I point toward a wide break in the rocks.
“We might as well walk a bit more,” I say. “We’ve come this far.”
The woods, mostly pine, grow straight and tall on this side of the river. There’s little underbrush but a thick layer of pine needles. I suspect it’s been untouched by loggers for decades, if ever, because of the ledge. They’d have to find another way here. We walk straight ahead with the river at our backs until we reach barbed wire. The woods on the other side are heavy with maple trees, likely planted in the 1800s when making syrup got popular as a livelihood, so people didn’t have to rely on sugar from the South. In the distance, smoke rises in a neat column.
I have my bearings. We’re at the property line for the Maple Tree Farm. The Bernard family who lives there still does maple sugaring but also raises cattle. They grow corn and hay. But the generations are thinning out. I wonder how long they’ll stick with what has to be a hard though honest way of life.
“Boys, we’ve reached a dead end. Let’s head back.”
We return to the river and sit on flat rocks to eat the sandwiches I brought.
“What are you thinking, Mom?” Alex asks.
“Well, we can rule out a couple of things. I seriously doubt Adela left her house at night, dumped her car two miles in, waited until daylight, and then walked on this side of the river to do herself in. That’s an awfully long time to change your mind. I also have to believe somebody would have stumbled on her remains.”
The boys nod.
“The police reports say there was no sign of blood in her car. So, she wasn’t dead inside unless her killer was super careful sealing her body in plastic, but that’s a lot of effort. It would be a haul carrying her all the way here. She wasn’t fat, but she had some heft to her. Plus, he would have to bring a shovel to dig a grave. The root system of the pines on this side of the river is pretty dense. And I don’t think there’s any way someone could drag her kicking and screaming over that river.”
“You’re saying it didn’t happen here,” Alex says.
“Uh-huh, but I’m still wondering about the car. Why leave it here? What would you do after? Walk or hitch home? Or were two people involved? And we have no way of knowing how long it was parked here before it was found.” I stand. “Thanks for coming with me. I wouldn’t want to do this alone. Maybe if I had a dog, but Maggie hasn’t been with us long enough.”
“You taking that trash we found?”
“Sure. Just because people are a bunch of slobs, we don’t have to be.”
Snow Day
Usually the storms the weathermen go gaga about don’t amount to anything. Then there are the ones that get by them. I remember one late March watching the snow falling during a staff meeting at the Star and realizing I better get the hell outta there fast. We were only supposed to get a dusting that day. The road crews couldn’t keep up with the snow.
The storm that started late yesterday does live up to its billing. I wake up in the middle of the night to hear snow slamming against the windowpanes. By the time I’m up for the day, the driveway is socked in with eight inches or more. I smile, thinking I don’t have to drive into the city in this ungodly weather. Instead, I get on my boots and other winter crap to dig a path for the dog, so she can do her business in the woods. Even before I have coffee.
“Big storm,” Ma greets me in the kitchen.
“Yeah, we get a lot more snow than where you lived. Well, we’re set for it. We should get plowed out after the storm’s done.”
“What are you doing today?”
“I’m gonna organize all that paperwork I have. I’ll call you up when I’m done.”
It takes me two hours to finish. I step back from the wall. I tacked a photo of Adela in the center. To the far left, I placed the maps and a calendar, the ones I’ve held onto and those I downloaded from the internet. The Google maps even give me terrain without snow. I have a list with the header “possible suspects.” So far, I only have Bobby Collins and Adela’s ex-pal Mira Clark. Bobby has an alleged alibi for that night. I put Mira up there for the heck of it. I doubt if she had it in her, affair or not, unless, of course, it didn’t end two years before like she said. What about her husband, Bruce, the schoolteacher? What the hell, I put his name up there with a question mark beside it. Now that would make a wild story: mild-mannered schoolteacher kills his lover.
