Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (19 page)

Most of the wall space was
bare, painted in some non-descript color that looked grayish-brown
in the dim light. That made me realize several of the fluorescent
tubes needed to be replaced.
Well, maybe
not
. We’d want low light for the Ball
anyway. Maybe we could just enhance some areas with plug-in mood
lights.

I was visualizing corn
shocks and garlands of colored leaves, and scarecrows when an older
man in greasy coveralls with a large wet spot on one hip entered
the room from the stage area. He didn’t look up until he had come
down the steps. He jumped back when he saw me.

“Hey there, Missy,” he said
in surprise.

“Hey, yourself,” I
answered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Ana Raven. Just trying
to get an idea of how we can decorate for the Ball.”

“Todd Ringman. Pleased to
meetcha.” He held out a blackened hand, then quickly withdrew it
and wiped the palm on his wet hip. “Ah, well, let’s shake another
time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I take it you’re trying to
get the heating system to work,” I said, nodding.

“Jest about got ‘er. I jest
have to open this line and I’m gonna fire ‘er up.” He knelt on the
blanket with his tools and twisted a valve on the side of the
radiator. “I’m happy t’ have someone else here,” he continued,
standing and turning to face me. “These old pipes ain’t been
pressurized for forty years. Might not be so good, if you catch my
meanin’. Would you watch for leaks and holler down if she starts
sprayin’ water all over?”

“I can do that. Did you
come from the basement? I saw you step off the stage.” I was a bit
confused.

“Yup. There’s a door and
staircase way t’ the back. Leads right down to the boiler room.
We’ll prop ‘er open and you can watch from the stage. I should be
able t’ hear you holler if you see anything amiss.”

I nodded and took my place
on the edge of the stage while Todd pushed a chair hard under the
doorknob of a metal door in the far back corner, stage left, to
hold it open. Then I waited.

Todd’s voice floated up the
stairs, “I’m openin’ the valves down here. Won’t be long
now.”

Horrible clanking noises
began, and while I watched the old radiator actually jumped and
rattled as air and water surged through the piping. I smelled that
peculiar mix of water and metal and dust that always signaled the
start-up of a hot water heating line. But nothing that I could see
was leaking. However, the noise in the pipes persisted.

Todd reappeared. He grabbed
an adjustable wrench and fiddled with something on the side of the
radiator. A hissing noise was added to the medley, but the banging
subsided. “Got t’ bleed the air outa them pipes,” he explained. “We
aren’t takin’ any chances on firin’ up too many lines. Just this
room and the front, before your big shindig.

My idea for tables in the
front hall required heating. “Will that include most of the front
hallway?” I asked.

“Yup. Whole first floor
hall is on one line. The side halls? That’s a different story.
Willya be needin’ them?”

“I don’t think so, Todd.
This is great. Really, you’re doing a tremendous job.”

“Use t’
be
our job, me ‘n’ my dad. He’s gone
now. I knowed this system like the backa my hand. Not too much
trouble t’ recollect how it works. Thank the good Lord I had some
spare fittin’s in the barn. Jest hope these old pipes
hold.”

“I do too,” I agreed. “Do
you need me for anything else?”

“Nope, that should do ‘er.
I’ll hang around awhile and make sure things are
stable-like.”

“I’m going to poke around
outside a bit. Take care now,” I said. I smiled at Todd and he
smiled back, revealing a missing tooth. I wondered if he had steady
work, since few buildings still used antique boiler systems for
heat.

Chapter 27

Now that I’d gotten a
pretty good idea of how we’d have to do decorations for the Harvest
Ball, my thoughts turned to the other part of my day’s
plan.

I circled the school
building, being careful to watch for any boards with nails in them.
I was only wearing sneakers, and a puncture wound in the foot
wasn’t on my agenda. Fortunately, the work crews had thoroughly
cleaned up after themselves. The yard was tidy, and even mowed,
although lots of weeds were mixed with the grass.

As I’d remembered, there
was a chain-link fence close behind the building, with a messy
hedgerow of sumac trees, grape vines and alien honeysuckle grown
up, through and over the wire barrier between the school and the
river. The space between the fence and school was wide enough to
drive a vehicle around the back of the building, but without much
room left over. It would be a great place to accomplish something
surreptitious, such as load a body into a vehicle. There were
plenty of tracks through the weeds and fallen leaves, proving that
any number of cars and trucks had driven through there this fall.
This section had not been mowed.

Or, a body might have been
dragged to the river right here, if there was a break in the fence.
I was sure the police had thought of all these things, but I wanted
to see for myself what was possible.

As I walked farther I
discovered there was a sort of three-sided courtyard in the center
rear of the building, enclosed by the brick wings. But the door
that I knew the drag marks in the basement had led to was in the
rear of the western wing.

Sure enough, right in back
of the building, completely out of sight from the street, one panel
of the chain mesh was hanging askew from the top rail. It wasn’t
fastened at the right side or the bottom at all. I pushed on the
wire, and it flapped like a crooked door, squealing as metal grated
against metal. My backpack contained pliers and a fencing tool, but
I wouldn’t need them to get through the fence.

Here in the perpetual shade
on the north side of the building, the air was chilly, the light
dim and the vines and scraggly branches oppressive. A workman on
the other side of the building shouted something. I was glad for
the reminder I wasn’t really alone on the property.

Without any trouble at all,
I ducked a little and stepped through to the river side of the
fence. The shrubs and vines had been cleared here; there was an
obvious path to the water. I supposed children found this an
appealing place to play. The bank wasn’t steep, and it angled
gently down to a fairly straight section of the waterway. I walked
to the edge of the low bank.

