by B R Snow
“How do you want to get started?” the Chief said, removing the soft plastic cover from the display terminal he was sitting in front of.
I sat down next to him and grabbed a folder that contained several laminated copies of a cross-referenced directory. Impressed with how the information was organized, I removed a roadmap from my pocket and unfolded it on the table directly behind our chairs.
“I thought we’d just use the north and south boundaries of the area Ms. McTavish has inputted and start with communities closest to the River,” I said, pointing at the map to help clarify my strategy. “And if we don’t find anything on that pass, then we’ll just start moving inland.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Josie said, nodding as she peered into the large screen and began getting used to the levers that moved the microfilm back and forth through the viewer. “Man, have we gotten spoiled.”
“Tell me about it,” the Chief said, laughing. “And I once thought that these things were a quantum leap forward in the technology.”
“Just remember to cross off the towns on the map when you finish each search,” I said. “Chief, why don’t you take the north area, I’ll do the center, and Josie can handle the south.”
“How many nights do you think we’re gonna be down here?” Josie said.
“Try not to think about it,” I said, turning around in my chair to study the map.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“Try not to think about it,” I repeated, now focused on the terminal in front of me. “Looking at this directory, I think using the list of school districts is the best way to make sure we cover all the towns.”
“I think you might be right,” the Chief said, glancing over my shoulder. “How do you want to handle the newspapers?”
“I think we should focus on the small weekly ones,” I said. “They’d be more likely to run local stories about what was going on in the schools and churches. But don’t forget the school yearbooks.”
“Okay,” Josie said, studying the directory. “Geez, there’s a lot of small towns.”
“Shhh,” I said, concentrating on my viewer.
“Yes, Ms. McTavish,” she said, laughing. “I think you might have missed your calling.”
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “I could never work in a place where you couldn’t eat on the job.”
“Excellent point.”
We spent the next three hours in relative silence working our way through newspaper articles, columns, and hundreds of photos. Many of the microfilmed documents were blurry and hard to read, and about an hour in, I got a headache that soon turned relentless. But I was able to develop a review process that made my work more efficient, and I finally finished reviewing all of the newspapers then turned my attention to the microfilmed school yearbooks. Since the geographic area I was reviewing only contained seven school districts, I was able to get through the collection of yearbooks in just over an hour. I jotted down the missing years that Ms. McTavish hadn’t gotten her hands on then tossed the pen down and stretched my arms over my head.
“Okay, I’m done with my first set,” I said, getting up to cross off the communities on the roadmap.
“Any luck?” Josie said, not looking up from the screen.
“Nada,” I said. “You?”
“Whatever luck I’m currently having is all bad,” she said, sliding the lever to the next document.
“I got nothing,” the Chief said, stifling a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Just past midnight,” I said. “You want to call it a night?”
“Yeah, I think I can only handle one session a night,” he said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Maybe we can get started a bit earlier,” I said.
“Right after dinner,” Josie said, sliding the protective cover over the viewer. “Just so we aren’t doing this on an empty stomach.”
We said goodbye to the Chief then headed home to play with the dogs and grab a snack. I tried to finish the book I was reading but fell asleep and woke up with Chloe snoring at my feet and the book next to me. Deciding that I would have to wait to find out how Sherlock had solved the case, I headed for the shower then joined Josie and Chef Claire in the kitchen for breakfast. Josie had a scowl on her face and was toying with her omelet.
Josie being off her food was never a good sign.
“Good morning,” I said, glancing back and forth at them. “What’s going on?”
Josie looked across the island at Chef Claire and nodded.
“Tell her.”
Chef Claire set her coffee down then shrugged.
“After your wedding, I’m thinking about taking a year off,” she whispered.
“What?” I said, stunned. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m getting restless,” she said, staring down at her coffee mug. “And I think my cooking skills are getting a little stale.”
“Your cooking skills? You’re joking, right?” I said.
“No, I’m not,” she said, for some reason tearing up.
“What would you do?” I said.
“Travel,” she said. “I have an idea for an international cookbook. But I need to do a whole bunch of research before I can write it.”
“Research on what?” I said, helping myself to some of Josie’s omelet.
“Regional cuisines, spices, cooking techniques,” Chef Claire said, shrugging as she wiped her eyes with a napkin. “Why do I feel horrible about this?”
“Because you’re upsetting the natural order of things,” Josie deadpanned. “You know, modifying the balance and harmony we’ve worked so hard to build.”
“Funny,” Chef Claire said. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m still in shock,” Josie said. “You’re going to travel the world by yourself?”
“At the moment, it certainly looks that way,” she said.
“That sounds way too dangerous these days, Chef Claire,” I said. “What about Al and Dente?”
“I’d have to leave them here,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can handle being away from them for a year.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Josie said, shaking her head.
“I know you couldn’t,” Chef Claire said. “Neither one of you could. But I’m seriously thinking about doing it. Does that make me a bad person?”
