by Janet Bolin
I’d have gone, too, but I needed to focus on Lenny.
Our two divers plodded down the boat ramp and into the water. When they reached Lenny, he handed one of them the extension cord.
I beckoned to the surfer-boy lifeguard zombie. Still gripping the life ring, he swam to the base of the boat ramp and waded out of the water. No vestiges were left of his zombie makeup, and he had turned into a rather stunning man, though not nearly as stunning as Clay, nearby on the riverbank in his jeans and chambray shirt.
I handed Lenny his towel and pulled my dogs away in case he wouldn’t understand Sally-Forth and her nurturing ways and wouldn’t want her holding him down with her paws and attempting to lick him dry.
Clay strode to us, pulled a packaged survival blanket from a pocket, and tore open the packet. “Wrap up in this,” Clay ordered, “and please wait here for the ambulance. The techs will check you out and give you a warm drink.”
Lenny’s teeth were chattering. Mine were, also, although except for the toes of my sneakers, I hadn’t been in the water.
Clay and I both thanked Lenny and asked him if he’d like to join our volunteer fire department.
“I would,” he said, “but I live down near Slippery Rock.”
Clay slung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “When did you hear that splash?”
“About ten to ten.”
His jaw tightened. “Over fifteen minutes ago. If someone was trapped in that dress this long, only a pocket of air could have saved her. Do you think that fabric would hold enough air?”
“I hope so.” I grasped the dogs’ leashes more tightly. I could barely speak. I managed a halting, “What if it’s Edna?”
“She’s probably safe and sound at Gord’s.” His voice was comforting, but I could tell he was worried, too.
I leaned into him. “She didn’t answer her phone. Haylee and I both left messages.”
“Maybe no one is in that skirt,” he said. “Maybe kids pushed it in.”
“I hope so. I did hear someone running away, up Lake Street. And they left wet footprints.”
“You’re shivering.” Clay locked both arms around me. “We’ve got a good crew here. I hope it will turn out that we’re only doing a water rescue drill in a realistic setting. I wish I’d made the base of that skirt from wood though, instead of steel.”
“We had no idea this would happen.” I clung to him. “I thought you were driving your cousin home.”
“He wasn’t at the truck when I got there. I waited for him, but he didn’t show up, so I was about to look for you and your dogs when the emergency call came in. I was outside the fire station, so when a few of the others arrived, I drove the fire truck here.”
“Did you hear or see anything unusual while you were waiting for Dare?”
“No.”
I clamped my lips shut. I wasn’t about to tell him that I may have seen Dare, in his black slacks and jacket, on the trail shortly before I heard the woman shout, Don’t push me!
Another siren came closer. Elderberry Bay’s police cruiser sped down Lake Street and slammed to a halt.
Leaving her car’s spotlight trained on the riverbank, Police Chief Vicki Smallwood ran down the hill. Her uniform was tidy, and she wore her neatly combed ponytail low to accommodate her police hat. She always looked younger than she was. Once, it had seemed to bother her that she was shorter than Haylee and I were, but she must have realized that we respected her abilities and authority as Elderberry Bay’s only police officer.
She asked me, “You called this in, Willow?”
I nodded.
She asked Clay, “Do you need me at the moment, or can I have a few minutes to talk to Willow?”
He didn’t remove his gaze from the divers. “We’ve got it under control, I hope, but thanks for coming. I’ll whistle if we need you.” His arms dropped from me, leaving me colder than ever. Back straight, sleeves rolled up, he walked downriver toward the divers. I wished I could go with him.
Lenny edged away as if guessing that Vicki wanted to talk to me alone, but before he got very far, she asked him if he was okay and if he wanted to warm up in her car.
He gave her a very nice smile. “I’m fine. I’m more concerned about those divers. I’m trained to watch other rescuers.” He turned the smile on me. “Like she does. Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.” I thanked him for helping.
Vicki told him to let us know if he needed anything.
