Shoes: Tails from the post

by R. A. Comunale M. D.

“I’m Carole Green. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s my father. His class is having its twenty-fifth reunion this year and….”

  Her energy evaporated. All she could do was stare at the other woman’s name tag: DIRECTOR OF ALUMNI ACTIVITIES.

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  She could see that the young woman was tired.

  “Augustus Belmont.”

  “Let’s sit down. I think you’re in luck. Twenty-fifth reunions are held in the fall. Let me see. It’s this Saturday. I have a meeting with the class reunion chairman in just a few minutes. Did your dad register?”

  Kristin gazed at the floor. “He’s in the ICU at University Hospital in Charlottesville.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “He’s dying … cancer.”

  Green put her arm on Kristin’s shoulder. “How can I help you?”

  “Ms. Green, something terrible happened in my Dad’s senior year. His classmate, Lauren Fletcher, the girl he would have married after graduation, suddenly disappeared that April and….”

  “Yes, go on, dear.”

  “I don’t know how to put this, but another classmate, Donald Ashburn, was drummed out on an honor code violation several days before Lauren disappeared. He supposedly killed himself in the motel room where he was dropped off after Rollout.”

  The director’s skin started to crawl. She had heard about both the disappearance and the suicide. It was legendary at the school.

  “Miss Belmont, what can I…?”

  “Ms. Green, I have a letter the boy sent to his mother that final night. It implicates another cadet as the real culprit. It isn’t the letter of a suicide-driven person. Besides, the missing cadet, Lauren Fletcher, served on the jury that convicted him.”

  She looked down once more.

  “So did my father.”

  “Kristin, I think we’d better go to the Commandant’s office. I’d also like the class representative to come with us. He’s due any minute. Do you have that letter with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He couldn’t wait for the embryology class to finish. It was still daylight, so he headed over to Lexington once more and stopped by the offices of the Gazette.

  “Hey, Jensen, got any scoops on accident victims?”

  “Come on, Jake, you know I couldn’t tell you if I did.”

  “What’s up, kid?”

  Jake Williams had seen a lot in his day. His gray hair was testimony to the more harrowing stuff. He had quit smoking at his wife’s insistence five years ago, but Beau could see and hear the incipient lung pattern of COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disease—in his fruity cough.

  “Need some info on the months of March and April for the year…”

  “That’s twenty-five years ago, boy.”

  “Yep. By the way, remember old Sheriff Fletcher?”

  “Boom-boom Fletcher? God, yes. I can still see him pointing that big .45 revolver at a perp when I was a cub reporter here.”

  “Is he still around?”

  The older man nodded.

  “Poor guy. His daughter went missing from VMI a month before she was going to graduate. They never found her. His wife pined away and died a year later, and he just withdrew. I heard he had a stroke a few years ago. I think he’s in the independent living section of the Mayflower now.”

  The old reporter was no fool.

  “Beau, this got anythin’ to do with the sheriff’s daughter?”

  The younger man grabbed a chair and straddled it.

  “You believe in Fate or Karma, Jake?”

  “Dunno, kid. I’ve seen a lot o’ crap in ’Nam. Some guys lived and shouldn’t have. Other guys died. Made no sense who made it and who didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, I met this girl and…”

  “You in heat, boy?”

  Beau turned beet red. “No, no, come on, now, Jake, let me finish.”

  Heh-heh, I know the signs boy. Can’t hide it from ol’ Jake.

  “Well, we had to get this guy off the top of Bluff Mountain. He’s got cancer and he started convulsing right in front of his daughter and I got to meet her and….”

  “Whoa, Beau, so far all you’ve said is ‘girl.’”

  “Yeah, well, turns out her dad and the Fletcher girl were an item back in the day at VMI. Lauren Fletcher would probably have been this kid’s mother if she hadn’t disappeared.

  “But here’s the kicker, Jake. Another cadet killed himself in a motel right after he was drummed out. Both this girl’s dad and the Fletcher girl were on his Honor Court jury.”

