The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival

by Kevin Kimmich

  “That’s a good point… But, those guys are pretty cute.”

  They debated the pros and cons for a few minutes. As the lot emptied, their cars were among the handful that were scattered around the lot.

  “Oh shit!” Chloe said. She sprinted over toward her car. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Tracy jogged after her. “What’s up?”

  The word “SKANK” was scratched onto her hood and “COW” was keyed into the driver’s side door.

  Chloe was seeing red. “Grrrr….” she growled.

  Tracy was actually a little surprised and slightly afraid of her animal ferocity. “Wow…” she said, “that crazy bitch.”

  Chloe centered herself. She breathed deeply a couple of times. “OK! Let’s meet up with those two.”

  Tracy said to Chloe, “Oh you want to come over? My uncle knows like a million people that can fix your car for free.”

  “Nice!” the sweet and gentle demeanor returned.

  Tracy invited the boys over too.

  Chapter Five

  Morgan got home and went right into the kitchen to grab some juice. A big note was on the fridge in his dad’s handwriting. “Morgan, work, now!”

  He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He figured the bill had arrived. He got right back on his bike and rolled down the street to the garage. His father was with a customer, so Morgan waited in his office.

  There was an envelope with the school system’s logo stamped in the upper left corner. It was already opened and a letter was sticking out of it. Morgan picked up the envelope and his dad came into the office.

  His dad pointed at the letter, “read it…”

  Morgan unfolded the heavy weight paper. His eyes flitted across the text and stuck on the number--it was in bold text $3700. He wouldn’t be able to graduate until that amount was paid in full. Interest would start accruing in seven days.

  Morgan complained, “Dad, it was one cinder block… How could it cost that much?!”

  His father kicked a chair. It bounced off the desk and clattered on the floor. “I mean, what the hell were you thinking, Morgan!”

  Morgan said, “I can pay it off. I’ll work every day after school and weekends.”

  “That’s right. You do the math. You know the hours.”

  “Yeah, 370 hours… That’s a lot of weeks! I’ll also see if I can get money some other way, too.”

  “What other way?! You got another job I don’t know about?”

  “I dunno. I’ll sell something, find some other way.” Morgan said. He fingered the coin in his pocket.

  “Alright smart guy. Get to work. The shop’s a mess.” He kicked the chair again.

  Chapter Six

  Chloe followed Tracy back to the Wells farm. They passed a bunch of cyclists who were attacking the hills on Sherman Road. They gave them a wide berth and waved as they went by.

  The Ford tractor was out in the sun. Robbie was rebuilding the whole thing. A couple of folding tables were out under a shade tree and the garage door on the shop was open and he was listening to music.

  The girls parked on the grass. Robbie walked around the car to pretend like he’d hug Tracy. His arms and hands were filthy. “C’mon and hug Uncle Robbie.”

  She laughed and ran around the car. He noticed the damage on Chloe’s car.

  He groaned, “Oh sheeeit. What happened here?”

  Chloe leaned against the car, “I’m a cow… and apparently a skank. Don’t get me wrong, I love cows, but I’m not sure what a ‘skank’ really even is.”

  Tracy asked, “You know anyone that can take care of that?”

  He wiped his hands and went and stood in front of the hood. His eyes flitted over the car. He beckoned to Chloe to stand next to him.

  “Tell me, Chloe, what do you see here?”

  “My beautiful car… all scratched up.”

  “I’ll tell you what I see… It’s an opportunity for you to really own this thing. Put yourself into it.” He stepped around the car. Tracy was smiling as she watched him go. He continued, “Most people pass like ghosts through this world… never really even notice it. Don’t ever learn anything about it. This,” he pointed at the scratch, “is a chance for you to do some art, form this thing to you. Bring it alive.” he ran his hand over the body of the car.

  “C’mon chicas.” he walked into the garage.

  He had a bunch of car books on a shelf in the corner of the garage. He pulled a few off and handed them to Chloe, and pulled some others and handed them to Tracy. “There’s, a couple of paths here,” he said, “we can just fix it… that’ll take a couple of days… or you can go read through these and start thinking about what you want to do with it.”

  “OK… Let’s go take a look.” Chloe smiled.

  “Uncle Robbie, there’s a couple of new boys coming over. Don’t scare them too much?” Tracy said. They walked off toward the table rock.

  “Alright. I’ll do my best.” he laughed.

  Chapter Seven

  Keith stopped at Punderson Lake on the way back to the office. He found a shady spot and started researching Fredrich Reichstaff and the Old Stone Gathering Hall. Reichstaff was a bit of an Internet ghost, but the church showed up in a few wedding announcements. From the wedding announcements, he got family names, and from the names, he started to build up a picture of the congregation--a wealthy and influential little group.

  “Maybe the Cantoe family was a charity case…” he mumbled to nobody. He rubbed a hand on his bald head stubble. He decided to look for any Cantoes in Hudson. A smattering of links popped up, one, and old digitized newspaper.

  A man named Harold Cantoe died in a car wreck in 1977. He left behind a wife and two young daughters. A private memorial service was held at Old Stone Gathering Hall. “Well, hellooo daddy.”