Lenny nodded, pulled his shiny blanket around himself, and ambled like a person, not a zombie, to the riverbank.
Vicki opened her notebook. “Okay, Willow, let’s hear it.”
I told her about the screams, the sound like wheels clattering on the boat launch, the pops and flashes, the lights going out, the enormous skirt settling near the bottom of the river, the wet marks like partial footprints heading up the ramp and disappearing in the grass, and the sound of hard-soled shoes as someone ran up Lake Street, away from the scene.
She held up a hand to halt my breathless monologue. “This sounds potentially serious. I’m going to call the state police for backup. Wait here, and I’ll get all the details from you in a minute.” She frowned up toward the bandstand. “We’re not sure that a crime has been committed or that anyone has been injured, but I’ll tape off the scene anyway.” Talking into her radio, Vicki jogged to the boat ramp, examined it with her flashlight, and then returned to her cruiser.
I took the dogs down the hill to where Lenny stood watching the divers.
Keeping Lenny, the dogs, and me outside her taped area, Vicki tied yellow tape to a weeping willow on the riverbank and strung the tape around the uphill side of the bandstand, then back down the hill to a tree downriver from the divers’ current position, already way beyond the boat ramp.
Stubbornly, my phone refused to ring. Why didn’t Edna return our messages? My mouth was drier than cotton.
An ambulance barreled to a stop outside the tape on the road to the boat ramp. Clay directed the two technicians to Lenny. They checked him quickly and agreed with him that he was fine, then he went with the technicians toward the ambulance, where all three of them would be closer to the action. I stayed where I was with my dogs lying at my feet.
The divers took turns holding the extension cord and disappearing under the water. Each dive began nearer the mouth of the river, and seemed to take forever.
I hoped the divers were discovering that the fabric-wrapped jigsaw stand had gone into the water by itself.
One diver came up, said something to the other diver, and signaled to Clay.
I recognized the signal.
The divers were asking for the rescue stretcher that firefighters on the riverbank had been keeping near the divers. Clay and Haylee helped move the stretcher to the water’s edge.
My knees might have given way underneath me if I hadn’t been focusing on the safety of the divers.
Both of them disappeared under the water. Like the rest of my firefighting colleagues on shore, I concentrated on where they’d been.
The divers surfaced and paddled toward shore. From where I was, far up the river, it looked like they were bringing out a bundle of pale fabric. Because I still had my dogs with me, I stayed where I was.
Clay, Haylee, and other volunteer firefighters steadied the stretcher on the water. The divers placed their burden on it.
Slipping on the slope, six rescuers carried the stretcher up to flat ground and laid it on the grass. I couldn’t be certain because of the mist and the distance, but I guessed that the victim was a woman wearing pale clothing.
Edna had been wearing a long silver dress.
10
I chewed on my knuckles. The woman on the stretcher couldn’t be Edna.
Whoever she was, she’d spent about a half hour in the depths. As far as I
could tell, she wasn’t moving.
Not Edna. No, not Edna . . .
Although all three emergency vehicles had spotlights, the night was still foggy, and people cast misty, wavering shadows around the stretcher. Clay, Haylee, the firefighters, and Lenny in his silver cape hovered over Vicki Smallwood and the ambulance crew kneeling beside the victim. The medical technicians appeared to attempt CPR.
I imagined all sorts of hope and luck. Maybe the large skirt had trapped a bubble of air. Maybe the woman had survived and was merely unconscious. They would revive her . . .
Edna had worn a silver dress. Her mother’s pantsuit had been beige. The only other person I remembered seeing in a pale outfit that evening had been Isis.
Isis had been near the river, possibly pruning willows, when I’d gone home to take my animals out. Pieces of willow had been on the bandstand floor after the skirt disappeared underneath the water.
Tally scrambled to his feet and whimpered. Sally tilted her head and looked up at me with concern in her doggie eyes.