More lists. One contains new tips about Adela like she allegedly slept with married men and went at least once to the Shady Grope. Of course, there’s the list of septic systems and building permits. I’ll cross our names off those lists. I pin up photos and my notes. The box containing the stuff from Adela’s sits on the floor.
Ma walks upstairs. Her feet scuff the treads.
“I don’t think I’ve made much progress,” I tell her.
I roll over my desk chair. Ma sits and studies each piece of paper. Some of it she’s seen before. Some of it she hasn’t.
“Well, you’ve made some. You figured out things on that walk yesterday.” She nods at the box. “I think that cap in that box may be a clue. Course, there’s the necklace. You’ve found a few other things.”
“I need to meet more people who knew her. I’m going to try her son, Dale, next. He says he’ll talk with me.” I glance toward the window. “But today I’m going nowhere.”
Dale Collins
Andrew Snow agrees to meet Wednesday morning at his grandson’s house. I’m a little surprised when he calls to set up the day, but then again Dale doesn’t seem to have a steady job. He worked for the town once, but that didn’t last. Sometimes he cuts firewood or does construction. Or he’ll help out maple sugaring. From the plow on the front of Dale’s pickup, I’m guessing he’s clearing driveways this winter. Those who don’t have a steady line of work have to do the hilltown shuffle.
Andrew did say it’s okay to bring Ma along.
I park the Subaru behind Andrew’s car, and then guide Ma along the driveway. I make the introductions when Dale lets us in the side door.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ferreira,” he says as we follow him to the kitchen. “Grandpa’s in the kitchen making coffee. Would you like a cup?”
I’m impressed with Dale’s good country manners, but, then again, except for a few Neanderthals, hilltown folks are a courteous group. I like that about them. They wave in their vehicles. The men hold doors for those coming behind them. They apologize when they curse, which can be a lot.
Dale also seems a little jumpy. He doesn’t seem to know where to focus his eyes. Part of that is, of course, due to my mission today.
The house is filled with an embarrassing amount of bachelor clutter. But beneath the cartons of motor oil, assorted trash, and discarded clothes, I recognize a woman’s furnishings. I’m guessing the house is pretty much how Adela left it before her son moved his junk in here. Now I have another question to ask: what happened to the house after she went missing.
Andrew turns from the stove.
“Coffee anyone?” he asks.
Ma and I politely decline. I watch Dale eye the table and its four chairs.
“This looks like a good place to sit,” I say, and Ma nods. We remove our coats and hang them over the backs of the chairs.
Andrew brings coffee cups for him and Dale to the table.
“You sure?” he says. “It’s no trouble at all.”
I smile.
“Thanks. We’re done for the day.”
I’m thinking about how to get this conversation rolling. Remember what I said about those Yankee lawn mowers? But Andrew beats me to it.
“Isabel is doing a fine job trying to solve this mystery,” he tells Dale in a pep talk kind of voice. “I was surprised when she told me what she was up to. She’s only doing it out of the goodness of her heart. I’m so grateful.”
Dale says, “Yeah.”
I continue to smile. I note Andrew leaves out the part about paying me.
“When did you move into your mother’s house
?”
The heels of Dale’s boots drag across the linoleum beneath the table.
“I was only ten when it happened. So, I lived at my grandparents’ house until I was old enough to be on my own. You know, after I dropped out of high school. The house was empty until then. Well, it still had Mom’s things. We kept hoping… ”
Andrew nods.
“Now it belongs to Dale.”
“Makes sense.” I pause before I launch my next question. “Dale, what can you tell me about the last time you saw your mother?”
He picks up a matchbook lying beside the pack of Camels on the tabletop. I expect he wants to smoke, but he won’t with Ma and me here unless he asks first.
“It was after school. The bus dropped me off at the store. Mom and I talked a little. Grandma was picking me up at the house, and I was spending the night.”
“Wasn’t it a school night?” I ask.