  Jake’s forehead creased.

  “Geez, boy, I was the reporter with Sheriff Fletcher that night. Weren’t pretty, the kid lyin’ on the floor with his dad’s ceremonial saber stuck in his guts and blood all over that room. I can still smell it, know what I mean?”

  An EMT knew that smell, too.

  “That’s what I mean, Jake. I can’t tell you the whole story yet, but this girl—she’s damned smart and good looking, by the way—got hold of a letter the Ashburn boy mailed shortly after he was deposited at the motel. It doesn’t fit.”

  “I felt the same way, too. The look on that kid’s face: it was surprise. I never seen that with any other suicides and I seen plenty. It’s a college town, after all.”

  The reporter’s face took on a look Beau had seen before: cunning.

  “Listen, kid, I’ll help ya, but ya gotta promise you’ll call me if anything breaks, okay?”

  “Agreed. Now, can you let me at those files?”

  “Sure. Hey, I hear you’re goin’ to med school next year. How come you ain’t joinin’ yer dad in the real estate business? He must own half the county by now.”

  “I guess I don’t have the smarts for it, Jake. No doubt I’m a disappointment to him. From the time I was twelve I wanted to hound-dog old Doc Shepland around instead of working in Dad’s office.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that, too, kid. Shepland says you remind him of himself. Did ya know he worked as an ambulance driver back when he was younger than you? Apparently some young doctor he met while workin’ the ER run down in Richmond got him hooked on med school.”

  “Was it Doc Galen?

  “Yeah, that’s it. Hey, kid you gonna treat old Jake if I get sick?”

  “You won’t need me if you stay off the cigarettes, Jake.”

  “You sound like my wife, boy.”

  They laughed, two men, one aging, one just beginning, but neither man understanding women or life.

  Beau left an hour later with a handful of printouts and a smile on his face.

  Crescendo

  “You realize what you’re saying, Miss Belmont?”

  Three people sat in the Commandant’s office. The fourth remained standing.

  “Yes, sir, I do. I think that Donald Ashburn was set up. I think that whoever set him up also murdered him. He did a good job of making it look like suicide. But please let me be very clear. I do not fault the Honor Code and the Honor Court. They came to an honest judgment based on the evidence they had.”

  “Judge Saltzman?”

  The class reunion chairman cleared his throat.

  “Sir, I remember Miss Belmont’s father. Gus was a fine cadet, and I’m proud to call him a Brother Rat. I also remember Ashburn and Fletcher. Don was a quiet kid, and all of us were surprised that he was brought up on honor code violations. It didn’t fit him.

  “As for Lauren, we all expected her to be our class’s first general. Most of us suspected foul play when she disappeared.”

  The Commandant stared at the letter lying on his desk. He picked up the envelope. The postmark was dated the day Ashburn was found dead in the motel room.

  “Abe is there anyone on your class roster that you….”

  He couldn’t say the words.

  Saltzman stared back and nodded.

  “There was one guy. The rest of us thought he was a prick … uh … I’m sorry, Miss Belmont, Ms. Gr
een … I don’t mean to be vulgar. And, strange to say, Ashburn was the only cadet who could tolerate him.”

  “Who?”

  Appellate Court Judge Abraham Saltzman stood up, stepped toward the Commandant’s desk, held up the class roster and pointed at a name. The Commandant glanced at it then held the hand-written letter up once more.

  “Sweet Jesus!”

  Just then, Kristin’s cell phone started to vibrate.

  “I’m sorry, would you excuse me a moment? This may be the hospital calling about Dad.”

  The other three nodded, as she stepped out of the room.

  “Kris, it’s me, Beau.”

  She noted the familiarity.

  “Thank God. You can’t believe what’s happening.”

  “Same here. I think we need to visit the sheriff. Are you done there yet?”

  “I will be. Have you heard anything about Dad?”

  “Yeah, no change. We’ll stop by the hospital after seeing Fletcher. Okay?”

