The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival

by Kevin Kimmich

  EPISODE SIX -- Birth of A Goddess

  Present Day

  Chapter One

  Yuri put his thumbs under his cheek bones and rested his elbows on the tabletop in the Sheriff’s campaign office. It was a habit he developed as a child when he was completely bored and irritated in school. He held his head completely still and shifted his eyes back and forth between Judge Ralph and Chuck, with Saul occasionally interjecting some nonsense.

  Time and again, he marvelled at how the Brotherhood amassed so much wealth and power. He decided it was not the result of cunning or even competence, rather it was simply from taking the initiative to do anything. With orders flowing down from the top through thousands of people it was possible to topple a mountain by swabbing at it with cotton balls.

  Ralph, Chuck and Saul had been talking about using chlorine gas to drive the people out of the Wells farm to try to accomplish two main goals: recover the books and to minimize the risk. The conversation went in endless circles.

  He couldn’t take it anymore. He started bumping his head on the table, softly at first, but then finally with a great, surprising rap. Chuck, Ralph, and Saul looked at him. He sat back in the chair and adjusted his glasses.

  “Guys, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Did you know Chlorine is heavier than air? Do you have any idea how much you need to flood that much territory? What if they simply refuse to leave? It will never, ever work.” he said flatly, and succinctly in good English with a slight eastern european accent.

  Chuck and Ralph were stunned. Saul just smiled with a poker face. He was used to Yuri providing such criticism in Russian as a private side conversation, but Yuri never rocked the boat.

  Ralph smiled a plastic smile. “Aha! So you do speak English! Do you have any better ideas--it would have been great to hear them a couple of weeks ago!” he smacked the table with his hand. Yuri was unmoved.

  “Yes.” Yuri said.

  Chuck and Ralph looked at eachother. They waited overly long for him to continue. Just as Chuck was to ask him to explain, he did, “We get a young girl and tell her which books to steal. Her car breaks down in their driveway. They help her. She works her way in and steals the books.” he wiped his hands together. “So easy.”

  Saul nodded and pointed emphatically at Yuri, “I like this. If it doesn’t work, she just leaves. We try something else, then something else.”

  Chuck agreed, “Alright, so where do we get her?”

  Yuri said, “There is a Gathering Spot nearby. We go there and find someone suitable.”

  Ralph put his hand on his chin, and nodded. “I have to agree, that’s a much safer plan. What happens if she gets caught with the books. That’s a total disaster.”

  Yuri nodded. “In this case we will need to intervene. We can observe the compound while she’s in the house and communicate with her to guide her out safely.”

  Ralph smiled a broad smile. He stood up and grasped Yuri’s slender shoulders in his big hands. “This is a smart young man!” he slapped his shoulder. “Smart young man!” and laughed. “I’ll be so happy to get this off my plate.”

  Chapter Two

  Tracy settled into life at the Marte house with remarkable ease. They created a new family almost out of nothing. Chloe and Tracy had been only children, but they were happy to act as sisters, and Keith’s easy going relationship with his daughter made it easy to fall into the same pattern with Tracy. They all fell into the routine of having breakfast together on school days.

  “Hey Tracy, do you think I can borrow your car today, it’s for work? The Camry just won’t cut it.” Keith asked.

  Chloe laughed, “I think he just wants to drive your car and feel the wind through his baldness!”

  The two girls laughed. Keith defended himself, “It’s not nice to make fun of the handicapped like that.”

  Tracy nodded, “Of course, no problem.” she took the key off the keychain. “She’s been running well lately, but sometimes the engine just goes Gaak. You can call my Uncle if the engine won’t start.”

  “Hopefully I won’t need to do that. But it’s good to know.”

  “Hey, you want to ride with me today in the Cow Mobile?” Chloe asked. It still had COW scrawled on the side. Robbie already sanded off the SKANK from the hood. They were going to do a new paint job over the weekend.

  “Sure! That’ll be fun.” Tracy and Chloe finished breakfast and went out the door together. Keith finished his coffee then went out to the Austin Healey.

  The body was cream colored and the interior was maroon leather. He put his bag on the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat. It felt like he was sitting down in a gocart compared to his Camry. He was about the same height as Tracy, so the seat and the mirrors were already adjusted. The engine roared to life. He gripped the wooden steering wheel and pulled out onto the road. The car was not extraordinarily powerful, but it was very light and accelerated like a jet. It put a smile on his face as he drove down to the office.

  He texted Tracy, “Thanks! this is a good car for a PI.”

  She texted a smiley back.

  Yesterday’s mail was still in the box. He grabbed the bundle and took it to his desk. There was the final report for the bank. There was a photo of each bank employee. Those who were identified had a background report attached. No clients visited the bank office in the two weeks they watched it.

  He flipped through the pages of the report. There were a couple of handsome younger men, an older man with thinning hair and the gaunt, wiry look of a marathoner, and an extremely attractive brunette with curly brown hair, who habitually wore tight sweaters and skirts and red heels. Keith chuckled at the number of photos of her that were attached to the report. He flipped through the background report on her “Susan Heart Sandiron”.

