Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (10 page)

Cameron and Leonard shook hands.

"I take it that's your store across the street," Cameron said.

"It most certainly is," Leonard said. "You ought to pay a visit. I'd love to show you around."

"I'd like that. I'll be here at least a few weeks."

Cameron wondered how he could possibly steer the conversation back on track when he saw yet another distraction. A large black man, who appeared to be no more than thirty, pushed a broom in the back of the newsroom. Cameron did not need to know more to know that the man was Tom Parker, the paper's janitor and Candice Bell's future killer.

"Have you found a place to stay?" Leonard asked.

"I have," Cameron said. "I'm renting a room now at the Vanderburgh Hotel."

"Then you have everything you need. That's the nicest place in town," Leonard said. He gave Richard a knowing smile before returning to Cameron. "I should go. I have a store to run. It was nice meeting, young man. I hope you enjoy your stay in Evansville."

"Thank you."

Cameron shook Leonard's hand a second time and watched him go out the door. He turned to face the others just as Richard slipped on his suit jacket.

"I should probably go as well. I have some contracts to draw up," Richard said. He looked at Thad. "Can I count on you for dinner tomorrow night?"

"You can," Thad said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Then I'll see you at six," Richard said. He turned to Cameron. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Coelho. I hope we meet again."

"I hope so too."

Cameron shook Richard's hand and then watched him exit the building and walk across the street to the firm that bore his name. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the man, but he was glad he had met him. He had little doubt they would meet again.

"It looks like we got sidetracked," Thad said with a chuckle. "If you still have questions about Miss Bell, I would be happy to answer as many as I can."

"I just want to know when she'll be back," Cameron said. "I would like to speak with her as soon as I can."

"Then you may have to wait a while."

"Why is that?"

"She's on an extended leave," Thad said. "She's currently spending time with her mother at the family farm in Griffin. I don't expect her back before the thirtieth."

"How far is Griffin from here?" Cameron asked.

"It's about thirty miles."

Cameron took a breath and weighed his options.

"That's quite a ways. Can she be reached by telephone?"

"She can," Thad said.

"Do you know where I can find a phone around here?"

Thad smiled.

"I do. There's one in my office. Would you like to use it?"

"I would," Cameron said. "Thank you."

"Then follow me."

Thad spoke to Mrs. Franklin, who seemed transfixed by the whole exchange, and then led Cameron to an office near the front of the newsroom. Once inside, he walked to the back of the chamber, sat at his desk, and reached for a black telephone. He lifted the handset of the phone, dialed a number, and waited until someone, presumably an operator, came on the line.

"This is Thad Grant at the
Post
," he said in a confident voice. "I'd like to reach the Bell residence in Griffin. Can you put me through?"

Cameron smiled and shook his head as he saw technology – 1925 technology – in action. He did not bother asking Thad which cellular provider he preferred.

Thad returned the visitor's smile as he waited for a reply. A moment later, he pushed the handset closer to his head and spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Hello? Candice? Is that you?"

A voice streamed through the receiver.

"Yes, it's me," Thad said. "No, there's nothing wrong. I'm calling because a man from Rhode Island came to the paper this morning to see you. He's a doctoral student. He wants to speak to you about local native rituals."

Cameron chuckled.

"I know you're on leave. I'll make it up to you when you get back," Thad said. "Would you like to speak to him? He's right here in my office."

Thad listened to the woman on the other end for a few seconds. When she stopped speaking, he stood up, looked at Cameron, and held out the handset.

"She's all yours, Mr. Coelho."

Cameron stepped forward, took the handset from Thad, and held it to his face. He gathered his thoughts and his courage and then did something he never thought he would do. He spoke to a woman who had been dead for almost a hundred years.

"Hello, Miss Bell. I'm sorry to disturb you this morning, but I would really like to speak with you in person at the earliest opportunity. My name is Cameron Coelho …"

CHAPTER 13: CAMERON

Griffin, Indiana – Wednesday, March 18, 1925

Cameron fidgeted in his seat as the Checker cab – a green, black, and yellow novelty in the age of black Model Ts – moved slowly down the narrow dirt road. Though he was eager to finally meet the woman who had haunted his dreams for a month, he was also nervous. He was nervous because he knew that first impressions mattered and that he would never again have the chance to make a first impression on Candice Bell.

"Is that the place?" Cameron asked.

"That's the place," Otto Braun said.

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

Cameron decided to drop the matter. He saw nothing to gain by second-guessing the only taxi driver in Evansville willing to cart him thirty miles to a farmhouse on the edge of the earth.

Cameron suspected that Braun, a Hamburg product, had come this way at least a few times, if only to visit friends and relatives. German immigrants comprised nearly half the population of Posey County, a rural, puzzle piece of a county that formed Indiana's southwestern tip.

Otto turned off the main road and headed up a driveway that led to a white, gabled, two-story home that was architecturally similar to the Painted Lady in Los Angeles. Henry and Percival Bell had apparently had more in common than a bloodline and a passion for knowledge.

A moment later, Otto stopped in front of the house, near a Model T with whitewall tires, and shifted into neutral. He looked over his shoulder at his lone passenger.

