The Postman is Late

by Vicki Vass

  “I’m sure he appreciates all your help,” Jan said in a snide voice.

  “Listen, I have to put these cookies down and organize the tables.”

  “Wedding cookies, how nice. They were good the last time you brought them.” North Linden Avenue Jan never bothers hiding her sarcasm.

  Setting the cookies down on the long table in the back, I straightened the eight card tables that the other Jan lined up incorrectly. I placed the pads of paper, pens and dice on the tables. I then set up the head table for myself and my co-captain Helen. She lives in the yellow split level with Jake, the yellow corgi. Jake and I have an understanding like Sassy and I do. We keep a polite distance from each other.

  The tables filled up quickly. It was a busy night. Eight tables of four chairs, everyone filled. Thirty-one ladies and one gentleman, James, 65, never married. Some of the widows showed interest but I think these ladies are not James’ cup of tea, James is very sophisticated and elegant, I’m sure his taste in women runs the same way. The Bunco ladies are wonderful and sweet, but they don’t travel in the same social circles that James travels. Most of his friends that I have met are professors he worked with at the university, or actors from the community theater where James volunteers. His close friend Roger was a professional dancer of some sort, James told me they met at a dance. James lives across the street from me. He keeps his brick colonial immaculate inside and out.

  In the old days, the room would have been thick with smoke from Lady Pall Malls but smoking’s outlawed everywhere nowadays. It took me thirty years to quit so I don’t miss it now. The room grew loud with the clatter of dice against the card tables. There was also the nonstop chatter of voices. For those of you unfamiliar with the proper way to play Bunco, it’s really easy. There are six rounds of play. The first round you roll the dice hoping to get as many ones as you can. You keep rolling until you don’t roll a one. Then the next player goes until they stop rolling ones. And, so on, until the head table reaches 21. Then the losers rotate to the next table. And, then everyone rolls for twos. And, so on, and so on. A bit more challenging than my Friday night bingo.

  Our group takes a fifteen-minute break between the two games. I stood by the snack table, making sure everyone had enough cookies and coffee. James came up to me. Out of everyone here, he is the one I most enjoyed talking to. Since he moved onto the block ten years ago, he has become a dear and trusted friend.

  “Jan, tell me what happened,” James said as he bit into one of my cookies. “Delicious by the way. You waited with the powdered sugar, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, James, that was a good tip. Thank you very much.”

  “I’ve never felt unsafe on our block before. Nothing bad ever happens. Well, last summer we had the high school kids drinking in the woods at the end of the block. Nothing this terrible. This a murder, on South Linden, I can’t believe it.” James shuddered.

  “Poor Gary. Thank God he was single and didn’t leave a family behind,” I said.

  “You, Jan, what about you? You found him. That must have been frightening.”

  I found James’ voice very soothing. Almost melodic. I knew he was concerned, he is a very sincere man. “Police Chief Krundel has everything under control. South Linden is still the safest block in DuPage County. We watch out for our own.”

  “You know, Jan, this is like a chapter out of one of our mystery lovers book club selections,” James said. “I hate to make light of a tragedy but what a story.”

  Some story, I thought.

  Helen rang the bell that signaled the start of game two. I took my position at the head table. I’d been on a winning streak so I had stayed at the head table all night. When game two was finished, we added up everyone’s scores. Cash prizes were given to the highest scorer; the low scorer received a consolation prize and was responsible for bringing treats to the next game. I left with my winnings, $25. Not bad for a night’s work.

  James offered to drive me home but I enjoy walking. The spring night was cool and refreshing. The woods along Woodland View Road came alive with the sounds of the forest waking up. An eight-point buck stood on the road, staring me down. I shooed him off back into the woods. I have no understanding with the deer, raccoons or skunks. I expect them to keep their distance. I keep mine. It’s better that way.

