Murder Under the Covered Bridge (17 page)

eighteen

The roads from Rockville
to Bridgeton were anything but straight. Francine felt she was on a mission to get there and get back, so she was driving a little faster than the posted speed limit. The sun had baked the interior of the car despite the cool weather. With her coat on, Francine was feeling a little nauseous. But apparently not as much as Charlotte.

“I'm gonna throw up! I'm gonna throw up!” Charlotte said, clamping her hand over her mouth like she was trying to hold it back.

“Should I pull over?” Francine asked. Charlotte didn't normally get carsick but she was making abnormal burping sounds. “I think there are some wet wipes in the console. Can you get them, Alice?” Alice sat in the middle of the back seat of Francine's car. Other than Charlotte, who was swaying in the front seat like a wounded seal ready to take her last dive into the deep, Alice was best positioned to get the wipes out.

Alice unbuckled her seat belt and scooted forward, flipping the top of the console up. “What good will that do? These thing are too tiny to mop up if she blows her lunch.”

“Use them like you would a damp washcloth. Apply them to her forehead.”

“I'm not leaning up here with no seat belt on, not with you going so fast around the curves.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. If I go any slower we'll get to Bridgeton about the time we need to turn around and go back to do prep work for tomorrow's food.” The roads from Rockville to Bridgeton were admittedly
two-lane
and full of curves, but Francine was taking them as slowly as she could.

Jonathan, who was driving his truck, had Toby with him. The truck hung back, almost like they sensed something was going on in Francine's car.

“Nothing is more nauseating than the smell of someone throwing up,” said Alice. “If she throws up in here, I will too, and then I'll be wiped out for the rest of the day. No food for tomorrow.”

Joy was playing with her phone in the back seat. “There's no cell reception out here, either, so I can't check navigation to see how much farther it is or whether we could go a different route.”

Francine pointed all the air vents toward Charlotte. “There are no roads to Bridgeton that aren't winding like this. I've taken us about the only good route there is. Just hang on for ten more minutes, Charlotte, and we'll be there.”

“Can you make the air cooler? That seems to help some.” Charlotte burped again, a belch that came from down deep in her gut.

Joy sunk deeper into the down jacket she'd brought. “You might as well do it, Francine. My teeth are chattering in the cold but it's preferable to having Charlotte vomit.”

Charlotte snatched the wipes out of Alice's hand and pasted them on her forehead. She leaned against the car door. “Ten minutes? You promise?”

“Ten more minutes until we reach the outskirts of Bridgeton,” Francine said. They came to an intersection, and she followed another little
hand-lettered
sign that pointed the way. “Once we reach the traffic there we'll slow way down.”

Joy sat up. “I just got a text! I just got a text! I don't know how, since my phone only shows one bar of reception, but it's there.”

“What does it say?” Alice asked. “Have you sent out a plea for someone to meet us there with Dramamine?”

“I didn't think of that, but I can, if another text goes through. The Channel Six live remote team is out at Bridgeton! The station sent them out there to get some
b-roll
of the Covered Bridge Festival since they're already out here. They want me to do a segment by the Bridgeton Bridge since it was the one that was destroyed by arson years ago but has been rebuilt.”

Francine weighed the consequences of that. “So in essence you're going to attract
more
attention to the fact that we're out here. That might scare Zed off.”

“Everyone knows we're out at the Covered Bridge Festival,” Joy said. “For heaven's sake, Mary Ruth is a headliner, especially the way she sells out of food. And with the two cases of arson and my reporting both locally and on
GMA
, it's not like we're incognito. Look at it this way, I can keep the attention focused elsewhere while you search for Zed.”

“Just text them for a Dramamine,” Charlotte pleaded.

Francine was relieved Charlotte managed to hold it together until they rolled into Bridgeton. There was a major slowdown of cars, and the locals were out in force with homemade parking signs trying to get them to parking spots.
$3 Parking This Way!
read one sign held by a woman in a wheelchair. The sign directed people down a
dirt-packed
road past her trailer home.

“Should we take that?” Alice pointed to the sign. “I know it'll be a long walk for Charlotte, but I want to get her out of the car.”

Francine inched forward past the woman. “No, I'm not afraid of paying five dollars as we get closer. The uneven ground will be bad for Charlotte's ankles.”

“I just hope there's a parking spot left in a
five-dollar
lot,” Joy said. “Look at all the people!”

“I'll be okay.” Charlotte mopped her forehead with the wipes. “It's better now that we've slowed way down. I have a giant headache, though.”