  “I’ll meet you in front of the antique shop.”

  “See ya.”

  She stepped back into the Commandant’s office. The other three looked glum.

  “Everything okay, Miss Belmont?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miss Belmont, nothing like this has ever happened before. There’s no precedent in the entire history of VMI.”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Carole Green said, gazing at Kristin.

  The Commandant nodded.

  “I have a friend at FBI headquarters in Richmond. Let me call her and ask what can be done. If you are right, the statute of limitations never runs out on murder or abduction cases.”

  “She always comes up with an answer,” the Commandant interjected. “Miss Belmont, may I make a copy of this letter and envelope?”

  “Yes, sir. I promised Donald’s mother I would return it.”

  “I thought she had passed on several years ago.”

  “Uh … it’s a long story. I can’t tell you now, but I will.”

  She stood up and took back the original letter after a copy had been made. She shook hands with the other three then left.

  Saltzman looked at Greene and the Commandant.

  “That girl would have made one helluva cadet.”

  She saw the blue-jeaned beanpole pacing back and forth in front of the little store.

  He’s got a nice butt.

  By the time he had walked over to her car, she was laughing uncontrollably.

  “What’s with you?”

  “Oh, nothing, Beau. What have you got?”

  “I was lucky. Old Jake was on duty at the paper. He was the reporter on call when the sheriff found Ashburn. He thought it didn’t look like a suicide.”

  “Where’s Sheriff Fletcher?”

  “Move over, I’ll drive. It’s an independent and assisted living facility not too far from here.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the little retirement village outside Lexington. The sun was an hour away from setting. They introduced themselves to the LPN in charge and were given directions to the third, chalet-sized cottage down from the administration building.

  A knock on the door brought a gravelly, slightly distorted voice.

  “It’s late, dammit, but come in. Can’t leave an old man alone, can you?”

  Beau hesitated then turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

  Two wall sconces illuminated a small anteroom. It held only a medium-sized, flat-screen TV. Several bench-like chairs rested against cream-colored walls and those had self-assist bars on either side. The generic, tan-brown rug, designed not to show dirt, showed wheel marks.

  “Well, why are you disturbing my peace and quiet? I don’t need any medicine and I don’t want to participate in any group activities. In other words, leave me alone. Understand what I mean?”

  A jowly, white-haired old man sat in a wheel chair to the side of the room. His ruddy face showed the effects of countless days outside in the elements. Powerful arms covered by a blue-flannel, long-sleeved shirt gripped the wheelchair rims and propelled it toward the two visitors.

  Watery blue eyes squinted up at Kris and Beau.

  “Damned if you both don’t look familiar. Are you the Jensen boy?”

  “Yes, sir. My dad told me how you used to chase him and his friends when they tried to … uh … liberate some apples from a neighbor’s tree.”

  The old man’s crooked smile was friendly. The memories crossing his mind were almost visible.

  “You, girl, I can’t place ye, but still there’s somethin’ familiar ’bout yer face.”

  “I’m Kristin Belmont, Gus Belmont’s daughter.”

  The old man’s right hand rose involuntarily then dropped back to the armrest. He started to moan, his words unintelligible save for one: Lauren.

  Kristin moved forward and knelt by his side.

  “Please, no, Mr. Fletcher, please. We need to talk with you. We need your help.”

  Two sets of blue eyes met.

  “Can’t help ye, girl. Look at me. I ain’t no good to nobody.”

  Jensen knelt down on the other side of the old man’s wheelchair.

  “You’ll always be Sheriff Fletcher to me, sir. Please, listen to what Kristin has to say. It’s about Lauren and something that may be related to her disappearance.”

  The old man’s shaking stopped as the discipline of decades took hold.

  “Speak yer piece, girl.”

  As she spoke, Beau noted the change in the old man’s face. Gone was the sagging apathy. A lawman’s mind was now in charge.