  “Oh! Aha!” he smacked the desk. He flipped through the case notes binder to the section on the Old Stone Gathering Hall in Hudson. Susan Heart married Jeremy Sandiron a few years ago. He spent a few hours researching the families. The Heart family were the descendents of Boston Brahmins and the family still had what looked to be a castle near Boston. The Sandirons were local commercial real estate developers.

  He texted Chloe, “if you wanna be classy you need at least three names.”

  A few minutes later, he got a reply: “WUT? LOL?”

  “Dems da rules.” SEND

  He searched his email for the name of a web site he rarely used. “Backstory4U” until he found his username and a link to the web site. The site did not show up in search engines and you could only create an account with an invitation. The service would create a fake Internet footprint and profile with just a name and a short biographical description.The service compiled a list of hits on the fake sites and sent a daily report. He filled out the forms and picked an alias.

  “John Martin Vandevaal” -- that’s money. He said out loud. He assumed Internet gnomes did the rest of the magic.

  He climbed back into the Healey and cruised down to Hudson and pulled into the Old Stone Hall parking lot. He was wearing a chunky red cashmere sweater over a white dress shirt, khakis, a knock off Tag Heuer watch, and a pair of wayfarers. He did his best to exude the idea that he owned a yacht and was thinking about upgrading to a mega yacht because there wasn’t enough space for a helicopter landing pad.

  He walked up to the front doors. The doors were elaborately hand carved and stained in multiple tones. A light toned serpent wound around the gap between the doors. On the left side of the door were representations of the planets, the moon, and the Sun, and on the right side of the door there were several human forms, carved in the greek classical style, linked to each planet. There were no handles.

  He walked around the side of the building. It was surrounded by low immaculately trimmed shrubs. The grass was close cropped and perfect, like a putting green. The building had narrow gothic stained glass windows, and the roof was tiled in slate with heavily patinated copper flashing. Keith didn’t see any utility h
ookups, apparently they were tucked away in some underground hidden place.

  There was a garden at the back of the building. A crushed gravel path cut through beds of flowers and knee high hedges that formed concentric arcs around a fountain. The fountain was a simple flat polished black stone slab. Water was pumped out underneath a polished black stone cube that was about six feet on each side. The cube was actually suspended on a film of water, and slowly spun on its central axis.

  Keith snapped a couple of pictures with his phone. The back doors of the building were simple wooden slabs, but they also lacked handles. Finally he circled around to the parking lot side. A set of six polished black slabs served as steps and led up to black steel slabs that served as double doors. They did have handles. Keith tugged the handles, but they were locked. There was no discernable keyhole.

  “What are you doing?” a man called out to him from across the parking lot. Keith recognized Reichstaff.

  Keith waved and walked over. Reichstaff looked him up and down, then looked through him with a practiced indifference. Keith said, “My daughter and I are new in town and we are looking for a church. I noticed this building when driving through. It is a striking place. Do you know anything about it?”

  “We’re not a church.” The man spoke carefully and coldly.

  Keith gestured at the building, “It has that look...”

  “You said you have a daughter. Do you have pictures of this girl?” Reichstaff said.

  Keith paused. Reichstaff’s eyes gave nothing away. “Yes, in fact, I do.” Keith opened his phone and flicked to a picture of Chloe at her birthday the previous year. She wore a dress and they went out to dinner.

  Reichstaff assessed the picture for a minute, then handed the phone back. “Our congregation is an exclusive group, but all can be of use. Come here Saturday at 6PM if you are interested in playing a part. Your daughter must come--she should wear a red dress with a zip-up back.” He put a hand on Keith’s shoulder and examined his face. “What is your name?”

  “John Martin Vandevaal.”

  “Mr. Vandevaal, I will see you and your daughter on Saturday.” Reichstaff said coldly and walked to the steel doors. He pulled one open and disappeared into the building.

  Keith felt a creeping unease. He shook it off and climbed back into the Austin Healey and drove to the office.

  He texted Chloe, “We have an important, exciting chore to do on Saturday at 6PM.” SEND

  She texted back, “‘Exciting’? Doubt it. Have plans already! ;(”

  He tapped his fingers on the table. Reichstaff left him cold and he was reluctant to bring Chloe to the Hall, but he thought it might crack the case wide open. He knew how to pique her interest. He very rarely talked about work, but Chloe was always itching to get involved whenever he brought it up.

  “OK. Well, it’s for a case, but never mind.” SEND

  A few minutes later she replied, “do tell…”

  “Deets later! U in?” SEND

  “OK. I’m a sucker. I’m in” she replied.

  He looked forward to sharing the experience of working on a case with his daughter, but was also vaguely worried. “We’ll just need to be careful.” he said out loud.

  He texted her again, “Ask Tracy if we can borrow her car again?” SEND

  “Ugh. OK. 1 sec…” she replied.