The two divers returned to the river with a large package and what looked like an aerosol can. With other volunteer firefighters, I had attended lectures about underwater recovery. The divers were about to use the can of compressed air to inflate a lift bag. The air-filled bag should help raise the enormous wedding skirt and its jigsaw stand from the bottom of the river.
On the far side of the group around the stretcher, Clay stared toward me. I knew he was trying to tell me something, but he was far away, and I couldn’t see his eyes, let alone figure out what he wanted to say. His posture showed defeat and disappointment.
Standing beside him, Haylee waved as if to make sure she had my attention, then pointed up the hill.
Edna, Gord, and Mrs. Battersby were taking a shortcut from the sidewalk onto the grassy slope above us.
I sank down on the dewy grass and hugged my dogs. Edna was fine.
Gord left the other two and strode toward the emergency workers. Edna helped her mother down the steep hill.
I jumped up and threw my arms around Edna.
Mrs. Battersby gasped. At my show of affection?
Edna patted my dogs. “What happened, Willow?”
“Someone must have rolled down the ramp in that wedding skirt we made for you, and ended up in the river. I guess she got trapped and couldn’t swim out.”
“Who?” Edna’s voice was sharp with worry.
Mrs. Battersby grumbled, “That so-called gown was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. The bottom of the river is the best place for it.”
“Mother!” I’d never heard Edna sound that exasperated before. “Someone may have drowned.”
Mrs. Battersby retorted, “All so you could parade around in a tacky piece of junk.”
I stepped in. “Edna didn’t know about that gown at all until this evening.” And now she would never wear it.
Mrs. Battersby raised her chin. “She won’t let me—her own mother—see the gown she is going to wear to her wedding. So many of today’s wedding gowns look like someone wrapped bandages around the bride from the armpits down. Why would any bride want to look like a half-naked ancient Egyptian mummy?”
Busily trying not to picture a half-naked ancient Egyptian mummy, I couldn’t figure out how to answer that question, and Edna didn’t come up with a reply, either.
Mrs. Battersby went on, “My daughter might make a spectacle of herself in something completely unsuitable. You’re supposed to hide your gown from your bridegroom, but not from your own mother. Mothers could be the only thing between brides and disasters.” She stared toward the group around the stretcher. “What’s your intended think he’s doing over there with the police and emergency personnel, anyway?”
Edna explained patiently, “He’s a doctor.”
Mrs. Battersby grunted. “The victim looks past anyone’s help to me, not that I’m a doctor.”
I put an arm around Edna again. “Gord assists the county coroner.”
Mrs. Battersby flinched, putting more distance between herself and her daughter. “A coroner? And you think you’re marrying him?”
Edna could raise her chin as high as her mother could. “I don’t just think it. I am.”
“You always did have a morbid streak. I live in constant fear that you’ll come to some bad end.”
“Gord is the love of my life.”
I added, “Gord is wonderful.” And maybe he’d work a miracle. He was taking a turn at giving the woman CPR.
Again, Edna asked me, “Who’s the victim?”
“I don’t know, but he or she seems to be wearing something pale and flowing—”
Edna seemed to shrink. “Not . . . Isis? What was she doing in my wedding overskirt in the dark of night?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t mention the person sneaking past my yard or the footsteps I’d heard on Lake Street. Edna could keep important details to herself, but her mother didn’t strike me as someone who thought before she spoke. I was certain that Vicki Smallwood wouldn’t want me blabbing about the case and starting rumors.
Gord stopped working on the victim, stood, and shook his head.
Haylee ducked out underneath the police crime scene tape and ran up the hill, around the bandstand, and down to us. She hugged Edna. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Edna, but Isis seems to have drowned.”
Isis . . .
Floyd the zombie could have been the person I’d seen sneaking along the riverside trail. He had frightened Isis the night before, and then tonight in the fire station, he’d told her to stop casting spells. He’d also lurched threateningly toward her. Later, he’d arrived here only minutes after I’d heard Isis screaming at someone to stop pushing her. Floyd’s shoes could have been the hard-soled ones I’d heard running away, and they’d been spattered with water droplets as if he’d been too close to the river when something fell splashing into it.
