourden house?" said Bryan and Liz, simultaneously.

  "Yes, the Bourdens lived in the house for a while," said Sam. "They were both victims of the willow ... I guess, I think. Well, at least that's what granddad thought. But the original owner, the person who built the house in the first place, way back in the 1890's - that was Joshua Kumar. Joshua Kumar is ... was Melissa's husband."

  "Then she probably planted the tree," said Bryan. "Maybe she would know why it acts so - so -"

  "She's dead," said Liz with a sigh.

  "And with her goes the story of why the tree is so - so -" said Bryan.

  Sam interrupted, "Of course, there's old man Brubacher. He may know something. He was her lover you know. I tried talking to him but he doesn't talk much. In fact he doesn't talk at all."

  "Yes, we know, but it's worth trying again,” said Liz. “Let's visit him tomorrow."

  Sam Jaffre looked at both of them for a moment. "Why are you interested in this? Your willow tree is dead now. You're safe. Why do you still -"

  "Bryan is writing a history of New Bamberg, a short history -" said Liz, smiling.

  Bryan interrupted. "I think Sam is right. We shouldn't be concerned, our willow is dead, we should forget about it."

  Liz glared at Bryan and he stopped talking.

  "Tomorrow we'll go and see Mr. Brubacher," said Liz with such finality that Bryan leaned back and accepted the plan.

  ***

  Arnie Brubacher was napping in his chair when Liz and Bryan walked into his room in the Moss Hill Nursing Home. Liz pulled up a chair and started to speak in low tones.

  "Mr. Brubacher? We've come to visit you. Are you awake?"

  Arnie opened his eyes and looked at Liz then closed them again.

  Liz continued. "How's Melissa today?"

  Bryan raised his eyebrows. What was Liz doing? Melissa what's-her-name had died years ago.

  "She was asking for you," Liz said, almost in a whisper. "She said she couldn't come today, maybe tomorrow."

  Arnie opened his eyes, frightened. He leaned forward and his hands began to shake.

  "Wait ... it's okay. Melissa will be here soon," whispered Liz. "She's coming today for sure." Arnie leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Bryan sat on the next bed and watched Liz. He would let her do the talking. It was obviously working. She seemed to be getting some reaction from the old man.

  Liz leaned forward and whispered, "Mr. Brubacher, what ever happened to Joshua Kumar?" Arnie Brubacher began to shake uncontrollably. Liz repeated the name, "Joshua Kumar? Do you know Joshua Kumar?" Brubacher opened his mouth and tried to speak.

  "Yes, Mr. Brubacher? What about Joshua Kumar?"

  Then the old man closed his eyes, still shaking, and leaned back in his chair. Liz looked at his left hand, shocked. She hadn't noticed before - awful, just a few strips of withered flesh which now lay on his lap. She waited but he spoke no more. He seemed to be asleep. She repeated Joshua's name but there was no longer any response.

  "Guess that's it," said Bryan. "He's gone for the rest of the day. Let's go, we can come back another time." He got up from the bed and headed for the door. Liz looked once more at Arnie Brubacher who was now quiet, eyes closed, sleeping, the fleshy strips at his wrist flapping slowly back and forth, rolling on his lap. Then she joined Bryan and they walked down the stairs past the front desk.

  "Bryan? Did you see his hand, or what's left of it? And, you know what? I don't think old man Brubacher can talk."

  The nurse looked up briefly as they left through the glass doors. Bryan stopped, frowned then walked back into the building and stood at the desk. Then nurse didn't look up so he reached over the desk and picked up a pad of paper and wrote:

  If and when Mr. Brubacher starts talking please call me at 463-5211. Bryan.

  Having written the note he dropped it right on the desk in front of the nurse, turned and left again. Liz looked at him curiously.

  "What did you write?"

  "Just asked to be contacted if old man Brubacher ever decides to say anything." Then he scratched his chin and grunted, "Why are we doing this anyway? Sam was right. What interest do we have in this - these willow tree deaths? Our willow tree is gone. No more danger, no more deaths, no more worry. Let's forget it."

  Liz frowned but didn't answer. She was thinking of the withered flesh on Brubacher's left wrist, in place of a hand. She hadn't noticed it before. Curious.

  ***

  They met Sam Jaffre in Hammer's grocery store. Liz was squeezing the peaches when she saw him. He looked tired. "Hi Sam. How's ev
erything?" Sam had been staring at the floor, leaning on his grocery cart.

  "Huh? Oh, Liz ... hello Bryan, how are you?"

  "You seemed to be deep in thought," said Bryan. "Anything wrong?"

  "No ... no, just trying to remember what was in the fridge, and what wasn't. I think I need eggs ... but ..." Sam pushed his cart and wandered down the aisle absentmindedly.

