Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (11 page)

The actual fountain was inside the circle. I saw one large pipe and three smaller ones.

"Would you look at that," Ruth said. "What are those little creepy things on the corners? They look kind of like bats."

"Gargoyles," Ginger Rodgers said.

"Yes, they're actually traditional and were used as waterspouts on rooftops to drain away rainwater," I said.

"Um," Ruth said. "Librarians."

Asa moved to the podium again. "And now with no further ado, Leon Fontaine will turn the water on."

Leon moved to a small, crooked shed with a crooked cupola behind the fountain. He disappeared inside and then seconds later the water flowed in great gushes and spurts and seconds after that the water ran from the gargoyles' mouths into the square section of the fountain which began to fill and then recede.

"Well," Rose said. "I must admit that it is . . . spectacular. Almost makes my giant hand pale."

"Don't you ever talk like that," Ginger said. "It's no comparison. Not at all. What you got is the Hand of God."

Pastor Speedwell walked to the podium next. "I stand in awe and wonder today at this magnificent sight. A sight that will not only bring joy and beauty to Paradise but a sight that will remind us all of the Living Water available for each and every one of us to drink. Namely, Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. Let us pray."

It took a second or two but Pastor was off into one of his Holy Ghost–raising prayers that made you afraid to open your eyes for fear you'd see the spirit of God moving through the crowd.

All at once, a woman I didn't recognize burst into an
a capella
rendition of "There Is a Fountain". "There is a fountain filled with blood," she sang, "drawn from Emmanuel's veins; and sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains."

She completed three of the four verses and then sat down with tears streaming from her red face. But then cheers and calls went out through the crowd as this tiny trailer park community united in a common theme of joy and identity made possible by a strange little man with a funny nose and a funny name that for right now, at least, was Bright's Pond's numberone suspect.

The next morning, Monday, I drove Old Bessie up to the top of Filbert Street near Hector's Hill and tuned in to radio station WQRT. Rassie Harper, the biggest jerk on planet Earth as far as I'm concerned, did the morning talk show. Ruth's sister-inlaw Vera Krug had a small spot on the show called
Vera Krug's Good Neighbor News.
She mostly reported on what was happening in Shoops but often stuck her nose in the business of Bright's Pond.

I waited a few minutes listening to Rassie go on and on about political nonsense. He was still harping on about the war in Vietnam that nobody understood. Rassie hated Richard Nixon's guts and was thrilled as peaches and cream the day the president resigned.

"And now," Rassie said, "let's spend a few minutes with that friend to you and me, that lovely lady of the radio. Here she is, that winsome woman of the airwaves, Vera Krug here with your
Good Neighbor News."

"Thank you, Rassie," Vera said. "Vera Krug here with your
Good Neighbor News,
for Monday, November 25, the Monday before Thanksgiving. I hope you all got your turkey ordered from Brisco's Butcher Shop, your shop for the tastiest, tenderest, meats in town. Mr. Brisco says there's still time to order your turkey, but do it today or you are out of luck."

That reminded me that I promised Ruth I would take her into Shoops the next morning to do just that—get the turkey. For once, I was grateful for Vera Krug.

"And speaking of Thanksgiving," Vera said. "The folks up at Bright's Pond were at it again. Well, the Paradise section of the town, you all know that funny little trailer park they got up there with all them pretty-colored trailers? Well, guess what? Now they got themselves a fountain. A real fountain that flows water and everything. I was up there yesterday—" she paused and coughed and it sounded like she took a sip of something—"yesterday for the Blessing of the Fountain. It was a nice time, except I got to tell you folks that the odd little man that built the fountain, a man they call Leon Fontaine, is one strange fella—looks a little like the gargoyles he carved for the fountain."

I laughed right out loud because she was right. Leon Fontaine did look a gargoyle.

"And not only that," Vera continued. "But am I the only one that smells a rat in Paradise? I mean it, really, Leon Fontaine. Isn't that just a little too convenient a name for a fountain builder? I looked it up. Fontaine is the French word for fountain and wasn't that explorer fella, who was looking for the Fountain of Youth named Leon? Leon Ponce a Tawney or something?"

"Ponce de León," Rassie broke in. "The explorer was Ponce de León."

I think my heart might have stopped beating for a second or two. I hadn't taken notice, but bless her soul, Vera was right. Mildred was right. The deck was quickly getting stacked against the man and the sooner Mildred or somebody figured it out the better.