  I could hear thunder rolling in from the west. I quickened my pace. Lightning exploded over the golf course that backs up to Woodland View Road. A drizzle started and turned into an out and out downpour. I should have taken James up on his offer. I was soaked, my Keds squished with each step. I turned onto Spring Oaks, making my way down to Linden Avenue. By the time I reached Linden Avenue, the street was a river. I sloshed my way through it, the water clear up to my knees in parts. I stopped to help my neighbor unclog the drain in front of her house but there was nowhere for the water to go. I saw another neighbor struggling to recover her child’s Big Wheel that was floating downhill to the end of the block into the woods. I helped her secure it.

  When I got to my house, I found Valerie and Bill in the basement sopping up the backed-up sewer. At some point on Linden Avenue when the rains are this bad, we give up and let the basement go. Valerie has learned over the years that it’s inevitable the basement will flood. She replaced the laminated wood floor with tile. Everyone on South Linden Avenue has learned to waterproof their basement with tile, outdoor rugs and greenboard.

  As fast as the rain came, it left. Nine and a half inches fell in an hour. I went outside to survey the damage to my street. The river was turning into a stream. City workers drove up and down the street passing sandbags out to neighbors who needed them. I called our Mayor and the head of streets and sanitation. No one could make it out. There’d be nothing for them to do anyway. After countless surveys and city meetings, the Woodland View officials blamed God. My answer was I’m not Noah, and this ain’t the Bible.

  I helped neighbors carry out water-damaged rugs and furniture from their water logged basements. By the time I made it home it was after 1 a.m., and I was exhausted.

  Chapter Four

  Next morning, the sun was out like nothing happened the night before. The street was dry, but the curb showed the remnants of the damage from the storm. I gathered the fallen tree branches from the sidewalk as I walked to the end of the block. I waited for our garbage man, Peter. When I saw his truck, I waved him down. He was hanging off the back of the Woodland View Streets and Sanitation truck. He motioned for Dave to stop and jumped off the back.

  “Hi Grandma Jan, we’re on time this week even with the storm,” Peter said.

  “Morning, Peter. I wanted to warn you that the Andersons have a lot of heavy, wet rugs and furniture on their curb from the flood last night. I helped them cut the rugs up and bind them. I tried to hammer down all the nails from the paneling but be careful,” I told him.

  “Thanks, Grandma Jan, I appreciate the warning. I’ll be careful,” he said.

  “You take care now,” I said. Oh no, out of the corner of my eye, coming briskly at me was North Linden Avenue Jan accompanied by her know-it-all daughter, Celia. She was coming to survey our damage and gloat on our misfortune. She stopped when she reached the north curb of Spring Oaks, the dividing line between North and South Linden Avenue, I stood silent on the south curb. The street was a neutral zone. The DMZ (demilitarized zone) separating two opposing forces.

  She waved and yelled, “Jan.” She ran towards me.

  My left eye twinged a bit.

  “Jan,” North Linden Avenue Jan said. “I surveyed my block last night, checking out the storm damage. We did all right, not too much water. What about your block? Did you have a lot of damage?”

  North Linden Avenue Jan knows quite well that South Linden Avenue rests at the bottom of the slight hill causing all of their rainwater to drain down to our drains at the end of the block. We get a lot of North Linden Avenue’s problems. I’m standing in front of one of them right now. “Nothing we can’t handle. It’s the rainy seas
on. Once a year we know we’re getting hit hard. Everything’s been cleaned up. Appreciate your concern,” I said.

  “Has the mayor been out to look around?” North Linden Avenue Jan asked.

  “Not yet. I called him last night. There’s nothing to see,” I said. “Wait, there’s Helen, I have to go talk to her. I’ll see you at the meeting.” I walked over to Helen, who was walking Jake the corgi.

  “Helen, how’d you do last night?” I asked, turning my back to North Linden Avenue Jan and her daughter. I watched them walk down the street, inspecting all the water soaked furniture and rugs tossed at the curb faster than Peter could dispose of them.

  “It’s a mess. The rainwater is not so bad but I’m still cleaning the sewer backup in my laundry room. Thanks to your advice the stone tile floor I installed cleans up much easier than the linoleum.”