  Liz pushed her cart into Bryan. "Here. Look after this." She followed Sam and found him staring at the frozen meats.

  "Sam? Why don't you come over for dinner tonight. Bryan and I are going to try making something Indian, spicy. We're going to make our own curry. Does that interest you?"

  Sam looked up and smiled. "Thanks Liz, but I think I'll just stay home and get some rest, haven't been sleeping too well lately." He gazed at his hands, then at Liz then said, "Indian food? Say, on second thought, that sounds great ... maybe I will come if you don't mind. Actually, I wouldn't mind talking to somebody, been talking to myself most evenings." He straightened and grinned. He was a muscular man with a strong jaw and a broad nose, thinning blond hair and enormous ears which seemed to have too many folds. Liz was pleased. She had grown fond of the tall officer who, along with her and Bryan, identified the willow tree as the source of the mysterious deaths.

  "Good! We'll expect you about 5. You can help with the dinner. We don't know what we're doing with this Indian dinner so if you're in on the preparation then we can blame you for any failure. Okay?"

  "Sounds great. I'll be there at 5."

  CHAPTER 17

  the Inspector's Notebook

  Sam arrived promptly at 5 but Liz and Bryan had already made the pilaff earlier, saying that it tasted better if allowed to stand and was then reheated. Sam didn't believe them. Before dinner they sat in the living room, Bryan poured the drinks and Sam sat back and finished his rye in one swallow.

  "Something's bothering you," said Liz. "What is it?"

  "My granddad died three days ago," said Sam, then went silent and Bryan and Liz waited for him to continue. They had read about Inspector Jaffre's death in the Gazette. "He was an old man, I expected it, no surprise." Sam was running his finger carefully along the seam in the chair. They waited until he continued. "I guess I'm the only relative around. The rest of the family is out west, couldn't make it to the funeral." Sam was now staring at his feet. Then he looked up and smiled when he saw the others staring at him intently. "Sorry. I'm okay. It's just that - that - well, I went through his things and found a notebook. I don't know why it bothered me."

  Sam was wearing a light sweater over a plaid shirt and reached past his collar into his sweater and pulled a small black notebook from his shirt pocket. His collar went crooked and Liz leaned over and straightened it. Sam opened the notebook at random.

  "Most of the stuff makes little sense. Granddad just seemed to write a word or two - guess it meant something to him. Listen to this: Sandra Bourden-Brown: dirt-slime-diagonal welts covered in small hairs. Then there's a small diagram. Look's like the old Bourden house, a plan view. There's a cross at the front left corner. Then there are several blank pages, then: vines-hairy roots! The exclamation mark is in red pencil."

  Sam paused and stared at Liz who said, "He meant the willow tree didn't he? I mean, the cross was where the tree was, when the old Bourden house stood there."

  "You mean the old Kumar house," corrected Bryan.

  Liz looked at Bryan. He actually remembered something. Amazing.

  "Yes," continued Sam, "he meant the willow tree. It's the next part that ... I still can't imagine how ... how ..." Sam stopped and put down the notebook. "Bryan? Can I have another drink? Sorry, I don't mean to be a bother but -"

  Bryan jumped up and poured the rye so quickly it sloshed over onto Sam's sweater.

  "Oh God ... I'm sorry, let me clean that up." Bryan pulled out a clean white hankerchief and began to rub Sam's sweater vigorously. Liz jumped up but it was too late. Bryan bumped the glass of rye which Sam was holding high in the air and the whiskey spilled onto Sam's trousers.

  "Oh God ... Liz?" groaned Bryan pathetically. Liz took the hankerchief, but Sam waved her off.

  "Look, this is just an old sweater and old slacks," said Sam. "I'll just toss them in the laundry - no problem, really."

  "What!" cried Liz in mock surprise. "We invite you for a spectacular dinner and you come dressed in an old sweater and old slacks? Shame on you."

  Sam gulped what remained of the whiskey and grinned sheepishly. Bryan reached for the bottle of rye to refill his glass but Liz intercepted.

  "Have a seat Bryan, my love. It's my turn to spill the whiskey." She filled Sam's glass, carefully, he sipped a little, they all sat and Bryan and Liz watched, waiting for Sam to continue. He didn't.

  "Sam?" Bryan encouraged.

  Liz reached over and took the notebook that Sam had set on the end table.

  Sam mumbled, "I'm not a superstitious man ..."

  Liz turned the pages of the small notebook. Near the end were several pages with closely written text. She read silently.

  "Liz?" Bryan encouraged.

