Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp

by Joan H. Young

  After putting away over a hundred dollars worth of groceries and household supplies I turned on the water in the bathtub and began to shuffle clothes in my closet in anticipation of the evening. I hadn’t paid this much attention to what I would wear since attending Mosè in Egitto over a year ago at the Chicago Opera Theater. My plum-colored skirt, coupled with a deep gold silk blouse, accented with a scarf in swirled fall tones, which included the plum and gold, seemed subtly elegant, but not too dressy. Jerry was tall, so I also laid out a pair of heels.

  As I slid into the warm bathwater, I realized I was both excited and apprehensive. Jerry was a sophisticated and respected man, not to mention good-looking. I’d been treated to a light breakfast at his home, back in May, when I’d first met him. Since then, we’d never exchanged more than a few words at a time, always at public gatherings. His position as owner and editor of the newspaper kept him from slipping into the quagmire of gossip that Adele so loved, and yet his ability to gain information and insight into local happenings was excellent, as borne out by the fact that the Cherry Hill Herald enjoyed a large subscription base. I was looking forward to conversation with him, although I had no idea what we might find to talk about. Had he said he wanted to talk to me about something specific?

  There was always the mysterious Jared Canfield of Royal Oak. Maybe Jerry would share with me any connections he might have found with the dead man. Maybe he knew something about the reason the body had been dumped in the Petite Sauble River. The topic didn’t seem like it would fit into a romantic dinner, but I certainly could feel my curiosity rising.

  And the whole idea of “romantic” was somewhat terrifying. Of course, I was flattered to be asked to dinner by a handsome, available man, but the truth was that I didn’t yet have a desire to get into an intimate relationship of any kind. Above all, I didn’t want to place myself into some sort of odd, awkward triangle. Adele made it abundantly clear that she liked Jerry very much, and considered him extremely eligible. Cora, at the opposite extreme, was his ex-wife, and had no use for him at all. Although she’d shared some of the basic reasons things had gone wrong, I couldn’t help but suspect there was more to it. If either of my friends thought I was dating Jerry Caulfield, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be my friends for long. And, Cora and Adele already despised each other.

  The water was almost cold, and my skin was pickling. I let my anxieties over the coming evening drain away with the water; I dried off and dressed. My hair, a light-brown pageboy, was too short to do much with, but I brushed it and straightened the part. Makeup or not? I added a bit of lipstick and mauve eyeshadow. That would have to do. Maybe a spot of cologne. I was just rummaging in an unpacked box of cool weather clothes for my light wool cape when I heard a car pull into the yard. It was Jerry.

  When I opened the door I was pleased to see that he hadn’t dressed too formally either. He wore pleated gray slacks, a pale gray shirt, and a blue blazer. His conservative tie was striped in tones of blue.

  “Come in,” I offered, “or do we have a reservation deadline to make?”

  “We have a few minutes,” Jerry said, stepping into the living room. “You look wonderful! And you’ve done a huge amount of work on this old place. May I have a tour? My parents were friends with Jed and Hazel Mosher, but I haven’t been inside for decades.”

  I was gratified to have a reason to show off my progress to someone who was familiar with the old house. As we walked from room to room, Jerry explained that he’d spent some time here as a child. Despite the progress I had made, it was a little embarrassing to realize how much there was yet to do, especially when Jerry mentioned that the faded and stained kitchen wallpaper was just as he remembered it. However, he praised me for the upstairs addition and liked the blue and white I’d chosen for the living room.

  Jerry was driving a silver Chrysler Sebring.

  “I just had the car fitted with an aftermarket sound system. Do you like classical music?” he asked as he opened the passenger door for me.

  “Very much,” I replied. So, on the way to Emily City our conversation was confined to a few comments about the weather and local landmarks. We drove past forests hinting of the red and orange splendor which would soon be at its peak, while the strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons filled the car in quad stereo.

