The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival (3 page)

Steve and Morgan walked in. They were sweaty
from riding bikes. Steve got a glass of water and sat in a big
plush chair. Morgan grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“Hey! Chloe, was it?” Morgan said. He sat on
the couch next to Tracy. “What’s your story, anyway?”

“My dad grew up here--that’s why we’re here,
now. We were on the west coast when I was a kid. San
Francisco--which I don’t really remember, then LA, then
Nashville--that’s where we were last where my dad got shot!”

“Holy shit! For real?” Steve said.

“Well ‘just’ in the shoulder. He was only in
the hospital for a day, then lots of physical therapy. His arm was
in a sling for a couple of months. He couldn’t even make it
move--and it basically atrophied into a broom stick. At therapy,
they would just spin it around for him while he tried not to shout.
It’s basically back to normal, now, though.”

“So back to sleepy Chardon to recover and put
the pieces together?” Steve said.

“That and we have some family in the area--my
Grandma on mom’s side.”

“Do you miss the city life?” Tracy asked.

“We just moved in last week, so I haven’t had
time to miss anything yet. Nashville was cool. It’s a sort of small
city/town, but there’s always something happening. LA was the
burbs---but the Ocean was close and I was at the beach all the
time---I had a group of friends. I haven’t been here long enough to
judge, obvs.”

Tracy, “Here, you have to make your fun.
Every once in a while someone throws a party. But they’re usually
just
meh
,” she wobbled her hand back and forth, “not worth
going, or they’re stupidly crazy blow outs with ambulances and cops
and fights.”

Steve, “And the cliques are basically set in
stone at this point. You’re the first new kid in years.”

Morgan, “I think Tracy is the last one. She
went from hanging with the rich kids at Tweedy Pines Academy to
hanging with… us.”

“Mom had me go there for high school. I was
only there in ninth grade, and I was pretty miserable. I think I
would have ended up back in Chardon no matter what. Anyway, once it
was just me and my Uncle there was no argument.”

“So now you’re back with the poor kids…”
Steve said.

Morgan nodded. “Well, at least one poor kid
he pointed at himself.”

“At Tweedy, I
was
a poor kid. There
were new money kids, old money rich kids, and old money ‘poor’... I
guess that’s me… just draining the accounts, now. Well, trying not
to.”

“Old money poor?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah, well, we really don’t count for much
in the money category. To me, this house is big and nice and
comfortable, but it’d just be the guest house or maybe a
barn
for some of those families at Tweedy. When I say my
family is ‘old’, all I mean is we know our history--every family is
the same age, right? But yeah, follow me for the Wells Family
History tour. The parts I know anyway.”

They walked into the library. It was a two
story room with big bay windows and rows of stoutly built walnut
bookshelves that formed aisles from the floor to the ceiling. Oil
paintings and black and white photos hung from the sides of the
bookcases and the walls. A plank walkway circled the second floor
aisles.

“See that painting?” She pointed to a big
portrait on the wall. “That’s my great-great-something
grandparents. They were part of the original Massachusetts Bay
settlement. Eventually, my family came here to help set up the
Western Reserve deal… which was a total flop my dad says… Then they
just stayed here instead of moving back East. Really, we’ve been on
this farm since--mothers having babies, grandparents dying in
beds.”

“That’s amazing.” Chloe said and looked
around the room. A twinge of self consciousness crept into her
mind. “My family history goes back to… my Dad and my Mom and
Grandma.”

“Well, don’t feel bad, no matter what, it’s
better than mine.” Morgan said and whistled twice into the beer
bottle.

Keith’s office was in an old industrial park
in Newbury, only about 7 miles from the condo. When he called about
the place, he got a rose-colored description, for sure. The carpet
was threadbare, and the office furniture looked like it had been
sitting in a warehouse since Ike was President. At least there was
a big picture window and he could see a patch of blue sky above the
warehouse next door.

He was setting up the computer on the desk
when there was a knock at the door. “Hello?” a man called out. He
was wearing a tan sport jacket and jeans and had thick bifocals.
His hair was white, but still thick and wavy. He looked familiar.
Keith squinted at him.

“You look so familiar… Chardon High?”

“Yes, that’s right, Keith. I remember you,
but really only because I heard you were back in town. I looked you
up in the yearbook before I came by.”

“Let’s see if I can remember… Rrrrrrriiiich,
Rich Simons, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me, I think the white hair
really throws people. It’s a genetic thing.”

“Tell me about the hair! Where did mine go?”
Keith rubbed his head and sighed. “It doesn’t seem that long ago,
but man time just marches on faster and faster. I think once I hit
thirty, the years started going by in the blink of an eye.”

“Tell me about it! My
youngest
is in
college this year. I’m an empty nester!”

“Just curious, how’d you find my office? I
haven’t even put an ad in the paper yet.”

“I saw you move in. My office is just across
the road.” He gestured over his shoulder. ”I actually could use
some help if you’re ready to do some work.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“I’m an attorney. A friend of a friend asked
me to look into a hit and run...”

“The Judge? I saw the driver was just
sentenced.”

“Yes that’s it.”

“I read about it in the paper this morning.
Tragic accident.”

“Yeah… well…. maybe an accident. I’ve heard
gossip about your career here and there… you’ve had, let’s say, an
exciting
career while I’ve been doing Wills and
Divorces.”

“Yeah, it’s been exciting at times....” he
rubbed his shoulder. The muscle was still more like jelly than the
solid mass it used to be--he still couldn’t do a push-up.

“Well, people will be glad you’re back.
Things have changed here… a lot… and not all for the better.”

“Fill me in over a drink?”

“Stop over later today and we can crack a
bottle.”