  He spent a few more hours digging, and the laptop battery started to die.

  He called Rich, “Hey… I just found something really interesting. Want to get a beer?”

  They made plans to meet at a bar in Newbury on the corner of Auburn and Kinsman -- Zippys. Rich was waiting for him on the patio.

  Keith’s binder on the case was getting heavy. The last quarter of the pages were hand written notes.

  The waitress brought them a couple of tall beers. Rich offered his glass for a toast. Keith clinked it.

  Keith said, “I want to bring you up to speed. So far, nothing too exciting from the bank surveillance. The place has very few clients and it looks like the bankers mostly go out on the road to do business. As far as I can tell, it’s an office with a vault and a computer.”

  Rich nodded. “Do we need to keep watching it? That’s doubling our expenses.”

  Keith took a long drink. “Yeah… let’s keep at it another week. But I have a much better lead, I think.”

  Rich sat up and leaned in a little closer.

  Keith said, “Get this, the dirt poor white trash Cantoes didn’t start out that way.”

  “Interesting…”

  “In fact, they were once pillars of the community, well, down in Hudson anyway. But once Daddy Cantoe died in a car accident, things took a hard turn in the wrong direction. The details are sketchy.. but there’s an intriguing connection with this church and the Brother Fredrich Reichstaff.”

  “Whoa! Isn’t that a character on Hogan’s Heroes?” Rich laughed.

  “Sounds like it, right?” Keith shook his head, “but no. The church is like a nest of aristocrats. He was my candidate for a handler, but now, who knows…”

  Rich leaned back and theorized, “yeah could be anything… Maybe he was a friend of the family? A glutton for punishment trying to keep her on the straight and narrow? Maybe sexual?”

  Keith answered, “could be… Before the drugs, I bet Sarah was a looker. But these calls are recent… Would you hit that?”

  “Not just no, hell no. Meth’s pretty hard on the ladies.”

  “I’m also working the other friend ‘Dickie Parsons’.” Keith said.
“He’s the ghost of Cantoe Present, I think.”

  Rich leaned in close, “Good work, Keith.” He almost whispered, “my client is really wondering, and especially interested in any possible, local connections.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes. “Are there local suspects you know about?”

  Rich grunted in frustration and leaned back. He blurted out, “Oh shit, Keith, I can’t tell you anything.” Then he returned to a normal tone. “It’s for the best, anyway. This local politics shit can turn nasty. Also, I wouldn’t want to taint your investigation… That said, if any leads point up here, maybe put those at the top of the list.”

  Chapter Eight

  By the time his work day was over, Morgan was too tired to think of going to Tracy’s. He flopped on his bed and took the coin out.

  “How much are you worth, my little golden friend?” he took the coin out of the plastic case and put it on his forehead. It was remarkably heavy.

  He fell asleep on his back--something he rarely did, he was a side sleeper--and woke up minutes later with a sudden start. He’d had the most vivid, visual dream of his life. The colors and textures were as real as reality, so real they almost spilled out of the visual sense, they took on a flavor.

  He’d been standing in the woods in a grove of oak trees. The forest floor was hard packed dirt and a small stone altar was at one end of the circular grove. On top of the altar was a bowl made of a human skull. The skull was filled with dark red rose petals. Tracy was there; she wore a white dress and a white cashmere sweater. The sun shone through the oaks over her shoulder. She handed him the bowl, and he drank the petals.

  He plopped the coin on his pillow, and grabbed a notepad and scribbled the dream details down so he wouldn’t forget.

  His first impulse was to call Tracy, but instead he texted her.

  “Weird ass dream!” SEND

  His phone was quiet. The screen went to sleep and she hadn’t responded. “Oh well, probably busy.” The two of them had been friends for years and talked back and forth constantly through the day and night. When she was slow to respond, she’d usually reply back with a pseudo-cheesecake picture. Once, she took a picture of herself making a sexy face, and her knees as fake cleavage. However, his heart sank a little when the phone stayed quiet.

  He shook his head hard as if to discard the emotion. “WTF…” he said out loud. He had a flash of insight… in his mind, he’d sort of turned the coin sale into a joint project with her. What prevented him from selling it himself?

  He did Craigslist first. He snapped a few pictures and wrote a long article based on all his research. When it came time to put a price, he wrote “Negotiable”. He posted the item in ‘antiques’.

  He started to setup an account on a coin auction site but got to the final setup screen and was stymied, “Ugh! Fuck. Not 18.” He put his middle finger up and held it against the web page. His phone buzzed. He thought it had to be Tracy, but still no response from her, it was an email about the coin. “Already?!”

  The message was short. “That’s a treasure. I want it. Call me to arrange details. -AdF”

  There was an international code phone number. Morgan didn’t recognize the pattern of numbers. He wrote back with his number. “Can you call me instead?”

  Seconds later his phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “‘Ciao, uh hello, to whom am I speaking?” the voice had a heavy Italian accent.