  Shortly before eight we reached Chez Léon, on a side street in the downtown section of Emily City. It was not yet fully dark, but a soft golden glow was spreading from the lighted windows. Jerry opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. I protested that this was the twenty-first century, but he smiled and said that he was a twentieth century kind of fellow, which reminded me that he was probably twenty years my senior. We were soon seated at a quiet corner table covered with burgundy linen. A candle with a faceted amber globe thrust warm rays of dancing light across the cloth. The hostess left us with menus and a wine list.

  “I recommend the baked salmon with herbs,” Jerry said. “If you’d like that, I’ll order a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.”

  “That all sounds good,” I answered, thinking it had been a long, long time since I’d let someone else choose what I was going to eat.

  The waitress took the order from Jerry and returned quickly with the wine and a basket containing a small loaf of warm brown bread. Jerry poured and I sliced. While we sipped at the wine and nibbled the crusty, nutty bread, Jerry began to tell me stories of Cherry Hill from his boyhood. Seeing the inside of my house had opened a flood of memories. He seemed to be lost in another world.

  Abruptly, he stopped and looked directly at me. “How rude of me,” he said. “My small-town roots have overcome my manners. Please tell me more about yourself. I know you’re recently single again, but I know very little about you. If it’s not too painful, I’d like to hear where you’re from and how you came to move here.”

  I began to tell Jerry bits of information about Roger, my ex. I didn’t want to dump a lot of emotional rhetoric on him, but it was nice to have someone new to share with. As I talked, I realized that I’d gained some perspective on the situation over the past year, and didn’t have as much need for a shoulder to cry on as I had several months ago. Jerry asked probing but gentle questions at several awkward moments, and we were nearly through the main course—the salmon turned out to be delicious— before the topic was pretty well played out. I’d been doing most of the talking, and less eating, so Jerry’s plate was emptier than mine. It was time to turn that situation around.

  “Enough about me,” I said. “I can’t help but be curious about your feelings concerning the murder of Jared Canfield last month. Do you think it was just a coincidence, or have you felt threatened?”

  Without any indication that he was startled at my bold question, Jerry switched topics with me. “Detective Milford and Tracy have certainly been asking me that also,” he began. “The truth is, and I think I can trust you not to spread this around, some strange things have been happening lately. I’ve found several notes under the door at the newspaper office.”

  “What kind of notes?”

  “Just heckling sorts of messages, like ‘You know you’ve abused your privileges. Time wounds all heels,’ or ‘It won’t be long until Forest County knows the kind of person you really are.’”

  “Those sound ominous,” I said, alarmed.

  He shrugged and stabbed a broccoli floret. “Well, maybe. They don’t say anything specific. There’s no actual threat included in any of them. They’re just harassment, nothing you can guard against. And they could be from anyone. There’s no mention of Jared Canfield. Someone might have simply taken advantage of that situation to air some unspecified grievances.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Some minor vandalism, if it’s even that. Flower pots knocked off my porch rail, for instance. Did some person do that, or was it a neighborhood cat prowling at night?”

  “What do the police think?”

  “They’ve taken the notes, but there are no fingerprints, an
d the paper is from a cheap tablet one can buy anywhere.”

  I recalled something Chad had predicted, and asked, “Have the police asked you to make a list of people who might have something against you?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a difficult task. I’ve lived here all my life, and in any small town the paper and its owner hold a lot of power. I might have angered any number of people. The Herald has supported certain political candidates, for example. Losers, or even losers’ families, might hold me responsible. Someone might feel socially snubbed, and be holding a grudge. Bernice, my wife...”

  “Yes, Cora told me she died. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you, but it was quite a while ago. Anyway, Bernice had an impeccable social conscience. She would invite all the right people to parties, and keep things on an even keel when those with differing opinions got too vocal. I’m afraid I haven’t even tried to keep up any sort of calendar of entertainment for publishing colleagues, or even friends.”

