I gingerly walked to the edge of the parking lot to wipe the offensive material off on the grass. It came off easily, leaving reddish stains that made me feel uneasy. I knelt to examine them and touched a blade of grass with one fingertip. The stickiness turned my stomach, and the smell assaulted my nose. An unpleasant, oldpenny smell that was unmistakable. It was blood I'd stepped in, not oil.
My first thought was that someone had hit a deer in the parking lot, which wasn't uncommon. But if so, where was the carcass? Had the driver taken the unfortunate animal home for supper? As I stood up, I was able to see over the bank down to the river's edge where a bundle of old clothes was visible, half-covered with leaves. But somehow I knew, without even exploring further, that it was not just clothing. I slipped down the riverbank and nudged the bundle with one foot. My gentle prodding uncovered a hand, which seemed to reach out as if pleading for me to help.
"Oh my God. It's a body." I wanted to run, but then reason checked me. It could be someone who fell down the embankment and hit his head. Big Bad Bob leaped to mind. As drunk as he usually was, he could have taken a tumble.
I actually managed to talk myself into believing that maybe the hand protruding from the pile of clothes belonged to a person in need of assistance, so I knelt next to it and touched my fingers to the wrist. The hand was icy cold, and there was definitely no pulse. It belonged to a dead person, I was sure of that, but now that I'd actually touched it I was no longer frightened by it. I brushed away some of the leaves and twigs that covered the bundle until I saw a face looking up at me.
"Mr. Eshelman," I whispered. "Oh no. Mr. Eshelman." Tears streamed down my cheeks while I brushed the dry vegetation from his face.
"Hey!" somebody shouted from above. "What's going on?"
I looked up and saw the silhouette of a man.
"Call the police," I called. "There's a dead person down here."
The man disappeared.
I sat with Mr. Eshelman as purple evening shadows fell around me, and the surrounding air turned cool. "I'm so sorry," I kept repeating. "I'm so sorry" Although I hadn't known him well, he'd always been nice to me, and I felt awful that this had happened.
And suddenly Luscious was beside me, along with several EMTs from the volunteer fire department.
One of them knelt next to the body, listened for a heartbeat and a pulse, then shook his head. "Nothing."
Luscious whipped out his cell phone, pressed a button, and muttered a few curt words. "Henry'll be right here," he said.
"Looks like he was shot," the EMT said. He lifted a branch covering Mr. Eshelman's chest, revealing a gaping wound.
I gagged and threw up.
"Please be careful, Tori. You're messing up a crime scene," Luscious scolded.
When the coroner arrived, he was accompanied by most of the customers from the restaurant. They stood on the edge of the parking lot, looking down at the gruesome scene.
"You'uns just stay put," Henry Hoopengartner warned. "Don't want nobody doing nothing down here till I've had a chance to look things over." He nodded at me, then turned his attention to the body. I watched the clear water of the creek splash over a bed of small stones. Every now and then a large fish swam by in water so shallow that its back would actually break through the surface. One of the native brown trout the creek was so famous for, I thought, trying to keep my mind off what was happening.
"Time of death, six forty-two," I overheard Henry say. "You'uns can take him away now."
"Tori," Luscious's voice was gentle. "How did you happen to find him?"
I explained the chain of events that had led me to Mr. Eshelman's side, starting with my trip to the dentist and ending with the discovery of the body. Through tear-blurred eyes I watched Luscious write everything I'd said in a notebook, just as I had once suggested he should.
"Did you see anybody around here?"
"Not a soul. The parking lot was empty."
"Let's get out of here," he said. He extended a hand and helped me up the grassy hill. I was grateful for his assistance, as my legs were shaking and unsteady.
The ambulance carrying Mr. Eshelman's body pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the area filled with a crowd of curious onlookers. Mildred stood off by herself, sobbing heavily. I went to her and put my arms around her. I half expected her to push me away, but she only leaned her head on my shoulder and continued to cry. After a few minutes, she straightened up, dug in her apron pocket for a tissue, and blew her nose.