“No,” I said, firmly. “It doesn’t. And it goes without saying that the dogs can stay with us for as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“How long have you been thinking about it?” I said.
“Quite a while. But I never had the money to do it the way I wanted,” she said. “But then we sold Wags, and that problem went away in a hurry.”
A few months ago, we’d sold our fledgling dog toy company for fifteen million, and Chef Claire’s cut of three million would certainly make world travel a whole lot more comfortable.
“Good call on selling the company,” Josie said, smacking me on the shoulder. “Next time you have a brilliant idea, keep it to yourself.”
“Hey, you wanted to sell it too.”
“But that was before I knew she was going to do something crazy like leave us,” Josie said.
“I’m not leaving you,” Chef Claire said. “I’m just taking a break. But you won’t have to worry about the restaurants. Charlie’s more than ready to take over C’s here. And our place in Cayman runs like clockwork.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding absentmindedly as my mind began racing. “Wow, this is a lot to process.”
“Are you in a hurry to get the cookbook out?” Josie said.
“Not really,” Chef Claire said, shrugging. “It’s just one of those projects I’ve been thinking about doing for a long time. Why do you ask?”
“Because if you’d be willing to spread it out over several trips of a month each, I can think of someone who’d be more than happy to travel with you,” Josie said, finally focusing on her breakfast.
“Really? Who?” Chef Claire sa
id.
“Me,” Josie said, taking a bite of toast.
“You would?” Chef Claire said.
“Hey, that’s not bad,” I said, nodding.
“Now that’s what a brilliant idea sounds like,” Josie said, grinning at me. “And it would certainly help me avoid being the third wheel around you and Max for the next year.”
“You’d never be the third wheel,” I said.
“Aren’t you sweet,” Josie said.
“You’re more like the appendix,” I deadpanned.
“Funny.”
“Wow,” I said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like around here without you two.”
“I’m sure you and Max will come up a way to deal with it,” Josie said.
“I’m sure we will,” I said, laughing. “Still, I’m sure gonna miss you guys.”
Josie took a big bite of her omelet then shrugged and smiled at me.
“Hey, it’s not like we’re running off to join the circus.”
Chapter 9
At seven the next evening, we were back in the basement of the library picking up from where we’d left off. Our second search took us further inland from the River communities, but four hours later, we had again come up empty.
“I got nothing,” Josie said, getting up to stretch. “I think we need a new plan, Snoopmeister.”
“Yeah, this isn’t working very well,” I said. “But let’s keep going. I think we can finish up with one more pass each.”
“Okay, I’ll do one more night,” Josie said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I think I’m going to stay and do some more,” I said.
“Knock yourself out,” she said, then glanced at Chief Abrams. “Can I get a ride home?”
“Sure,” he said. “Maybe we can swing by C’s for a nightcap.”
“Perfect,” Josie said, grabbing her bag and heading for the stairs. “Write if you get work.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I said, already studying Ms. McTavish’s directory and comparing it to the roadmap on the table.
I sat down and began my third round of laborious research. I fought fatigue and forced myself to concentrate on what I was doing. Now dealing with communities located anywhere between thirty and fifty miles from the River, my confidence was fading fast, and the possibility that the Johnson family had been summer visitors and not year-round residents raised its ugly head. If that were the case, the family could have been from anywhere.
I had hoped to have a lot more background information on Samantha Johnson by the time the circus arrived, but I began contemplating a new strategy that would involve questioning as many performers as possible while they were in town. It was probably a good strategy for learning more about the dead woman, but definitely not a good approach for discovering who killed her. I was convinced her killer had to be someone from the circus. And my wandering around asking everyone in sight a ton of questions was bound to make people suspicious, especially the person who’d thrown her and the dog overboard.
Don’t get me wrong. I was still planning on asking a lot of questions. But I wanted them to be queries that would take me forward and not wandering around in a circle.
And not get me killed in the process.
I focused on the screen in front of me, slid the lever to the right and the next image appeared on the screen. The headline grabbed my attention first: Bucks Bridge Man Commits Suicide. Underneath the headline was another written in smaller type: Sam Johnson, Professor, Dead at 46. Below that was a photograph of a farmhouse with two police cars parked in front along with an ambulance. I studied the photo then read the article.
Over the next fifteen minutes, I furiously scribbled in my notebook. Then I found Samantha’s high school yearbook on microfilm. I walked to the long row of shelves on the other side of the basement and found the actual yearbook among the collection organized by year in alphabetical order.
“Ms. McTavish, bless your heart,” I said, grabbing the yearbook. “You are so good.”