People are meandering in front of the car like cattle and chickens in third world countries,
Francine thought.
This is crazy.
She was tempted to beep her horn but no one else in front of her was doing it, and that was a good twenty cars. They just maneuvered around the people as they could.

“The fact we had rain last night and the
drop-offs
on the side of the road are still wet doesn't help.” Alice had her face plastered against the window. She stared
wide-eyed
as Francine's front bumper passed just inches from a stubborn woman who refused to move to the right to let the car get by her.

Joy was still texting on her phone. “The Channel Six van is straight ahead. They're actually at the covered bridge. They say to just keep going and eventually you'll get through.”

“Do they have any advice on parking?” Francine asked.

“Just a minute.” Joy used two thumbs to tap out a message. A few seconds later she said, “They said there's a parking lot on the other side of the bridge that still has spaces in it. Five dollars.”

“That's what I expected to pay.”

The crowd wouldn't part like the Red Sea, and consequently it took fifteen minutes for them to make the torturous trip from the edge of Bridgeton to the actual site of the bridge. Jonathan was still behind them. When they arrived at the parking lot, Francine found a close spot but Jonathan had to drive farther down the lot. Alice jumped out and helped Charlotte from the car. “If you're going to vomit, do it out here.”

Charlotte bent over and made a few gagging noises. Finally she straightened back up. “I'm trying, but it's not coming. I think maybe I'll be okay.”

“Come with me,” Alice said. “I'm going to find you some Dramamine.” She looked at the others. “I'm not making the trip back to Rockville until this woman has medicine.” She handed Charlotte's cane to her and shut the door.

Joy pointed to the Channel Six van. “I don't want to look like I'm trying to be a hotshot reporter or anything, but I need to get over to the crew and see what they're doing and if they need me. Since it looks like we're dividing up, where will we meet?”

Francine opened the trunk and pulled the bags of food and clothing that Jonathan had obtained earlier to give to Zed. “Is the news van going anywhere? Maybe we can use it as an anchor point.”

“The van is right by the bridge on this end, which is where all the shops are. If you come back and find it gone, just meet where the van is now. The bridge won't go anywhere. At least I hope not.”

Alice looped her arm in Charlotte's and they headed out toward the bridge area, where there were at least a few regular stores, not ones that only set up for the Covered Bridge Festival. “Maybe there will be a drug store or some sort of general store that has
over-the
-counter medication,” she said.

“Good luck!” Francine called after them. Joy hadn't wasted any time and was already on her way toward the Channel Six van, leaving Francine to wait for Jonathan and Toby in the sea of cars.

“Where is everyone?” Jonathan asked. The suddenness startled Francine. He'd come up behind her.

“Where'd you come from?” she asked.

“We had to park three miles away,” Toby exaggerated. “My Fitbit says I got ten thousand steps just finding you.”

Jonathan scanned the area, amused. “What happened to your carload?”

“Charlotte got carsick. Alice took her to find Dramamine. Joy is over there with the Channel Six news crew.” She pointed toward the Bridgeton Bridge.

“You know what Alice told my grandma?” Toby said. “Alice said where she and Joy used to be like sisters, she feels her sister has replaced her with a career.”

Francine set the bags on the ground. “I think she's still getting used to the notoriety. It feels like she's had the job for a long time, but it's only been four months. I hope Alice will give her a little more time. We don't even know that this will last, given the fickle nature of the news business.”

“True. And Grandma certainly appreciates the help she's getting from Alice.”

“It looks like the two of them have bonded over the catering business. Maybe Joy and Alice are just excited about having second careers so late in life.”

“You and Charlotte should be detectives!” Toby said. “That would be good second careers for you.”

Jonathan vigorously shook his head. “I don't think so.”

Francine picked up the bags. “Just keeping Charlotte out of trouble is enough of a job.” She checked the bottom of the bags and saw a smear of mud. Then she looked at her shoes. They were muddy too. “We need to get up toward the road so my shoes don't attract any more mud.”

“I think I'll go find Alice and Charlotte,” Toby said. “See how they're doing.”

Francine walked toward the road. “I know Zed told me to come alone, but I'm keeping Jonathan by my side. The two of you can do what you like. Just don't stray too far from the news van. That's our meeting point.” Francine pointed him in the direction Alice and Charlotte had headed.

That left her and Jonathan. “So where are we going?” he asked.

“Zed didn't give me any instructions. He only said he'd find me. I thought we'd walk the main road from the bridge to the end of town where we drove in, and then back.”