"It's awful," she whispered.
"He was a nice man."
Mildred nodded. "It must have been someone after the money bag. I told him he oughta leave it in the safe overnight. I coulda made the deposit in the morn- morn- morning." Her sobs resumed.
"Luscious, come here, please," I called.
Looking somewhat annoyed, Luscious joined us.
"Mildred says Wilbur was carrying a money bag to make a night deposit. She thinks he might have been killed for the money"
Luscious shook his head no. "Found the money bag lying right next to him. It's full. Don't look like nothing's missing. We'll count it later and compare it with the deposit slip."
"Was it an accident, then? Someone shooting at a deer in the woods, maybe?"
"Henry'll be able to tell us what kind of bullet it was what killed him. But if it was an accident, there wouldn't be any reason to drag him down the hill and try to cover him up. Accidents happen all the time, but I don't think this was one."
It was true that hunting accidents happened frequently in the Lickin Creek area, but as Luscious spoke I was sure he was right. This had not been an accident. But if it hadn't been a robbery, either, why on earth had it happened?
"You run on home, Tori," Luscious said, rather condescendingly. "Get some rest. You look terrible."
I meekly agreed to leave. Luscious and Henry seemed to have everything under control, and there was no need for me to hang around.
Ethelind was at the kitchen table, smoking, when I walked in. As I walked in she quickly ground the cigarette out in a flowery Royal Doulton saucer and looked up with a smile that faded to a worried frown. "What's the matter with you?" she asked.
I dropped onto an oak chair and told her what I'd found.
"Such a kind man," Ethelind murmured. "And so young, too."
For the first time in hours, a smile crossed my lips. Mr. Eshelman had been a few years behind Ethelind in school. I guess that's why she thought of him as "young."
Ethelind brewed tea in a Staffordshire pot, her cure-all for the evils of the world, and poured a cup for me. She even provided real sugar and milk instead of the powdered calorie-free substitutes I used when I was alone.
The cats crept in one by one, and Noel settled herself on my lap while Fred claimed Ethelind's lap as his own. After finding a dead body, there's nothing as comforting as a cup of tea and a cat for company, I thought.
When the phone rang, Ethelind and I stared at each other. Which of us would disturb her cat to answer it? When she stood up, Fred gave a little chirp of disgust and stalked from the room, while Noel gave him her smug I-won look.
"It's for you," Ethelind said. "Don't get up. I'll bring it to you."
I half expected to hear Luscious's voice, but it wasn't.
"Miss Miracle?"
I recognized the voice of J.B. Morgan from the bank.
"Yes, J. B. How are you?"
"I'm fine," he said brusquely. "But I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."
My heart sank into my shoes as I anticipated his next words.
"Your loan application has not been approved. I'm very sorry."
"But ...I don't understand.... You said there wouldn't be a problem."
"These things are out of my control, Miss Miracle. The problem doesn't lie with us."
"Isn't there something I can do?"
"You could try another bank, but I don't think you'll do any better. It's your credit rating. It's one of the worst reports I've ever seen."
>
Eighteen
Saturday was newspaper day. All over Lickin Creek, people were enjoying their morning coffee and catching up with news about friends, enemies, and neighbors who could be either. I found our paper caught in the rosebush to the left of the front door and brought it into the kitchen where Ethelind already had prepared coffee and a hot tray of sticky buns, part of her Saturday morning ritual.
Of course, poor Mr. Eshelman's death had occurred too late to be included. And by next week it would be considered old news, probably not even worthy of the front page. What did surprise me was, there was no mention of Rodney Mellott nor Emily Rakestraw. And even the latest reports of Vonzell Varner's escapades were buried in the middle pages. The front page, which we'd saved for latebreaking news, was filled with my article about the BL Deer Hunting Preserve. I folded the paper and handed it to Ethelind. "I'm going into the Chronicle office," I told her. "There are a few things I need to get straight."