  “Yeah. NP” she wrote a few seconds later. “But she says I need to drive.”

  Chapter Three

  Morgan’s life was becoming a real drag. He woke up and went to school, uncertain he’d be able to graduate, then he went to the garage and worked until close, which only knocked $80 less federal, state, and local taxes off his bill every day. When he got home, he corresponded with Alfonse and did research. The coin project, they were calling it ‘Project Diogenes’ was fascinating to him, but he was so tired each night that he felt completely empty and drained when he got into bed. His school work went completely by the wayside and for the first time, he really struggled in his classes. He was irritable with everyone about everything.

  Saturday rolled around, and his father banged on his door. “Let’s go, Morgan, rise and shine.”

  Morgan put his arm over his eyes and sighed heavily. “What’s the point? What another $100? Fuck it.” he never swore in front of his parents. The F-bomb hung in the air.

  “You brought this on yourself, buddy. I’m trying to help you out here.”

  Morgan sat up. He looked at his father. “I’m not going in.”

  His father pursed his lips together, stifling his anger. He said, “Fine, take a break this morning, but if you don’t get those units in that South Range Rover repaired by mid-day, there’ll be hell to pay!”

  For the first time since he broke the block in the school wall, Morgan saw he had a choice in what he would do. It was a slightly scary feeling, but he also felt an invisible burden slip off his shoulders.

  He took a long shower, then loaded up a bag with his research materials and rode over to the Wells farm.

  He said hello to Robbie, who was out on the patio, and went inside to the library. He’d familiarized himself with the library's index system. It really was like a paper Internet. He’d find a book and the associated notebook on a shelf. The notebook had cross references and commentary that could lead him to another shelf. He found the handwriting in the notebooks was also a clue--it seemed the same person or small group of people had at times, been interested in what he was looking at. He occasionally added his notes and joined the age old conversation. He spent hours spelunking through the library following leads about the two groups that formed in Florence around 1462. He called one Club Medici, and the other Club Diogenes.

  More often than not, Morgan ran into something he had never learned about, or didn’t understand. He wrote it down, then went off on the tangent doing more research. He kept at it because, little by little a story was emerging, and the gaps in his knowledge were shrinking.

  He was tapping a pencil eraser against his head when he heard a car door slam. He looked out the window and saw his Dad’s shop truck.

  “Oh shit.” Morgan said. It had been years since his father went to the Wells house. He got up and hurried outside.

  Robbie pointed a thumb at Morgan, “Hey, there he is!”

  “OK, Morgan get your stuff. Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  “Dad, I’m not working today.” Morgan said calmly.

  “What are you doing that’s so much more important than graduating?” His father held out his hands.

  Morgan shook his head. “I just don’t want to work today.”

  His father looked at Robbie, “Can you believe these kids?! My old man would never let me talk back.”

  Robbie sipped his coffee. “Hey, Mike, can one day off work for a seventeen year old kid really be such a big deal?”

  Mike Klerc tried to remain calm. He said, “Robbie, I’ve known you a long time. You’ve been good to Morgan, a good customer, and were decent to me when a lot of other people weren’t, but this is none of your business.”

  Robbie nodded, “No it’s not. It’s between you and Morgan.”

  “Look, Morgan, you’re a smart kid. You’ve got a chance to go to college and make something of your life. Why not just get this bill paid then do what you want?” His father pleaded.

  “I’ll be back in the garage tomorrow.” Morgan said firmly.

  Mike Klerc stifled the urge to shout. He nodded stiffly and climbed back in his car. He closed the door calmly, though he felt like slamming it off the hinges. He turned around and drove down the drive.

  Morgan apologized, “Sorry about that, Robbie.”

  Robbie held up his hand, “From what I’ve seen it can be difficult to be a parent. My job with you kids is a lot easier--to give you a taste of real life, then you can do with it as you like. These past few years, I never once parented Tracy. I just answered questions when she got in a jam. I dunno.” He shrugged.

  Chapter Four

  Ke
ith and Chloe drove to his office a few hours in the afternoon, while Tracy drove the Cowmobile over to the farm.

  Chloe was wearing a red shoulderless dress with a zip up back. She brought black heels, but was wearing tennis shoes in the office. Keith gave her the cliff’s notes version of his case and showed her the binder.

  She flipped through the pages. “So, you did all of this?” she hefted the binder. It was getting heavy and held a thick phone book’s worth of paper of all types. He had organized it with dividers.

  “Yep, and you thought my job was all about the glamor. So, flip to that section that says Church.”

  “I never thought your job was about glamor of any kind.” She smirked. She flipped through the pages and looked at the photos. She paused on one.

  “That’s Susan Heart Sandiron. Of course, you don’t know that.”

  “Who am I again?”

  “Chloe Martin Vandevaal.”

  “Is that supposed to be Dutch?”

  “Yep. Only the most Dutchest blood flows through our imaginary veins. Our family settled here before the Revolutionary War. If you search for us on the Internet you’ll find our whole biography.”