“The crowd's thick, so that should give him good cover.”

Jonathan took one of the bags and together they watched where they stepped until they were out of the field that was serving as parking lot and onto the paved road. They were close to the Bridgeton Bridge. They could see Joy standing with a cameraman outside the van, which was parked in front of the bridge. The crowd that flowed around them on their way to walk through the bridge gave them second and third glances. A few people stopped to ask Joy for her autograph, which then caused more people to stop.

“It might be a good idea for us to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and Channel Six,” Francine said.

She and Jonathan began to pick up the pace. Francine was torn between looking side to side in the hopes of seeing Zed and watching in front of her to make sure she didn't run into anyone. Or that no one ran into her.

“Do you think he'll be in disguise?” Jonathan asked.

“He'll certainly stand out if he isn't.”

Vendors were stacked up along each side of the road like books in a bookcase, broken occasionally by pathways that led the crowds back to where even more crafters could be found. Jonathan seemed disgusted by the whole thing. “This is what I hate most about the Covered Bridge Festival. All this stuff is just … stuff.”

Francine gazed at the sea of people coming toward them. “Have you ever seen this many people dressed in
fall-themed
sweatshirts?”

“Ugly sweatshirts. It's a fad.”

“They're certainly ugly.” Francine spotted one in a screaming orange color that had a giant
jack-o
'-lantern with eyes that indicated the pumpkin was drunk. The round face of the sizeable woman who wore it was reddish. It was possible she was soused, as well.

The smells of the festival that Francine had admired back in Rockville were less prominent here, perhaps because of the sheer size of the spectacle Bridgeton had become. What was usually a tiny center to the burg, anchored by a grain mill on Big Raccoon River when the county was new, swelled to a giant marketplace during the two weeks of the festival. The carnival atmosphere stretched as far as Francine could see on both sides of the only road going through Bridgeton. There were so many food smells colliding with each other that she couldn't distinguish any, so there was nothing to enjoy about it.

“What's a bamboo pillow, and why are they so big?” Jonathan asked.

“I don't know,” Francine said, continuing on. A few moments later she realized Jonathan's curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he'd stopped back at a booth. Before she could turn around, someone put their arm around her. A man she didn't recognize clamped his hand over her mouth and steered her toward a nearby pathway, pulling her toward a vacant booth draped in black cloth where no one, especially Jonathan, would be able to see her.

nineteen

“It's Zed,” the man
said through gritted teeth. “I'm not going to harm you. We just need to get out of sight.”

Francine stomped on his foot and gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. His hand unexpectedly came off her mouth. “No, we're not,” she said. “If you want me to trust you, you're going to have to play this my way.”

He nonetheless continued to pull her toward the booth. “The police are looking for me.”

“They'll never see you here in the crowd. I don't even see any around.”

“Trust me, they're here.”

“Why should I trust you at all?”

“Because you stand to gain something people have searched for and never found.”

“Doc Wheat's treasure?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How is it yours to give?”

“Have you read your grandmother's diary that I gave you?”

“I barely got through the one that William had with him.”

“You didn't read the one I gave you?”

“You don't know what my life was like yesterday. It was nonstop from morning to night. I get tired. I'm old, you know.”

“You're one of the youngest old people I know.”

He said it as though it should have some significance. She took it as a compliment. They stood beside the booth. He dropped his arm from her shoulder and took possession of the two bags containing food and clothing. It was clear to her he was not going to try to drag her inside. She took a step out of his reach.

This gave her a chance to examine him. The voice was craggy and sounded like Zed's. But he was
clean-shaved
, his hair was cut, and he smelled of Old Spice. He was still intimidating because of his size, but he no longer looked like a mountain man. He was dressed in khaki cargo pants and was wearing an oversized ugly brown sweatshirt with pumpkins, footballs, and spray of colored leaves.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Francine said.

“Thanks. They're pretty easy to find around here.”

Francine started to cross her arms over her chest, but stopped, preferring to keep them loose in case she needed to defend herself. “You're wanted for questioning in the death of my cousin William.”

“And you expect me to turn myself in?”

“It would be the right thing to do.”

He shook his head. “Wanted for questioning is the same thing as being wanted. I've been a nuisance to the people around here for a long time, and the authorities would love to get something on me. It would be Involuntary Manslaughter, but still chargeable.”

“You don't feel any remorse?”

He shrugged. “I didn't kill him. He didn't die from being in the coma. He died because he was poisoned while he was in the coma.”