Tracy, Chloe and the boys walked through the
woods. The leaves were just starting to change, and the tractor
trail was dry and hard as concrete. The trail ended at the top of a
hill. Hemlock trees shaded a fire ring, beyond it the hill sloped
down toward a sheer sandstone wall, which plunged to the valley
floor below. The woods was carpeted with centuries of leaves from
ancient, tall oaks, smooth barked beeches and immense, gnarled
maples. The brilliant bright field was visible in the distance.

The boys set down a cooler and popped open
two more bottles. “Want any?”

Tracy, “No, I’m good. Please guys, don’t get
drunk. You’re not staying over here again. Your parents hate me
enough.”

“Hate you?” Chloe asked.

Steve tapped the bottle with his fingernail.
“She ‘
undermines parental authority by living alone’
… that’s
what my mom says.”

“I have to run into town, too.” Tracy
said.

“More online auctions?” Steve asked.

“I have to pay the property taxes on this
place next month. That’s the downside to independence.”

Morgan asked, “Why not get the firewood
business going again? Or sell some more trees to the Amish guy?
Where’s your Uncle anyway...”

“He’s here one month then gone for six. It’s
too early for the firewood. Yeah, I need to scout around here again
for some more trees to sell. I always feel bad selling them though.
I’d rather just sell the shit we still have in the attic from Mom’s
shop.”

“Some of that stuff is your history… Trees,
well, they’re just trees. Can you hear them scream or something?”
Morgan screamed and mimed toppling over.

“I get it about the trees...” Chloe said
looking around at the canopy. “These are old, old trees.”

Morgan hit Steve’s shoulder, “Should we climb
the cliff before we go?”

“Oh you ‘studz’ with a ‘z’ have to show off?
Geez don’t fall again. Remember that?”

“Scared the shit out of us.” Steve said.
“That must have been twenty feet.”

“No blood, no foul.” Morgan said.

The boys ran down a path to the valley floor.
Chloe jogged after them. On the steepest part of the path, the boys
descended wildly, arms flailing. Steve kept kicking at Morgan’s
heels to try to knock him over. When they got to the bottom, they
were both out of breath. Chloe stopped and looked up. “Hey, that
looks taller from here.”

“We don’t try to go all the way up the face
anymore. If you reach that root there, you can get into that
crevasse between the rocks, then the tree roots are like a ladder
back up to the top. It’s fun. Watch me.” Morgan followed a well
tested path up the face to the root. Then he hoisted himself into
the crack and wedged himself in so he could look down. “See, it’s
easy.”

Chloe followed up to the root. Morgan held
out a hand to help her. “Let’s see if I can do this.” She grabbed
another handhold then scampered up the face to the top.

“Holy moly… are you a monkey?!” He could just
see her face peering over, smiling at him. She flexed her
muscles.

Keith trotted across Kinsman Road to the “Law
Offices of Richard Simons III”. The office was a converted Cape
Cod. There was a reception room and two lawyer’s offices. The place
still had a full kitchen. Rich opened the fridge. “Let’s see.
There’s beer, I think there’s some wine, and there’s definitely
some whiskey… the good stuff. I think there’s even a couple of
bottles of champagne in here…”

“Beer sounds perfect. You said things were
changing for the worse around here. What’s been going on?”

“There have always been drugs, right, but
it’s gotten a lot more organized lately, and more hard stuff, lots
of heroin, believe it or not. It’s got people worried.”

Keith nodded. “That’s a shame. Could be
growing pangs. I guess more people means more bad people.”

“You’re probably right about that.” Rich
trailed off. He took a big drink.

Keith decided to push the conversation toward
business, “What do you know about the accident?”

“My client--and before you ask, I should say
the client will remain anonymous--suspects it wasn’t an accident. A
month before Judge Marcus was killed, Sarah Cantoe won the lottery.
She redeemed a scratch off ticket worth $100k.”

“She could just be lucky.” Keith smirked.

“It’s an ideal way to pay someone for dirty
deeds, right?”

Keith scratch the stubble on his bald head.
“Is there anything more to go on than that? That’s some weak stuff,
Rich. That’s like putting a carrot in a bucket of water and calling
it soup.”

“Well, from my perspective her behavior was
unusual, really out of character. This perpetually broke, druggie
party girl didn’t blow
any
of the money in a month. For the
first time in her life, she was prudent and socked it
all
away.”

“Interesting. It’s possible someone managed
her…” Keith raised an eyebrow. “That’s definitely some smoke, at
least. I investigated a couple contract killings on insurance
cases. They were both done by dumb-ass criminals who left a trail a
blind man could follow. An interesting question here is who could
get their hands on a winning scratch off ticket like that?”

“Yeah, I’ve wondered about that.”

“Any way we can we talk to Sarah Cantoe? That
might save us a lot of time.”

“Hmmm.” Rich put his fingers together. “I
think we can.”

Steve and Morgan raced Tracy and Chloe down
the driveway on their bikes. She stayed parallel to them for a few
seconds like it was a contest, then drove away. They shook fists in
mock rage.

She and Chloe drove to the PO to drop off the
package. The attendant knew her now as a regular. She’d mailed
dozens of packages all over the country. “Hi Tracy, any insurance
on this one?”

“Not on this one, thanks Emily.” She patted
the box and she and Chloe went out into the parking lot. The sun
was starting to sink on the horizon and the heat of the autumn day
was turning chill. The pavement smell wafted through the air.

“Cha-ching. Food for the next few weeks! I
need a smoke… well a vape anyway. It’s killing me.”

“I’m glad I never started smoking.”

“Yeah, it’s a really bad habit. After my
parents were gone, I smoked in the house for a while, really mostly
just because I could. Then one day I was cleaning the windows in
the library and saw how nasty the rag was from the tar. I switched
to this, which seems better,” she waved the e-cigarette, “and I’m
tapering off.”