  “I’m Morgan Klerc, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Alfonse de Ficino. If you haven’t guessed, I’m in Italy. I was very excited to see the item come up on Craigslist, Craigslist Cleveland no less!”

  “How’d you find it so fast?”

  “Ah. I’m a dealer in all kinds of rare items. I have software scouring sites for specific treasures like that coin. Fabulous!”

  “It is really unique.” Morgan said.

  “Do you know what it is? Your posting is close… but not quite right!” his voice was excited.

  “Ummm. To be honest. I’m not 100% sure.”

  “Good man! Yes, best to be honest, why pretend when you’re talking to an expert…. I can be there tomorrow. Can you meet me at the airport?”

  “Whoa! Wow. You mean you’re flying out here?”

  “Oh yes. This is my business. It’s always a race.” Morgan could here the stamping of feet pretending to run.

  “Um. OK. Let me get back to you.”

  “Fine, ciao!”

  “Ciao…” Morgan hung up.

  Chapter Nine

  The GTI hesitated at the end of the Wells Farm driveway, then crunched down the gravel. The two boys got out. Perry walked over to them.

  Richard Golden knelt down and scratched Perry’s head. “Another Golden!” he smacked Berto’s knee.

  “Hey bro! That knee’s golden… don’t mess with it.”

  “Hi boys,” Robbie waved and walked over to them.

  “‘sup Mr. Wells” Richard shook Robbie’s hand.

  “Hi, I’m Berto Marquez and that’s Richard.” Berto offered a firm handshake.

  “Richard Golden.”

  Robbie nodded and shook his finger in the air, “yeah, you two play football, right? I remember your names from the paper. I keep up with the local news when I’m on the road. Sometimes I even read the sports section.”

  “Yep. We do… but my thing’s really surfing. Berto’s the baller.” He shoved Berto.

  “Surfing?” Robbie raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

  “Yeah, this dude is hard core, I mean he’s up on the Lake in November.”

  Richard shrugged, “can’t surf with no waves bro… well maybe soul surfing.” he got down in a stance.

  “Weirdo.” Berto said. “He loves that lifestyle. How many times did you make me watch Endless Summer?”

  “That’s a good flick!” Robbie said. “Ever build a board?”

  “Nah. I got one for my birthday a couple of years ago.”

  “Did you know the Hawaiians made the original longboards from carving trees? You ever try cutting a tree down to a board by hand?” Robbie asked.

  “No, but that’s cool, brah! I’d like to try that someday.” Richard fist bumped him. Robbie laughed.

  “The gals are over there, can’t miss em.”

  The boys walked toward the table rock. Berto noticed the damage to Chloe’s car. “Oh shit!” he said.

  Richard shook his head. “Man, Monica is a slave to the Golden comma Dick.” He pointed at his crotch. “They all are!”

  “Man, that’s just one crazy biatch.” Berto whistled.

  “Don’t make her mad… that’s for shizzle.”

  They found the girls lounging on the rock looking at the car art books. “Hey ladies!” Berto said. The girls waved back. They were both pretty lazy from being out in the warm autumn sun.

  Richard ran his fingers through his hair and plopped down. He looked up in the sky and rolled flat onto his back, “Oh man, that sun is just the shit!”

  Berto sat Indian style next to Chloe. He was a little short for a football player, but solidly built. He’d avoided ‘roids and kept a classic muscular physique instead of turning into a gorilla. He said, “That’s brutal what happened to your car!”

  “I don’t need to be Veronica Mars to figure out who did it.” Chloe said. “But anyway, no worries… We’re going to customize it.”

  Richard casually propped himself up on his elbow and shoved the hair out of his face. He said thoughtfully, “Monica’s, well, intense.”

  Tracy casually asked, “You dating her?”

  “Well, ‘dating’? What’s that even mean? I’ve been out with her a few times. I’ve known her a while. Her dad and my dad are buds.”

  Chloe asked, “apparently she thinks you are dating--possibly married.”

  “Can I help what she thinks?” he said earnestly.

  Berto laughed, “the truth is she’s obsessed with you, bro. I think you like it…” he laughed and pushed Richard.

 
; “Nah. I can’t help what she does. I can’t tell her to fuck off. That’s not my thing.”

  Tracy stuck up for him, “I get that... It’s her problem.”

  Berto gestured around at the trees, “This all yours? Man, this place is great… It’s like a vacation here.”

  “Not ‘mine’. But yeah, this is the family farm… been here as long as this was a part of the United States practically. We can go take a walk. Chloe hasn’t seen the spring, yet. Let’s go there.”

  Chapter Ten

  Keith was vacuuming the condo when the prepaid phone started to ring and vibrate in his pocket.

  “Ohio Office of Unclaimed Wealth, Steve Martinez speaking.”

  “Umm…. I got me a letter today about Sarah Cantoe’s money.”

  “Is this Mr. Parsons?”

  “Yeah this is Dickie Parsons.”

  “Well, Mr. Parsons, Mrs. Cantoe designated you her in-prison beneficiary on the account. If you don’t claim the funds, they’ll go to the state.”