The news startled Francine. “Can you prove that?”

“I don't have to. The coroner will.”

“But you know who did it?”

“I am familiar with the work of the person who did. But that's not what I came here to talk about. So, you did read the first diary, then, the one William had?”

“I skimmed it last night.”

“And?”

“My
great-grandmother
had a child out of wedlock.”

“Which means?”

Francine knew people were streaming by them, but she couldn't see them. She was facing Zed, who was backed up against the black cloth separating the booths. She sensed there were not many behind her, and they moved quickly. She knew Jonathan would be looking for her. “I don't know what it means.”

“Your grandmother and William's grandfather were only half brother and sister.”

“We're still blood relatives.”

“But only through her mother's side.”

“What are you getting at?”

He seemed frustrated at her denseness. “
You
are the father's heir, not William. If you'd read the second diary, it would give you some inkling of the significance of what I just told you. Our conversation would have gone very differently, but …” His voice trailed off.

“Okay, so give me a chance to read it. I'm sure I'll have questions for you by then.”

“No doubt you will. But this is the last you'll see of me.”

He was running from the law.
“Are you going away?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He seemed sad.

She threw him a questioning look.

“I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the worst was being smug. So certain I knew what I was doing. Now I wish I had that clarity, even knowing now how flawed I am.”

He took a step forward.

She took one backward. Then she realized he was not advancing toward her but preparing to leave. “Earlier you talked about the secrets of the Roseville Bridge. It's gone now. What were they?”

“The diary should help you figure them out. In many ways it helps that the bridge is gone. I find it ironic. The person who wanted the secrets it contained has caused its destruction.”

“You know who set the fire?”

“Shortly you'll have all the information you need to put together the mystery.” He gave her a wry smile. “The only clarity I have left is the sense that it's time for me to go, to finish the task I should have taken care of ten years ago.” He looked away from her, up into the nothingness of the air, and she could tell he was blinking back tears. “My life has no purpose without her.”

Francine had simply become too confused with his vague references. “Who is this person you're talking about? Is it my grandmother?” She asked it even though her grandmother had been killed in a traffic accident much longer ago than ten years.

That brought his attention back to her. “Someone I treasured as much or more than her. I'm going to give you a hug. Will you let me? I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

For whatever reason she believed him. “Okay.”

He embraced her and held her tight, as though it would be the last human interaction he would have. She felt his strength, then his gentleness, then his weariness. His body started to rack with what might have been sobs, but it stopped. He cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Prove you are worthy of her. Find who killed William, and the truth should become evident to you.”

From out of nowhere she heard Alice exclaim, “There she is!”

Francine turned to see Alice about a hundred yards away.
Where did Jonathan go?
Alice had three sheriff's men with her. They stood where the bare path intersected the main road, but they didn't remain still for long. The second after Alice finished identifying Francine they were in motion, running toward Zed. He turned and charged into the hanging black cloth, crashing into the vendor on the other side of it.

Zed ducked to the ground and crawled under the cloth, continuing to pull on it. The aluminum frame strained, but it wouldn't give. Francine wondered if he were trying to pull the entire construction down. Then she smelled popcorn burning and something else too. Something less recognizable. She looked closely and realized the cloth was smoldering. It began to throw up smoke. Something behind the cloth caught fire. Flames began to lick the bottom of the cloth. The deputies trying to get fight their way through the cloth backed away. They ran up the path toward the paved road but a voice yelled, “Fire!” Francine was certain it was Zed.

It was then she felt Jonathan's hand. “I'm here,” he said. “I was searching the aisles looking for you when I heard Alice.”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy. People stampeded away from the booth. She knew Jonathan was trying to hang on to her but her wrist was being twisted and she cried out in pain. He had to let go or risk breaking it.

Francine found herself swept up in a growing mass of
bag-toting
women and junk food–carrying men heading toward the bridge. She spotted Joy and the Channel Six news van and tried to steer toward them, but the current of the crowd was too strong. She tried to fight her way out. As they neared the Bridgeton Bridge she caught a break and stumbled out of the crowd toward the river bank. Her momentum carried her forward, farther than she wanted to go. Soon she teetered on the bank, her feet tangled up in each other. At the last moment she was able to regain some balance and she managed her fall into the river so that she landed in a deep pocket of water.

The coldness of the water shocked her system. She gasped and stood up. Willing hands from bystanders helped her up the bank. When she finally reached terra firma, she found herself shivering in the chilly air and surrounded by a bank of cell phones, cameras, and the Channel Six news team recording the incident.