Edna straightened her shoulders and looked up at Haylee. “How did it happen?”
Haylee cupped one side of Edna’s face in a gentle hand. “We don’t know, but they found her trapped in that skirt we made you.”
Mrs. Battersby frowned, tapped her foot, and nodded.
Haylee looked down at her. “Is your head better?”
Mrs. Battersby patted her forehead. “No, and those sirens didn’t help, and now this!”
Edna explained to Haylee, “Mom phoned me when she heard the siren. She wanted to see what was going on. Then Gord was called to attend the scene.”
Mrs. Battersby complained to Haylee, “And your door locked automatically when I left. I can’t go back to bed.”
Haylee apologized for the door. “I can’t take you back now. As I scribbled on the note I left for you, I’m a volunteer firefighter. I need to stick around until we’re done here.” She pulled keys from her pocket. “Here, take these.”
Mrs. Battersby made no move to accept the keys. “A real granddaughter, which I don’t have, would walk me home.” She glanced toward the blanketed form on the ground. “This village is not safe.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Edna offered.
“Not to your home, you won’t,” Mrs. Battersby grumbled. “You didn’t invite me to stay in your home. You invited that strange woman, instead, who ended up dead.” She didn’t seem to notice the rhyme she’d made. “You put me with this woman you call your daughter when she’s no more your daughter than the man in the moon.”
Haylee managed to maintain her poise. “As far as I’m concerned, Edna, Naomi, and Opal are all my mothers. They all showered me with love.” She turned to Edna. “I suspect the police will want to search Isis’s things, though, so even if they let you stay in your apartment tonight, you wouldn’t be able to sleep. You can stay with me and your mom.”
Mrs. Battersby mumbled, “Great. One big happy family.”
; Edna beamed at Haylee. “Thank you, darling daughter, I will.”
Haylee slipped an arm around Mrs. Battersby’s shoulders, which seemed to disgruntle the woman even more.
Edna nodded toward the group around the stretcher. “Do they need me to identify the body?”
Haylee said gently, “Gord only knew her first name, and they haven’t found her ID. Vicki called the state police. They’ll search your apartment and Isis’s car for her real name and next of kin. Gord pronounced her dead and will sign the death certificate.”
Edna sighed. “That poor dear.” She placed a hand on her mother’s back. “C’mon, Mother, I’ll take you to Haylee’s.”
Haylee gave Edna the keys and a resounding kiss on the cheek. “Help yourself to whatever you need. Your mother has the bedroom next to mine. You can have the next one down the hall.”
Mrs. Battersby commented to the air beside her, “I never saw such a big apartment for only one person.”
Haylee held her hands out like she couldn’t do anything about it. She owned the largest store in Threadville, and the apartment above it was huge. “Most of my guest rooms are full of sewing projects.” She turned to Edna. “You can ransack my dresser drawers for a nightgown.”
Mrs. Battersby contributed helpfully, “Haylee’s nightgowns will be miles too long for you. You’ll trip and break your neck. Right before your wedding.”
“I’ll try not to trip and break my neck,” Edna promised. “Are you coming?”
Mrs. Battersby took a deep breath, started up the slope, and warned, “We’ll have to stop and rest a hundred times on this hill. Why do you folks live in such a difficult place?”
Edna said mildly, “The exercise will do us good.”
Muttering, Mrs. Battersby went with her.
When they were out of earshot, I said to Haylee, “How are you managing not to talk back to your reluctant grandmother?”
Haylee’s eyes twinkled in the light from the emergency vehicles. “You can see why Edna didn’t want her hanging around all week before the wedding! She’ll have to put up with her mother’s criticizing now, though, with all of us in my apartment. I try to think of Mrs. Battersby the way Edna and my other mothers do—as entertainment. Besides, she’ll go home after the wedding.”