  “It looks more high end, don’t you think,” I said, not waiting for a response. “Helen, don’t forget the emergency city council meeting tonight. We need everybody to attend so we can talk about how to fix the flooding problem.”

  “I’ll be there. Believe me. I’ve got a few words for the city council,” Helen said.

  I walked with Helen all the way to the dog park, which was less than a mile away. The park district built the off-leash park on the edge of the forest preserve on Woodland View Road, the main road running through the center of town. The air was fresh and clean after the rain. It was a beautiful spring day, and the dogs were enjoying the weather as much as I was. Split into two sections, German Shepherds and Labradors chased each other around the largest area of the park. I personally think the two sections are dedicated to separate the smart dogs from the big happy dogs. Most of the big happy hunting dogs were on one side chasing balls and sniffing them. On the other side were the border collies and herding dogs. They always seem more intense. When they look at me, I feel like they can read my mind. It makes me uncomfortable. Sprinkled in were little dogs, mutts and terriers who seemed happy to be out on this nice day.

  When Helen went inside the park with Jake, I saw my neighbor Monika. She was leaving with Boo Boo, her Australian shepherd. Out of all the herding dogs in the park, the Australian shepherd strikes me as the most intelligent. Something in their eyes holds my attention. I think if I were a dog lover that would be the breed I would have. I think I appreciate them, too, because they are a working dog and I appreciate a good day’s work. I walked home with Monika, chatting about the flood. As we passed by Mr. Hiro’s house, I could see the curtain was parted. It was Mrs. Hiro. I waved at her. She closed the curtain quickly. I continued walking with Monika.

  Chapter Five

  I pulled up at the Woodland View Police Station. It is a modern two-story facility attached to the city hall. Both were built during the housing boom in the early 2000s. As I opened the large glass door, Carol from Community Service was walking out. Seeing her reminded me that I meant to call her weeks ago. The annual police National Night Out was coming up in a few weeks. I thought it would be a good opportunity to catch her before she headed out to check the commuter lot for parking violators.

  Her red curly hair poked out from under her blue service cap. Her uniform fit snugly around her curves. A single mom in her forties, I couldn’t figure out why she was still single. I asked James if maybe some of his younger friends might be interested in her. None of them had girlfriends so they were all available. James promised to look into it but he never got back to me. I would remind him again. “Hi, Jan,” she said.

  “Hi Carol. Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about plans for the night out,” I said, holding the door open for her.

  She smiled at me. “Sure. How about we sit over on the bench? I have a few minutes.” We walked over to one of the wood benches scattered around the courtyard of the police station. It was a nice place to sit and have a cup of coffee. Over the past few weeks, the city workers planted white and red impatiens around the green area of the courtyard. Hanging baskets containing flowing petunias draped down over the side of the lampposts. I stared at the streetlight. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve called the city about our block and streetlights; we don’t have any. Of course, the ones installed here are the expensive streetlights, the fancy ones that look like old-fashioned coach lights. All the city buildings have the nice streetlights. The residential areas have the no-frills kind.

  “Carol, last year we ordered pizza, we watched movies, played dodge ball, basketball. It was fun. I was wondering if we could try something new this year?” I asked.

  “What’d you have in mind?” Carol asked, putting on her mirrored sunglasses.

  “James suggested that we either play old-fashioned charades or have the kids do a talent show. James said he could ask some his friends from the community theater group to help out, and that he would be glad to help organize it.”

  Carol’s face went blank. I couldn’t tell if she didn't like the idea or if she was thinking. “Oh, Jan, we’re going to have fifty to sixty eight- and nine-year-olds drinking soda, all hyped on sugar running around a gym. I don’t know if they’re going to want to sit still to watch a talent show. That’s why we do the physical activities to tire them out.”

  “That’s kind of what I told James but he feels that the kids especially at this age should be exposed to more art, get them away from their iPods, iPads, iPhones or whatever else they have. Maybe we could make it like America’s has talent. We could call it Woodland View has talent and talk to the local merchants about prizes.”