  “Would someone find that worthy of a serious threat?” I thought that was a silly motive for any kind of physical retribution.

  “It seems unlikely, but then, my thinking just doesn’t travel in those directions. For some, being socially snubbed can be quite important.”

  If you’re in junior high, I thought. Feeling bold, I ventured, “I heard that Jack Panther might be angry with you over a lost chance to buy the Cherry Blossom.”

  “It’s certainly possible,” Jerry said thoughtfully. “I had forgotten about that, and I guess the Pine Tree isn’t doing so well. The town could definitely support one or even two restaurants, but Jack is letting the diner become a wreck. That doesn’t encourage anyone but a few regulars to patronize it.”

  I smiled as I recalled the peeling duct tape and fly-spotted window sills.

  Jerry continued. “Jack’s lack of pride in the physical facility, even though the food is good, bears out my conviction that he couldn’t have adequately managed a nice restaurant like the Cherry Blossom.”

  We finished our fish, and Jerry poured some more wine. The waitress cleared the dishes and placed a small plate of layered chocolate-mint candies between us. She added a carafe of coffee and two cups.

  “Would you care for dessert?” Jerry asked.

  “No thanks, these mints are perfect,” I answered, unwrapping one and popping it in my mouth to demonstrate my satisfaction.

  “Now it’s my turn to change the topic,” Jerry said, also taking a mint. He unwrapped it carefully with his long fingers and smoothed the foil wrapper into a neat square. I noticed his nails looked professionally manicured.

  “OK,” I said. “Fair enough.”

  “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you tonight. I didn’t realize you had taught Literature at the college level. I’d never say that Cherry Hill lacks culture, but once in a while it’s nice to have a friend who might be able to discuss a serious book with some animation.”

  “Thank you. I’ve had a good time too. You’ve given me a chance to reflect on my situation in a new way.”

  “You are a beautiful woman, Ana. I’d love to have dinner with you occasionally, if you are amenable.”

  “Jerry, I, I...” I stammered. The truth was, that as much as I had enjoyed the evening and Jerry’s company, I was sure now that our age difference, and some other fundamental differences, kept me from being attracted to the man in a romantic way.

  “Ana, don’t jump to any conclusions. Actually, I want to be quite clear on what I’m proposing.”

  I watched the light from the candle flicker across the tablecloth and sparkle on the wine glasses. “Go on,” I finally said. I held my breath apprehensively.

  “I need to be quite clear on one thing. I’m not looking for a relationship beyond one of friendship.”

  I let myself breathe. “Friendship would be perfect,” I said with a sigh.

  “However,” he continued, “what I have in mind is actually more risky. I’d like to involve you in a conspiracy, if you are willing.”

  Chapter 13

  “Conspiracy?” The word itself was shocking. “I thought you were an upstanding citizen, Jerry. What on earth do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, probably nothing illegal, but it’s definitely on the sneaky side. You seem like the right person to help me.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “You think I’m sneaky?”

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant. But you are certainly in an excellent position to accomplish certain things,” he added cryptically.

  I poured a cup of coffee and took a hasty swallow. I wanted a clear head for the rest of this conversation, wherever it was going. The coffee burned my tongue and I spilled some of the hot liquid on the tablecloth. Apparently, Jerry assumed I was shocked or anxious about his intentions. He rose and reached across the table, intending to take the cup from my hand, murmuring, “Oh, bother. I’ve upset you.”

  Waving him away, I set the cup down without help. “The coffee’s too hot,” I explained with a tentative smile, wiping my lips on my napkin. “It’s nothing. Tell me what grand perfidy you have in mind.”

  Jerry took his seat again, and hitched the chair nearer to the table. He leaned in close and spoke softly. “You know Cora’s still in love with me, right? We just have to help her realize it.”

  I was very glad I didn’t have a mouthful of anything just then, or I probably would have gagged. Or spit it all over my potential co-conspirator. My surprise clearly showed.