  “I remember the Ashburn case. It never seemed right to me, either. That reporter, Jake Williams, thought so, too. But we was overruled by the coroner. And then, when my little girl went missing two days later….”

  He tried to hide his face as tears came down the side unaffected by stroke.

  Kristin took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the old man’s face.

  He looked at her and smiled.

  “You’re jes’ like yer pa, girl. Where is he now?”

  He started to cry again when Kristin told him.

  “Sheriff, look at the letter Kristin has. Did you know about this back then?”

  Beau held the letter, while Kristin went to get Fletcher’s reading glasses from a nearby table. The man’s lips moved as he read the hand-scrawled words of a dead boy.

  “Mother of Jesus, where did ye get this? We never saw this. It woulda changed everything.”

  An hour later, Beau could see the fatigue signs on Fletcher’s face and hear the increased slurring of words.

  “I think it’s best to let you rest now, Sheriff. May we come back tomorrow?”

  He nodded, and they turned to leave but looked back as the old man called out, “Come here, Kristin.”

  She followed him, as he wheeled himself into a small bedroom. There, on a bedside table, sat a small mahogany box. His hand shook, as he took it and placed it on his lap to open it.

  “This was my daughter’s. It was in her room when we came to take her stuff home.”

  His left hand reached out and took Kristin’s left hand. His right hand dropped a heavy object into it.

  She looked down on a gold class ring—Lauren’s nugget.

  Fletcher’s eyes watered as he looked up at her.

  “You might have been my granddaughter.”

  What Once Was Lost

  “You need to get some Zs, Kris. You’re running on empty.”

  She dropped him off at his car and promised to get some sleep at the motel he had shown her earlier. As he drove off, she waited until his car was out of sight then headed toward Buena Vista and the stretch of road leading to Bluff Mountain.

  The amber-red glow of sunset cast final shadows over the valley and the town of Lexington below as she made the turnoff.

  She had to stop suddenly.

  PARKWAY CLOSED FOR THE NIGHT

  No, no damned sign is going to
stop me now!

  She parked the car by the side of the road, hitched her camping gear on her shoulders and began to hike. It was longer than she had anticipated. She was out of breath by the time she reached the chained off section blocking the car route to the mountain summit.

  She was moving on autopilot now. It was dark but she had a small LED flashlight. It kept her from tripping over the more obvious branches and rocks as she crossed the field to the hiker’s shelter.

  Ah, good, no one else here.

  The chill air reminded her to throw some nearby kindling into the fire pit and light a fire.

  She wanted to sleep but couldn’t get her mind to shut down.

  Dad. Donnie Ashburn. Abigail Mayhugh. Lauren Fletcher. Sheriff Fletcher. The names kept spinning around in her brain.

  Her hand went to the ring she now wore on a chain around her neck.

  Dad, what have we started?

  The pocket of her blouse trembled. She reached toward it and pulled out the other two class rings: Lauren’s and Ashburn’s.

  What happened, what happened to you?

  Mama? Mama?

  The little fire that had started to ember now suddenly flared up into a column of flame.

  What the hell, the fire’s moving toward me!

  A will-o’-the-wisp glow, no more than three feet high, extended itself toward her.

  She felt her hand tingle.

  Why am I not afraid?

  Mama? Mama? Where’s Mama? I can’t find her. Can you help me?

  Ottie, can you help me?

  The flame nodded.

  Come.

  She rose. An errant thought made her chuckle.

  And a little child shall lead you.

  Are you really Ottie, the little boy of the mountain?

  The light flickered briefly.

  They moved together, the sound of only one pair of footsteps disturbing the mountain quiet as they moved down and around, to the far end of the Punch Bowl. The pond came into view and the light stopped.

  Another will-o’-the-wisp, this time taller, almost defined but still hiding at the edge of her imagination, rose like a gas flame. It flickered, beckoning her to come forward.

  Kristin froze. Her hand clutched at the rings and the light intensified.

  Soon she was able to move. She walked slowly toward the glow until she was no more than three feet away.