The next part of my plan
was to assess how deep the water was. Laying the backpack on the
ground I pulled out a small folding saw, opened and locked the
blade. There weren’t any loose sticks of a good length on the
riverbank, so I stepped back up to the hedge and sawed through a
honeysuckle branch that was about an inch in diameter. One more cut
removed the branches splayed from the top end. It was rough and
gnarly, but I now had a staff about four feet long.

I sat down and removed my
shoes and socks. Then I stepped out of the sweatpants I’d worn over
a pair of shorts. I put the clothing and the saw in the pack and
removed a pair of rubber sandals, which I slipped on my feet. I
could see that the water by the bank was shallow, but small ripples
farther out prevented me from judging the depth
accurately.

Standing up, I planted the
stick in the river bed and learned that it was sandy but seemed
quite solid. I stepped off the bank. The water was chilly, but not
frigid. I gritted my teeth and shivered, glad that I had an extra
sweatshirt in the car. Feeling ahead of me with the stick, I headed
for the opposite bank, about fifteen feet distant.

Walking slowly, and
checking each step with the stick, I crossed the entire river. The
water wasn’t deeper than mid-calf anywhere, and the current didn’t
tug at my legs. At this point, at this time—we hadn’t had any rain
for over a week—only a lightly-laden kayak would have floated
downstream easily.

More confident now, I
walked up and down stream a bit. By poking carefully with my
makeshift walking stick and paying more attention to the looks of
the riverbed, I did find a couple of deeper holes, which I managed
to avoid falling into, but generally, the river here was very
shallow. I decided to look online and see if I could find water
level recordings for the Petite Sauble. I could do it from Cora’s
computer, since I didn't have internet service.

Convinced that it was
unlikely the body had been put in the river here, I headed for my
car. The fleece sweatshirt was welcome after the chilling effect of
wading in the cold water. I toweled my feet and put my sweatpants,
socks and sneakers back on, wishing for a cup of hot
coffee.

Chapter 28

My next stop was downtown.
I turned right off Liberty, crossed the bridge on Mill Street, and
parked in front of the one small building in the newspaper block
that Jerry didn’t own, Holiday Realty.
Kind of a cutesy name
, I thought, but
then remembered the realtor’s name was Virginia Holiday.
That sounds a bit fake too.
But I supposed she couldn’t help that. After all, I knew
people with much goofier names, Ted Bear, Brook Trout. That one
always made me guffaw.
Why did people give
their children names that were sure to invite teasing?

I locked the car, having
learned my lesson too many times this summer, and approached the
block structure which had been modernized with a slanting shake
gable on the two sides which faced streets. Pictures of houses and
cottages with lists of amenities were taped in the windows. I
wasn’t even sure Ms. Holiday would be there, but the door was
unlocked.

When I entered, I swept my
eyes around the empty room. The desk and customer chair were strewn
with papers, but there was a doorbell mounted on the countertop and
a hand-painted sign “ring for service.” I pushed the buzzer and
waited what seemed like forever, then rang again.

Faintly, a voice floated
through a cold-air register. “Coming. Hold on.”

In a few minutes, I heard
ascending steps, and Virginia Holiday emerged from a door across
the room. She was straightening her skirt. She tried to wipe a spot
of dirt from her face, but only succeeded in smearing
it.

She lit a cigarette and let
it dangle from her lip. “I was looking up some things in the files.
That basement is filthy,” she commented, pulling the cigarette from
her mouth with long fingers adorned with many rings. Bracelets
clinked, and her office chair squeaked as she sat down.

“Hello,” I said in
greeting. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you here.” The stench of the
smoke was difficult to handle, but I wanted to talk to this
woman.

“Hello, yourself,” Virginia
answered in her deep voice. “What can I help you with?” She placed
the smoke in an ashtray filled with butts.

Her taste in clothes ran to
bold prints and loose peasant styles. This outfit was no exception.
The tiered purple paisley skirt hung to her ankles, and she’d
paired it with a silky lavender blouse. Over that she wore a purple
fleece vest. Long earrings dangled near her shoulders, where they
could be seen through long nearly-straight dishwater hair parted in
the middle. She wore slightly too much makeup, and I realized she
must be older than I’d previously thought. Except for the makeup
her style was very 1970s. Of course that look was back in vogue, if
one could believe the magazines. For footwear, she’d chosen pink
rubber clog sandals.

I glanced at the narrow
shelf along the back wall. “For starters, may I bum a cup of
coffee?” I asked.

“Sure. It’s pretty fresh, I
made it at lunchtime. Sugar and white stuff in the
cupboard.”

“I take it black, thanks,”
I responded.

While I filled a foam cup
with the hot brown liquid, Virginia cleared the extra chair, moved
it back to the front side of her desk, and made some effort to
straighten the papers that lay at every angle on its surface. I sat
down, and she returned to her desk chair. It squeaked
again.

“How are you liking Cherry
Hill?” I asked. “I think you may be the only person in town who’s
lived here for a shorter time than I have.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not a
small town girl,” she said with a rough chuckle. “Of course, I’m
trying hard to convince people to move here. I’ll never be able to
stay if I don’t sell some properties.”

“What made you come here,
if you don’t mind me asking?” I was sipping the hot coffee, and it
was most welcome.

“Oh, I had some relatives
from this area a long time ago. I'm tracking down some of their
history,” she answered vaguely. “How about you?”

I laughed. “I was looking
for something completely different, someplace I could hide from a
relationship that went bad. I’ve made a lot of good friends here,
now. People are very nice once you get to know them.”

“I suppose so,” she said.
“I’ve been busy. Summer people seem to trade houses and cottages
quite often, even if the locals don’t.”

“Have you heard about the
Harvest Ball we’re putting on in October?” I asked.