I turned up the radio. "And that ain't all," Vera said. "I hear there are some strange doings up at the Greenbrier Nursing Home. I've had reports that some of our octogenarians have been acting quite a bit odd—riding tricycles and pitching woo like they was teenagers. Woo hoo, Bright's Pond is going nuts."

"What?" Rassie cut in. "When did all that start?"

"Don't know for certain but my sources tell me that ever since that Leon Fontaine, if that's his real name, and I'm betting it's not, came into town and started working up at Greenbrier the people have been acting weird, all young and all."

"And you think he found the Fountain of Youth?" Rassie said.

"Now I didn't say that, Rassie. I just said I see some coinky-dinks that are kind of hard to swallow."

"You keep your reporter's nose to the air," Rassie said. "We'd all like to know what's going on up there."

"I bet you would," I said to the radio. "You just love digging up dirt."

I turned off the radio and the windshield wipers. For some reason the station always came in better if I had the wipers going. I headed straight for the town hall. I needed to talk to Mildred Blessing about all of this. I hoped she had learned something more.

But before I could drop the gear shift into drive there was a tap on the window. It was Cliff Cardwell.

"Hey, Griselda, what are you doing up here. Looking for me?"

"N-N-No, Cliff. You startled me in fact."

"I'm sorry. It's hard to creep up on a person without scaring them."

"I came up here to listen to the morning show. Vera Krug's show."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about her. She's a pip from what I hear."

"Yeah, she is. But maybe smarter than we give her credit for."

"Um," Cliff looked into my eyes. "I still think you are the prettiest woman in Bright's Pond."

"Cliff, I told you. I'm not interested—"

He put his head through the window and kissed me.

"You were saying," he said.

I took a breath and swallowed. "I was saying that I need to be going. I got something to do and then I have to open the library and tomorrow is turkey day and then it's Thanksgiving and Ponce De Leon is in town and—"

"Slow down," Cliff said. "You're a little rattled."

"I'm sorry. But I really need to go."

"OK. I have to fly to Binghamton this morning and pick up a package for someone in Shoops. Want to come?"

"No, Cliff. I just told you I have things to do." He tapped the door. "Right. Things." He stepped away from the truck as I pulled away. When I figured I was out of sight, I banged the steering wheel. "I am so mad. I hate the effect he has on me."

But I pushed that thought aside and made my way straight to the town hall. Mildred Blessing had a small office inside. I parked next to her cruiser and dashed up the steps and through the door.

"Mildred," I called even before I got to her door. I looked inside. She was sitting there looking through a stack of papers.

"Mildred."

She looked up. "Oh, Griselda, morning. Why do you look so flushed? Been seeing that sexy pilot fella again?"

I shook my head. "No, now listen." I sat in the leather chair. "Did you listen to Vera Krug's show this morning?"

"No," she said still looking through papers. "I was going to but I had to come here instead."

"She reported about the fountain blessing and—"

"So, what's that got to do with anything?"

"It might have everything to do with what is happening at Greenbrier. I just can't figure out how. The connection I mean."

Mildred's eyes brightened. "Ohhh. You got something, Griselda. So there is a Paradise connection?"

"Not sure. I mean I don't have any evidence. I don't have any facts. I only have what Vera Krug said."

Mildred laughed. "So you got nothing. Just the babbling remarks of a postmenopausal busybody with nothing to live for but rumors."

"Now that isn't nice."

"OK, I take it back. I'm just in a mood."

"Is it your time?" I said. "Have a little visit from Aunt Flo?"

"Aunt Flo? Oh, I get it. No. That's not it. I just lost some permits I was supposed to have and if I don't find them I could be in a heap of trouble."

"That might have to wait. Listen to this." I told her about the Blessing of the Fountain and then about what Vera said.

"Ponce de León? Fountain of Youth? Leon Fontaine? Um. It does sound fishy."

"What should we do?"

"What can we do?" Mildred continued to rifle through the stacks on her desk.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for three papers, stapled together."

I started to stack the papers one by one.

"What are you doing?"

"Organizing. You just need to organize your papers better."

"Well, says you, Miss Dewey Decimal System."

"Don't knock it." I looked on the floor and there they were. "Look, Mildred. Is this what you need?"

She grabbed the pages out of my hand. "Yes. That's them. I thought for sure Boris was gonna take my badge. I have to get recertified every year so I can carry a gun."

"That's nice. Now do you want to take this seriously or not? I think that gargoyle is up to something."