“Uh-huh, I slept over a lot. Grandma used to be a teacher, so she helped me with my school stuff.” He plays with the matchbook. “School was hard for me. I had to go to special classes. Anyway, I had a history report to finish.”
“What did you and your Mom talk about?”
His fingers keep moving.
“The usual stuff. She gave me lunch money and told me to pick up clean clothes. We talked about going to the movies at the mall on Saturday after she bought me new boots and jeans. We were gonna eat pizza.”
I glance at Andrew.
“It sure doesn’t sound like she was planning to go anywhere.”
“That’s what I’ve said all along,” Dale tells me.
“Can you think of anything else she said?” I ask.
“When I called her that night, she asked how the history report was going. She asked what we ate for dinner.”
“Wait a minute. You talked with your mother that night? I didn’t see that in the police reports. What time was that?”
Dale’s head bounces hard.
“I don’t know. Early. I told the cops that.”
“You’re doing great. Did you call her or did she call you?”
“She called me.”
“What were you doing?”
“Helping Grandma wash dishes.”
“So, it was right after dinner?”
“Yeah, Grandma didn’t like the dirty dishes to sit too long. Right, Grandpa?”
“That’s right.” He takes a stuttering breath. “The store closed at six. Irma would always have dinner on the table when I got home.”
“So, I’m figuring this was around 7:30 when your mother called.”
“Must’ve been.”
Ma hasn’t said a word. In fact, she’s so quiet it’s like she’s not even sitting there. But she gives me an encouraging nod. The next line of questioning is going to be tougher, but after rehearsing with Ma in the car, I believe I found a smooth way to handle it.
“Dale, I wanted to ask you about the relationships your mother had with men. Did she have any special friends?”
He tosses the matchbook onto the table. It’s too twisted to use.
“I know Mom went out with men. But she didn’t bring any of ’em home for me to meet. She didn’t talk about ’em. Well, that’s not true. There was one guy a while ago she really liked. But I guess it didn’t work out. He doesn’t live here anymore.”
“What’s his name?” I ask.
He turns toward his grandfather.
“You remember Roger, don’t ya?”
“He was an okay guy,” Andrew says. “But that was years before it happened. I think he moved out west somewhere.”
“Nobody else?” I ask.
Dale makes a painful grimace.
“I was only a kid then. I suppose when she wanted to go out I stayed over at my grandparents’ house.”
“How often?”
“Once or twice a week at least.”
“Do you think she was seeing someone steady before she went missing?”
Dale makes a hard swallow.
“I think so. Sometimes I’d see a shirt in the wash that didn’t belong to me. There’d be dishes in the sink. Other things.”
I bend forward.
“What other things?”
“She’d get calls late at night. Around her birthday she got flowers, but it wasn’t from any of us. She acted kinda funny about it.”
“And you had no idea who it was?”
Dale shakes his head emphatically.
We all get quiet for a while. The only sound is the tick of the kitchen clock. It’s one of those silly cat clocks with the tail moving back and forth.
I speak first.
“When I visited the old chief, he wasn’t helpful at all. It wasn’t a good day. But his wife remembered something he told her. The chief said there were broken dishes on the kitchen floor.”
“I saw them, too,” Andrew said.
I feel myself squinting.
“Did your mother own a gun? Your grandfather wasn’t so sure.”
“Nah,” Dale said. “She wouldn’t allow them in the house. But I own guns now, for hunting.”
“I have another question. When my boys and I walked to where they found Adela’s car, we saw someone placed a cross on the spot. Was that one of you?”
Dale nods.
“I did that long ago. I made it myself. I… ”
I smile to ease his discomfort.
“That’s a sweet gesture,” I tell Dale.
“Yes, it is,” his grandfather says.
Silence again.
I say to Ma, “Maybe we should go.”
“Would you like to see her room?” Andrew asks.
I’m surprised. Even though so many years have passed, this conversation couldn’t be easy for these two men. I know it wasn’t for me. But I answer quickly.