Ethelind smiled. "It's not your idea of what a paper should be, is it?"
"I know what you're going to say," I said. "It's the kind of paper people in Lickin Creek want."
"Exactly. Aren't you going to get dressed?"
"I am dressed, Ethelind." I glanced down at my pink T-shirt, jeans shorts, and sandals, which I thought were perfectly appropriate to be wearing while visiting a nearly deserted newspaper office on a hot summer Saturday morning.
I left Ethelind poring over the paper, coffee mug in one hand, her freshly lit cigarette poisoning the air. At least she'd begun waiting till I left the room before lighting up.
Cassie seldom worked on Saturday morning, and P.J. had not yet come in when I arrived at the Chronicle. Before she'd left the office yesterday, Cassie had prepared the electric coffeepot, so all I had to do was push the ON button. I then used the quiet time to pick up the phone and call Dr. Gelsinger about my prescription.
He was contrite. "I'm sure I called it in," he said. "I can't imagine what happened. And isn't it a shame about Bill? I still can't believe it. Such a good man. A real pillar of the community, he was. I can't imagine what's going to happen to the Chicken and Slippery Pot Pie Dinners now that he's gone."
I interrupted his soliloquy. "Can you please call my prescription into another drugstore? I'd really like to get started taking it."
There was a pause, then he asked, "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Fine," I said.
"No pain? No fever? No unusual aches?"
"No to all the above."
"Then I really don't think you're going to need an antibiotic after all, Tori. I can call it in for you, of course, but it costs about a hundred dollars, and if it's not really necessary for you to..."
"Thank you," I said. "I'd just as soon not take a drug if I don't need to."
"You found him, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"It must have been awful for you. Did you see anything suspicious? Like someone lurking around the building, who might have done it?"
"No. I didn't. Look Dr. Gelsinger, I really don't want to talk about it."
"Of course you don't. That was insensitive of me. I told him he shouldn't carry that deposit bag around like that. No point in turning yourself into a target."
I hung up, relieved I didn't have to listen to him anymore, and also relieved I'd been saved from spending money I didn't have.
My next call was to Danielle Simpson, the realtor. She sounded shocked when I told her my loan request had been denied. Then she switched to her optimistic voice.
"Don't you worry about it, Tori. I'm going to find you a loan if I have to go to the National Bank of Timbuktu."
"How reassuring."
"We'll get you into that house, one way or the other."
Although she had been very upbeat and positive, I was downcast after I hung up. My little dream house was going up in smoke. It was as if it had never really been meant to be mine.
While the office was still quiet, I wrote about discovering Wilbur Eshelman's body and tried to describe, without going into graphic details, the horrific gunshot wound in his chest. Why had it happened? I mused. Who could have done such a terrible thing to such a nice man?
P.J. came in around noon, looking groggy. This lateness was a sure sign she wasn't feeling well. As long as I'd known her, she'd always made it a point to come in early.
I poured a mug of coffee and handed it to her along with my article about Wilbur. When I was close to her, I saw that her eyes were red and swollen. "Have you been crying?" I asked in surprise. P.J. never showed emotion. She said it was the mark of a good newspaperwoman not to.
She nodded. "I've had a hard time accepting Bill's death," she said. "He was a good man."
"I've heard that from everybody who knew him," I remarked. Then what she'd said caught up to me. "You called him `Bill.' So did Dr. Gelsinger. Are we all talking about the same person? Wilbur Eshelman?"
P.J. sipped her coffee, then nodded again. "Bill's what we called him back in high school. When he went into business, he didn't think it was dignified enough, so he switched back to his full name of Wilbur."
"Speaking of high school. I brought in some photos I copied from the yearbook, showing Rodney Mellott and his music students." While I spoke, I was walking out to the front office where I'd left my bag. "Here they are," I said as I returned.
P.J. barely glanced at them. "So?"