"Gargoyle?"

"Oh, you had to be at the blessing yesterday. Leon Fontaine. He looks kind of like a gargoyle."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I guess he does—kinda. But he can't help that. And unfortunately ugly is not against the law."

"I think you should talk to him."

"I've been trying. I can't catch up with him and until I have some cold, hard evidence I can't even put out an APB on the man."

"OK, Mildred. I understand you've been trying. But there's got to be way to get a hold of him."

"It's gonna have to wait now."

"Wait, until when? He could be drugging the people at Greenbrier."

"Well, it's Thanksgiving and I am meeting my brother in Wilkes-Barre. He came all the way from Florida."

"Why Wilkes-Barre?"

Mildred snorted air out of her nose. "Even I need a day off now and again. Not that I ever take one, but this time I thought for once—besides, Boris is giving me a hard time. Says it's in my contract and if I don't take a day off now and again I'll be in breach."

"Ah, he's only looking out for you. But now? I don't think it's the best time."

"OK, look. What say we mosey up to Paradise and have a talk with the man before I leave. That is, if he's anywhere to be found. But we'll need to go today."

"What do you mean we? You want me to go along?"

"Sure. You know more about this than I do, apparently. We'll take the cop car.

"Ohh, can I run the siren?" My sarcasm annoyed even me.

The Paradise Trailer Park was just on the other end of town and down a side street that wound around the mountains a bit. We passed under the neon rainbow and flamingo sign that blinked Paradise.

"I want to check out that fountain before we leave," Mildred said. "See what all the hype is about."

"The fountain? Why? Shouldn't we be looking for Leon?"

"If you are saying that it's the Fountain of Youth then I want to see it at some point."

"I didn't say it was the Fountain of Youth, Mildred."

"Still, I need to check out all the leads. And I guess I'm a little curious about the gargoyles. I mean who would have thought that Bright's Pond would ever have gargoyles. Aren't they supposed to be on churches in Europe?"

"Yes. But they're in Paradise now."

Mildred parked near a blue and white trailer with striped awnings and flower boxes hanging from the windows. Whoever lived there had a rush on Christmas as lights were already strung from one end to the other and a large plastic Santa Claus stood in the yard.

"That's a pretty little place," I said. "I can sort of see the appeal of trailer life."

"Not me. But I hear since that Fergus Wrinkel, the previous park manager, got his just deserts that things around here are improving. Asa Kowalski, you know, Studebaker's cousin, is doing a great job managing the place."

"And with just one arm," I said. "I don't know how he does it. He did a great job emceeing the blessing yesterday."

"I wish someone would have told me about that Fergus character before it got so out of hand. I would have fixed his trolley. No man has a right to beat up his wife. Not in my book anyway."

"Guess they didn't think you could do anything to stop it."

We climbed out of the vehicle. Cool air swirled around and I took in the aroma of burning leaves. I could see puffs of smoke down the street a bit. "What is it about burning leaf piles that seems so rustic and primal?"

"Makes me sick to my stomach," Mildred said. "Can't stand it."

"Maybe I should speak with Asa, first" Mildred said.

"Sounds like a plan."

We started down the street. It was pretty much vacant except for a couple of women out hanging wash on the line.

"Even in this cold weather they hang their wash," I said.

"Still easier than hauling everything to a laundromat to use a dryer."

"Maybe we'll run into Charlotte Figg," I said. "I like her—a lot. I really hope she does decide to open a pie shop in town. And she kind of got me started thinking about this whole Fountain of Youth thing."

"I heard something about that," Mildred said as she offered a wave to one of the women. They were eyeing us like we were invaders from Mars. "A pie shop would be a great idea. At least we'd have some place other than the Full Moon to go to."

"Over there," Mildred said. "A sign says manager."

The manager's trailer sat on a small incline. It was bright yellow with a blue stripe. No awnings but a small wooden deck was attached near the door. A small neon sign that blinked manager hung over the door.

Mildred knocked. She waited a few seconds. She knocked again.

"Guess Asa's not here," she said.

"Now what?"

"We stroll."

"Stroll?"

"Around the park. How hard can it be to miss a one-armed man? We'll find him."

She was right. Pretty quickly, we found him talking to Rose. She was wearing a long, heavy brown sweater. "Oh, he's with Rose Tattoo. I met her yesterday. She has tattoos. That's why she wears that sweater."

"Her business," Mildred said. "Did you know I have a tattoo?"