“Yes, I would. Ma?”
“That would be nice,” she says.
We follow the two men upstairs. They take the steps slowly for Ma’s sake, I suppose. One door is open and the contents are a messy guy’s room. Dale goes to the door beside it. Cold air rushes toward us when it’s open. This is definitely a woman’s room, neat as Adela left it. The shades are drawn halfway. The curtains and chenille bedspread are faded from sunlight. There’s an upholstered chair with a floor lamp, a braided rug on the floor, handmade, and an antique dresser with an oval mirror.
“The drawers and closets?” I ask.
Andrew tips his head.
“We held onto everything until the seven-year mark. We saw no reason to anymore after that. We gave them away to the church mission.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
“Go ahead,” Andrew says.
I open each drawer, which is lined with floral paper. I pull each out one at a time and peek inside.
“What’s this?”
I reach for a small card stuck to the back of the dresser. It’s the kind of card you get with flowers. The writing says: “Happy birthday my love.” There’s no signature. I hold it for Andrew, Dale, and Ma to see. Andrew keeps it while I return each drawer to its place.
“Well, I’ll be,” Andrew says.
“Anybody recognize the handwriting?”
While the three of them study the card, I examine the empty closet. Even the hangers are gone. I use my hand to sweep the top shelf and only come away with dust. I swipe my hands clean and close the door. Andrew still stares at the card.
“When’s Adela’s birthday?” I ask.
“August 21,” Andrew and Dale say at the same time.
“Was that the birthday she got flowers?” I ask Dale.
“Yeah,” he says. “I asked who sent ’em, but she wouldn’t say. She called him ‘Mr. X’ and laughed.”
“That was during summer vacation. Wouldn’t you have been home if the bouquet was dropped off?”
Dale shrugs.
“I don’t remember. I could’ve been riding my bike somewhere with my friends or visiting Mom at the store or helping grandma in her garden. All I know the
flowers were on the kitchen table when she came home.”
“What was her reaction?” I ask Dale.
“She was really happy. I asked if Grandma and Grandpa gave them. She said no.”
I turn toward Andrew.
“Would a city florist deliver all the way out here?”
Andrew shakes his head.
“Sometimes they do if you spend enough money,” he said. “But they would’ve left it on the doorstep if nobody was home. They wouldn’t have gone inside the house.”
“That makes sense. Did your mother lock her doors?”
“No,” Dale says.
“So, it looks like whoever gave her those flowers just helped himself inside.”
Andrew hands me back the card.
“Why don’t you hold onto this for safekeeping?” he says.
“Sure.”
We’re about to leave the room. Dale has his hand on the door and moves to close it. That’s when I see a calendar on the back of the door. It’s for the year Adela disappeared.
“Hold on a sec,” I say.
“Huh?” Dale says.
We all stare at the calendar.
“Do you mind?” I ask.
“Go ahead,” Andrew says, as he hands me the calendar
I flip quickly through its pages, which have notations throughout.
“Could I borrow this?” I ask.
“Take it,” Andrew says.
“Do you want to see it first?” I ask Andrew and Dale.
Both shake their head no.
“Just let us know what you find.”
I stop at the bottom of the stairs. I glance around the living room at the cabinets and bookcases.
“Did you clean those out, too?”
Andrew and Dale glance at each other.
“I didn’t touch ’em,” Dale says.
“Hmm, maybe you could go through them sometime,” I say. “Or if you want, I can help you.”
“I’ll let you know,” Andrew tells me.
Calendar
Adela’s calendar is a freebie given out by a local hardware store that’s no longer around, a victim of a later downturn in the economy. I have the calendar open on my kitchen table. Ma sits beside me. The pages feature idyllic photos of country living, heavy on maple trees, dirt roads, red barns, and rivers, plus puppies and deer. But I don’t care about any of that. I’m interested in what Adela wrote on its pages.
Chasing The Case Page 12