  “Jan, it sounds like it could be fun especially if James is involved. Let me talk to the chief,” Carol said.

  “I’ll mention it to him. I'm on my way to see him. I will let you go.” I stood up.

  “Jan, we’ll talk again. I’ll see you at bingo.” I watched Carol walk away. I really wish I could help her find a nice young man. I would mention it to James again.

  As I was heading back toward the building, I noticed some weeds sprouting between the impatiens. I pulled them out and deposited them in the garbage can. I put my hands on my hip and did a 360 looking out onto the courtyard. I was pleased with the work they had done. I went back inside. Chief Krundel was waiting for me at the front desk. He pulled me into his office. He closed the door and shut the blinds of the glass window that looked into his office. “Jan, sit down, I want to talk to you before Agent Peabody gets here,” he said.

  “Sure, Chief, what do you want to talk about?”

  Mark walked around behind his desk and squeezed into his armchair. The wooden chair creaked a bit. It made me concerned both for him and the chair. “Jan, you and I go way back, and we have an understanding. A relationship wouldn’t you say?”

  “Hmm, of course, Mark.”

  “I tend to give you a lot of leeway with police matters. I know that you have the best interest of the city at heart always but the FBI is a different matter. They’re not going to cut you that kind of slack.”

  “Mark, what are you talking about?”

  “What I’m saying, Jan, is that this is an official murder investigation. You’re a civilian. You have to stand behind the ropes. Do you know what I mean? You have to watch what you say and what you do around the FBI.”

  Mark and I have known each other for a long time. I respect him, and we do have a relationship. He has no idea who I was before I came to Woodland View. I’ve dealt with the FBI before. People see us for who they think we are. Mark only knows the Woodland View version of me. “Mark, I understand what you’re saying. The last thing I want to do is step on any toes.”

  “Good, Jan, we understand each other then?” he said. I nodded in agreement.

  “I spoke with Carol about the national night out next month. We’re talking about having a talent show. James has volunteered to help organize it and help with the music.”

  “He has, has he?” the chief asked.

  “And, Mark, by the way, James is hosting hot yoga classes at his house every Sunday. I think that you would
enjoy it. I’ve been to a couple. It’s fun.”

  “Hot yoga, really?”

  “It’s just a thought,” I said.

  There was a timid knock on the door. “Come in,” Chief Krundel said. The door slowly opened, and the young FBI agent came in, flashing his badge, and introducing himself as Agent Peabody. The agent was very handsome. His dark curly hair was cut short which was appropriate; his steel blue eyes were alert. His chiseled face reminded me of a young Tom Cruise, Tom Cruise from Top Gun not Mission Impossible Tom Cruise. Not that that’s a bad thing. I could tell right away he was fresh out of Quantico. His navy blue suit still had a price tag peeking out from under the back of his collar.

  I had foregone my daily activities to meet him at the Woodland View Police Department. He offered to come to my house to see me but I wanted to save him the trouble. After the introductions, Chief Krundel said, “You can use my office.” He grabbed his coffee cup and left the room.

  “New to the service?” I asked.

  “How could you tell?” Agent Peabody appeared surprised at my question.

  I reached around the back of his neck and pulled off the price tag. I handed it to him.

  Crumpling it in his pocket, his face turned red. “Mrs. Kustodia.”

  I interrupted him, “Jan. Call me Jan.”

  I watched as Agent Peabody sat down across from me in Chief Krundel’s seat. The agent sat on an angle and gave me a big smile. He tilted his head as he spoke, “I wanted to review the events of the day starting with when you discovered Gary Ingall.”

  I sat back and reflected before speaking. I wanted to make sure I remembered everything clearly. “Gary was late with the mail so I walked down the block to see if I could see his truck. He usually delivers mail to North Linden Avenue first. It’s closer to the post office. As I got to the abandoned house, the foreclosure, I noticed the cracks in the blacktopped driveway were getting worse. I called the city and complained several times but they always told me they’re not responsible. I followed the cracks back behind the house. That’s when I saw his truck by the garage.”