"So, I'm saying one of these students was the boy Rodney called B in his diary. There could be a tie-in with his death. If I can just identify which one he was..."
"Drop it, Tori."
"What?"
"I said, drop it. I've never had so many complaints called in as I did this week after that inflammatory article you wrote. Nobody wants to read that kind of stuff. Especially about people they grew up with. Here..." She handed me my article about Wilbur Eshelman. "Nice job. Put it on Cassie's desk."
I started to take the pages over and noticed P.J. had changed the headline. Instead of what I'd written, which was LOCAL BUSINESSMAN MURDERED, it now read ROBBERY GONE WRONG.
"It wasn't a robbery, P.J. Nothing was taken."
"That is exactly why it was a robbery gone wrong, Tori. Probably the thief was startled by something and ran away before he could get the money."
"I don't think so-"
"I do." The look she gave me silently added, "And it's my paper."
I heard the front door burst open and went out into the front room to find Luscious covering his bald spot with what was left of his hair.
"Hi, Luscious," I said. "Any leads yet on who killed Mr. Eshelman?"
He ignored my question. "Beautiful morning, ain't it? Is P.J. here?"
I pointed to the archway that separated the two rooms. "In there."
He entered P.J.'s inner sanctum, and I followed close behind him.
"What's up, Luscious?" P.J. asked.
He glanced at me, as if wondering if he should ask me to leave, then apparently decided against it. "There's some guys from the state health department down here, looking for places mosquitoes can hatch."
"I know that," P.J. said. "They're trying to stop the spread of West Nile Virus. It's not exactly news, Luscious."
"You don't have to be condescending, P.J," Luscious said.
"Ooh, Tori, did you hear that big word?"
"Cut it out, P.J. I'm trying to broaden my vocabulary by learning one new word a day and using it three times in conversation. Read about it in Mom's Cosmopolitan."
"Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all.
"Anyway, what I'm going to tell you is news, P.J., so listen up. Can I have a cup of coffee, Tori?"
He lowered his voice to a low rumble as I left. If he thought he was gaining privacy, he was wrong, because from the next room I could pick out some of the words from some of his sentences. "West Nile Virus. Tire pile. State crew. Human bones."
I burst back into the room, splashing myself with coffee. "What are you talking about?"
P.J. gl
anced at Luscious, who nodded his okay. "Luscious has just told me that there's a crew from the state health department down here spraying to kill mosquito larvae."
"I knew that already. What about the human bones?"
"You know the tire pile out on Funkhauser Road, don't you?"
Everybody knew about the tire pile. About thirty years ago, a local farmer, Adam Funkhauser, thought he was going to make a fortune selling old tires, only after he collected a half million or so he learned nobody wanted to buy them, and now his heirs were stuck with an environmental disaster to clean up.
"The bones," I persisted.
"The crew was working out there last night and found a plastic garbage bag with human remains in it," Luscious said.
"Were these remains wearing a polyester tuxedo and a ruffled shirt?"
After another exchange of glances, Luscious bowed his head slightly. "That's kinda what it looked like."
I felt so triumphant I was almost ashamed of myself. I'd come to think of this particular corpse as my body, even when nobody believed he existed. Now there could be no doubt.
"You don't need to look so happy, Tori," P.J. snapped.
"I'm going to call Henry and ask him what he thinks the cause of death was," I said, already dialing the number for Hoopengartner's Garage, Police Department, and Coroner's Office.
"Hoop's," said the female voice on the line.
"Henry, please."
Henry came on the line so quickly I knew he must have been right next to the receptionist.
He listened quietly while I asked my questions. Where? When? How? What? Who? Why?
"Funkhauser's tire pile. Last night. Crew was spraying for mosquitoes. Big green plastic bag, the kind you use for outdoor trash. It is Rodney Mellott. I've compared the skull to his dental records. Cause of death was multiple stab wounds. How can I tell? Because there are marks on several bones where the knife went deep into the body. Anything else you need to know?"
5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes Page 17