  “Oh, yes,” Jerry continued, nodding. “That’s why she’s so adamant in saying negative things. She has to keep convincing herself she’s angry.”

  “She certainly doesn’t sound like a person in love with you,” I said dryly.

  Jerry’s lip twitched. “You know Cora pretty well, but perhaps not quite well enough. She’s so committed to her history project that she’s afraid if she actually loves a person there won’t be room in her heart for both. I didn’t have that figured out when we were together before.”

  “And now you think you understand her better?” I was skeptical.

  “Definitely. What she wants, what she needs, is an interesting historical building in town for her museum. For that, she needs money. I have plenty, and I don’t need nearly as much as I have. What I do need is Cora, a happy Cora.”

  “I know she was interested in turning your house into a museum.” I thought I’d probe the topic with what little I did know.

  “Yes, but that wasn’t very practical.”

  “Listen, Jerry. If you are thinking of buying some building to make Cora happy with the expectation that she’ll re-marry you, I’m not sure that’s very realistic. And it doesn’t sound very romantic, either.”

  “It’s romantic enough. The way to Cora’s heart is through a building. Trust me. No one’s ever appreciated what she does to any great extent. She doesn’t give people much of a chance because she’s overly defensive about how poor her set-up is.”

  “Poor set-up! You must be kidding. Her displays are wonderful,” I said.

  “Of course they are,” Jerry said without missing a beat. “But not compared to what she sees in her head. She has visions of different rooms for different eras, whole clusters of rooms with themes, a searchable database for researchers...”

  “I know about that,” I interrupted. “I’ve been working on it with her.”

  “And you know how much time that will take to bring it up to Cora’s standards.”

  “I do.” I took another sip of coffee. It was cooler now, but I could feel Jerry warming to the topic.

  “Anyway, my strategic plan has two prongs. First, a building. The other is to make her jealous. That’s where you come in.” He leaned back and smiled broadly, showing his teeth.

  I leaned back myself, in reaction. I felt my eyebrows rise and tried to buy some time by looking around. I realized the restaurant had emptied and quieted. Only a few other diners remained. The candle on the table was burning low and guttering, throwing shift
ing shadows on the wall. I pinched the flame out and tried to focus, surprised at how much darker the room was without that tiny light. The implication of Jerry’s plan clearly was that Cora would see me dating Jerry and suddenly want him for herself. But, did Jerry know about Adele’s designs on his future? I thought she wouldn’t be at all pleased if Jerry decided to take up with the newcomer—me. Would Cora actually be jealous, or would she just write me off as someone who chose to consort with the enemy? I could end up with no friends at all as a result of this scheme.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.” Jerry broke my concentration.

  “I think it’s pretty far-fetched,” I blurted out.

  Jerry smiled broadly again. “But worth a try?”

  “I’m not sure. You are asking me to risk losing my best friends.”

  “Friends, plural?” he asked.

  “Yes, you must be aware of how Adele Volger feels about you. She wouldn’t be happy at all to see you dating me.”

  “Ana, Adele is an old friend. She likes me a great deal. I like her. We tried seeing each other for a while after our spouses died, but we aren’t suited for each other as a couple. If I let Adele in on the plan, and have her blessing, would you agree?”

  “You know Adele can’t keep a secret for ten minutes,” I challenged.

  “There is that. Hmm. All right. I’ll have to think about how to handle Adele.

  I switched to discussing the other prong of attack. It seemed safer. “You have a building in mind for the seduction of Cora?” I twisted my lips into a grin that I hoped looked ironic rather than sarcastic.

  “Of course. I’ve bought the old school building.”

  I laughed loudly and one of the remaining couples in the restaurant stared at us for a moment. I shook my head and added, more quietly, “I should have known.”

  “I had a moment of concern. It’s sat empty for over thirty-five years, and then when I went to make the city an offer, they said someone else had put in a bid. That lady who bought the small building on my block...”