In the end, she was reunited with Jonathan, who found her towels so she could dry off. A vendor donated an authentic souvenir Covered Bridge Festival wool blanket for her to wrap up in, which she wore while being interviewed by Joy for a Channel Six news story.

Next, she had to talk to the sheriff's department. She told them about how Zed had grabbed her out of the crowd to talk to her. She did not, however, admit to having been there to meet with him. Feeling like she ought to throw them a bone for rescuing her, she did tell them about Zed's accusation that William had been poisoned.

They left to return to their temporary home in Rockville immediately after that. Francine insisted on going with Jonathan in his truck. Charlotte wanted to go with them, claiming she would have less motion sickness in the front seat of the truck. Joy joined the group in Jonathan's truck, which had a back seat. Alice and Toby took Francine's car, Alice driving.

“What is it about you and wet clothing that attracts such attention?” Charlotte asked. Francine sat between her and Jonathan in the front, still wrapped in the souvenir blanket trying to warming up.

“I'm glad you're doing better now that you've had some Dramamine,” Francine said, “but that doesn't mean I'm going to honor that stupid question with a response.”

Joy looked up from her cell phone. “The news van had set up a WiFi signal for me, but it's gone now. Honestly, there's no reliable cell service anywhere in this county.” She sighed. “And you needn't be so nasty to Charlotte. I didn't ask any tough questions, you know. You're lucky it was me interviewing you so I only touched on the wet sundress incident last summer. If you hadn't taken off so much of your wet clothing while the camera was pointed at you, it wouldn't have come up. Déjà vu.”

“The sweater and the jacket were heavy and wet and cold. They had to come off so drying off the rest of the clothes and wrapping up in the hideous blanket would have some effect.”

Joy put the cell phone in her purse. “I thought you would be okay with it. I mean, you were so anxious to get those pinup photos I took of you and Jonathan …”

Charlotte started coughing. And coughing. Then she switched to gagging.

Francine looked at Charlotte with narrowed eyes. “I gather this is something you don't want discussed.” She turned to Joy. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Joy got defensive. “Really? Charlotte's been haranguing me to get copies made every chance she gets. She claimed you wanted them. It's been tough because the station's kept me so busy, but I did print them out. She snatched them up before we started the séance. I thought she'd given them to you.”

“I'm gonna throw up!” Charlotte bellowed. She opened the window and stuck her head out.

“No you're not,” Francine said. “We all know you're faking it. Now be quiet so I can hear about this.”

Joy pulled a couple of 4x6 photos out of her purse. “Charlotte took the two best ones, but here are a few others. I saw them when I put the cell phone away, which is what made me think to say something.” She passed them directly to Francine. “Those are sexy, Francine, and I don't say that just because Jonathan is a
fine-looking
specimen, even at seventy. Or because I feel I coaxed the best facial expressions from you.”

Francine held the four photos side by side. The first three showed her and Jonathan in various stages of disrobing in the carriage, all while passionately kissing. The desperation in their eyes, which could be interpreted as anxiousness to get to making love, was palpable. It almost made her laugh, since the desperation had been all about getting the photo shoot over. But the fourth photo was the one that made her uncomfortable. It had been taken through the window of the carriage. Jonathan was laid back on the seat
bare-chested
with Francine lying on him, her blouse unbuttoned provocatively low. Though it was unclear just how much of their lower bodies might be unclothed, their hips were snug together. Francine's face was the focal point of the picture, and her expression was a vacant one, like she was sliding into ecstasy and could think of nothing else.

Her face flushed. “This one can't get out in public.”

“It's too bad I'm driving,” Jonathan said, “because I need to see these. They sound hot.”

“Mary Ruth thinks this one should be December's photo,” Joy said, leaning up and stabbing at finger at a picture, “because in her opinion if it doesn't define ‘sexy,' she doesn't know what does. Period costumes, an unusual setting, a lot implied without revealing too much skin. I agree. Wow. I'm almost sorry the only other people who see it will be those few we give a calendar to.”

“That's the reason I was pushing to get it,” Charlotte said, too quickly in Francine's opinion. “I needed to get this to my friend who's putting the calendar together. We reserved October and December for Francine's photos. Now the calendar can be finished and printed.”

“To what end?” Francine asked.

“So we'll all have copies to give our significant others for Christmas. Plus, I can check this off my Sixty List.”

Francine did not buy this. “It's only
mid-October
. How long would it realistically take to get a few copies printed?”