I checked my watch and quickly packed up. I did my best lumber up the stairs and headed for the door. But I caught myself on the way out and opened the yearbook to the last page. I walked back to the front counter, added my name to the borrowing card, and left it on Ms. McTavish’s chair. I locked the front door, set the alarm code, then walked to my SUV parked in front and made the two-minute drive to C’s. I headed straight for the lounge and saw the Chief and Josie sitting at the bar chatting with Millie. All three frowned when they saw the look on my face.
“Let me guess,” Josie said. “You saw a ghost.”
“No, I found it,” I said, nodding for them to follow me. I sat down on one of the couches and waited for them to get settled. I waved to Millie, and she held up a bottle of wine. I nodded to her then sat back and tried to catch my breath. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t either,” Josie said, taking a sip of her wine. “Are you sure it’s her?”
“Positive,” I said. “The family lived in Bucks Bridge.”
“I have no idea where that is,” Josie said.
“Sure, I know it. It’s about five to ten miles outside of Potsdam,” the Chief said. “It’s tiny.”
“Samantha’s father was named Sam.”
“Was?” Chief Abrams said, raising an eyebrow.
“Suicide,” I said, glancing up when Millie arrived carrying a glass and a bottle of red. She poured mine and topped Josie’s off. The Chief waved Millie’s offer away. “Thanks, Millie. Do we have anything to snack on?”
“I’m sure I could find something in the kitchen,” she said.
“No, don’t bother,” I said. “You’ve got customers to take care of.”
“I could make some popcorn,” she said.
“That would be great,” I said. “I’m starving. Thanks.”
Millie headed off, and Josie and the Chief focused on me.
“Suicide, huh?” the Chief said. “How did he do it?”
“He left his car running in the garage with the door closed. Waited until his wife and Samantha went to the movies one night, then grabbed a bottle of scotch and headed for the garage.”
“Yuk,” Josie said. “Why on earth did he do it?”
“Nobody knows,” I said. “At least they didn’t at the time. He didn’t leave a note.”
“What did he do for work?” the Chief said.
“He was a professor at Clarkson,” I said.
Clarkson is a university in Potsdam well-known for its engineering programs as well as their hockey team that is often nationally ranked.
“How old was he when he died?” the Chief said.
I checked my notebook and tried to read my own writing.
“Forty-six. It was 1988.”
“Thirty years ago,” the Chief said. “How old was the girl when he died?”
I grabbed the high school yearbook from my bag and turned it to the page that displayed the girl’s class photo. I passed it to the Chief.
“She was a sophomore,” I said. “That would probably make her fifteen or sixteen.”
“Well done,” Josie said. “You didn’t even need to count on your fingers.”
I made a face at her then caught a whiff of fresh popcorn. My stomach rumbled, and I forced myself to focus. Chief Abrams handed the yearbook to Josie.
“Yeah, that’s definitely her,” Josie said, studying the photo. “She was a pretty girl.”
“Which means that she could have also been forty-six when she died,” the Chief said.
“You think that might be significant?” Josie said.
“I have no idea,” the Chief said, shrugging. “But it is interesting. What was the wife’s name?”
“Bella,” I said. “Bella Johnson.”
“She’d probably be somewhere in her seventies by now,” the Chief said. “Assuming she’s still alive.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to find out,” I said. “Feel like taking a road trip tomorrow?”
“I’m booke
d solid tomorrow,” Josie said.
“Tomorrow’s my day off,” the Chief said. “I was thinking about going fishing with Rooster.”
“That’s okay,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll just go by myself.”
“Not a chance,” the Chief said, shaking his head at me. “I’ll tag along, but you owe me one.”
“Only one?” Josie said.
“Yeah,” the Chief said. “But my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“You need to start writing them down,” Josie said. “That’s what I do.”
Chapter 10
We headed northeast and followed the highway that provided gorgeous views of the River in several spots. When we reached Ogdensburg about an hour later, we headed south for a few miles before going east towards Potsdam on Route 11.
“Sorry to keep you from fishing,” I said, glancing over at Chief Abrams in the passenger seat. “It’s a great day to be out on the River.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you a present.” Then he caught the expectant look I was giving him. “No, it’s not food.”
He shook his head and removed a compact disc from his bag. He slid it into the player and moments later soft piano music filled the SUV.
“Nice,” I said, nodding. “Keith Jarrett?”
“Well done. Koln concert. It’s amazing. And since you’ve become quite the jazz fan, this one has to be part of your collection.”
“I still can’t believe how good some people get at what they do,” I said, listening closely to the intricate solo piano. “It’s a gift.”
“Yes,” the Chief said. “But even geniuses need to keep working to perfect their craft.”
“Chef Claire just said the same thing,” I said, then glanced over at him. “Not in those exact words, but that’s what she was talking about.”
“About her cooking?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You know Chef Claire. She’s too modest to use the word genius, but that’s what she is.”
“She is indeed,” the Chief said. “She’s worried she isn’t working hard enough?”
“No, it’s more like she’s stopped learning,” I said. “She wants to do a cookbook.”