  "Listen to this," said Liz. "Looks like Inspector Jaffre is summing up - he's written several pages. Just single sentences ... no dates:

  Sandra Bourden-Brown - dead in tub - dirt from drain. Roots in drain?

  Harold Bourden - found beneath willow tree. Killed by tree?

  Tree removed after house demolished.

  Two workmen hurt - one died cutting branches with chain saw. Killed by tree?

  Willow Towers - built almost directly over roots.

  Roots burned on the site.

  Michael Colby reported bones found when backhoe excavated.

  Lab report confirms that bones were of a man - in early twenties.

  Other bones - a child - less than a year old.

  There's a blank page," continued Liz, "then some more:

  Wicker chairs - made from willow tree - New Year's Eve party.

  Tree evil - still lives. Everything made from tree is evil.

  Fran Moller - root on leg - from wicker chair?

  Another blank page," said Liz. "Then:

  Identify every item made from tree.

  Evil - kills - must destroy everything made from tree.

  That's it," said Liz. "Just some diagrams - looks like a map."

  Bryan leaned over to look. "I think it shows the location of the furniture place, the one that made all those wicker chairs."

  Liz continued. "Then there are a few crosses here and there ... can't tell what they mean."

  "Murders," said Sam quietly. "Some crosses indicate a murder. I've looked through the records - in some cases the murderer was found but most are unsolved - bodies covered in welts, crushed. Some crosses seem to be associated with missing babies. I think that's a red herring - there's no connection. Granddad simply used the same map."

  "What missing babies?" asked Liz.

  "There have been incidents of babies stolen from their mothers," said Sam. "It's not pleasant. It's not even relevant - not here."

  "Not pleasant? What does that mean?" asked Liz, now very curious.

  "But they're all over Waterloo County," said Bryan, staring over Liz' shoulder at the crosses on the small map in the notebook. "Some crosses are in pencil but some are in pen. Besides murders, what else?"

  "Bryan, wait a minute. I'd like to hear about the missing babies," said Liz, looking directly at Sam Jaffre.

  "Well, it seems that babies have been stolen, unborn babies, directly from - from -"

  "Directly from the mother's uterus?" asked Liz, stunned.

  "Well ... yes," mumbled Sam, then added quickly, "but it has nothing to do with the willow tree and the associated deaths."

  "Besides murders - and babies - what else?" asked Bryan.

  "Wait just one minute," said Liz. We've heard about missing babies before. Bryan, don't you remember?"

  "Nope,
" grunted Bryan. "Can't remember."

  "Hmm, might have guessed." Liz stared at Bryan. "Let me think. It was ... it was ... Jaffre! That's it! When we visited Inspector Jaffre. He spoke of babies, missing - or maybe killed, by the willow tree." She turned to Sam. "Your grandfather obviously thought the missing babies were associated with the willow - that they were killed by the willow."

  "Yes, I think he did. Personally, I think it has nothing to do with the tree. We've identified some gang of hoodlums who meet periodically, around the county, and - for some reason - steal babies just before birth ... maybe associated with some weird religion."

  "Besides murders - and babies - what else?" repeated Bryan, impatiently. "I mean, the crosses on the map."

  "Wicker chairs," mumbled Liz. "I'll bet that's where the chairs went. Sam? Do you think your grandfather intended to track down every last piece of furniture made from that - that willow tree?"

  Sam looked at Liz and took a small sip of whiskey. "Yes, I think that was his plan - impossible, I think."

  "Is that what worries you?" asked Bryan. "I mean, the fact that there could be hundreds of pieces of that tree, all over the county?"

  "No," Sam said very slowly. "What worries me are the bones, the baby ... and the doll."

  "The baby?" said Liz, " ... and bones? What doll?"

  Sam cleared his throat and took another small sip of whiskey.

  "When they took down the old willow tree the branches were twisted ... there were a number of tightly wound coils. Somebody, I can't remember who, somebody cut open one of these coils; like a spring made of willow. Inside was a rag doll with eyes made out of buttons." Sam paused and looked into his glass. His voice trailed off and he looked into his glass.

  "What about the baby?" asked Liz.

  "And the bones," said Bryan.

  Bryan looked at Liz. She shrugged and looked back at Sam. He was silent for a long time then spoke in a soft voice, almost inaudible.

  "My granddad never threw anything away - the bones, baby bones - he had sent them to the lab, they came back - then, somehow, they disappeared."

  Bryan coughed and slid back and forth in his chair as though he were eager to say something but didn't want to change the subject too drastically.

  "Sam ... Liz has a theory. Liz? Tell Sam your theory."

  Liz looked uncomfortable then got up and looked in the direction of the kitchen.

  "I think we should eat now," she said. "The pilaff is ready, let's eat."