"What would you like me to do?" Otto asked.

"Wait here," Cameron said. "I want to make sure someone's home."

"I understand."

"If the Bells are home and receive me, then you can leave. Buy yourself a nice dinner in town and come back for me in a couple of hours."

"I'll do that."

Cameron opened his door, grabbed his satchel, and exited the cab. He stepped around the back of the vehicle to the driver's side and walked up to Otto's open window.

"Here's a twenty to make sure you don't forget," Cameron said as he handed the driver a crisp banknote. "I don't want to spend the night in the cornfields."

"I'll be back," Otto said.

Cameron checked his watch, saw it was a quarter to four, and then glanced at the darkening sky. He did not like the idea of putting Otto out or driving at night, but he knew he did not have a choice. If he wanted to see Candice before she returned to work, he had to see her today.

"You're a good man, Otto," Cameron said.

Cameron stepped away from the cab and continued toward the house. He got as far as the edge of the open porch when he saw a woman in a plain yellow dress open the front door.

"You must be the doctoral student," she said.

And you must be my mission.

"I am," Cameron said. "I take it you're the journalist."

The woman smiled.

"I am around here," Candice said. She opened the door wider. "Please come inside."

Cameron glanced back at Otto, smiled, and waved him off. Then he walked across the porch, wiped his feet on a mat, and stepped into the house.

A moment later, Candice closed the door, turned around, and joined Cameron in a large parlor. With two Louis XV settees, ornate lamps, and striped wallpaper, the chamber looked more like a museum exhibit than the receiving room of an Indiana farmhouse.

"Can I take your jacket or get you anything?" Candice asked.

"No, thank you," Cameron said.

The two young, attractive, single adults stood in the middle of the room and looked at each other for a seemingly endless moment. When the moment went from pleasant to awkward, one of the adults took a breath, smiled sweetly, and extended a hand.

"I'm Candice Bell," she said with a Hoosier twang. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Coelho."

Cameron shook the delicate hand and assessed Miss Bell a second time. At five-foot-four, she was shorter than he had expected. At maybe 110 pounds, she was smaller too. She looked a bit different than the woman in the photograph, but she was just as pretty in person. With auburn hair cut in a bob, bright green eyes, and a girl-next-door face, she was a delightful mix of simple and sophisticated. She was Holly Hunter in
Broadcast News
.

"It's nice to meet you," Cameron said. "Thank you for agreeing to see me today."

"It's my pleasure," Candice replied. "I figured we could talk in the living room. That way we won't wake up my mother. She's sleeping in the bedroom down the hall."

"The living room works for me."

"I thought it would. Please follow me."

Cameron followed Candice down a long hallway, past two closed doors, and into a large, bright, lavishly furnished room that faced the west side of the property. An enormous paned picture window offered impressive views of the back lawn, a freshly planted field, and the Wabash River, a scenic waterway that divided southern Illinois and Indiana.

At Candice's invitation, he took a seat on a large sofa that faced the window. He placed his satchel on the coffee table, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and made himself comfortable. He turned to face his hostess when she sat beside him on the couch.

"This is quite a room," Cameron said. "I didn't know farmhouses had rooms like this."

"This is no ordinary farmhouse," Candice replied. "Then again, to be honest, our farm is not exactly a farm. The fields around this house are more or less glorified gardens."

"They look like farm fields to me."

Candice laughed.

"That's because you're from Rhode Island."

Cameron chuckled.

"That's why I came to Indiana. I want to see real farms – big farms. I want to see how people in the rural heartland live each day. In short, I want to know what makes the locals tick."

Candice smiled.

"Thad said you were the curious type."

"I guess you could say that," Cameron said.

"Well, then, Mr. Curious, how can I help you?"

As Cameron paused to ponder the question, he glanced again out the window and noticed the sky turn even darker. He wondered if the storm rolling in from Illinois would scare Otto back to Evansville before he returned to collect his paying customer.

"Mr. Coelho?" Candice asked.

"Yes?"

"I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry," Cameron said. "I guess I drifted off."

"That's all right," Candice said. "I do it all the time."

"You want to know how you can help me?"

"Yes. I want to know how I can help you with your research. I assume you didn't come all the way out here to admire the view from my living room."

Cameron glanced again at the changing sky. He didn't like the looks of the churning clouds coming in from the southwest and wondered again what Otto was up to.

"You're right. I didn't," Cameron said. He turned to Candice. "I came here to pick your brain, to use a New England expression. I came here to learn about Indiana."

"Do you have a specific question?"

"I do. I have several, in fact."

"Then fire away," Candice said.

"OK. Most are pretty basic. What can you tell me about the people who live here? What are their virtues and vices and quirks? What do they do for excitement?"

"They try to sleep!"

Cameron turned his head toward the voice and saw an older woman by the entry. He stood up when he saw her folded arms, irritated eyes, and frowning face.

"You must be Marjorie," Cameron said.

"That's Mrs. Bell to you," Marjorie replied.

Cameron chuckled.

"Hello, Mrs. Bell. I'm Cameron Coelho. I'm the man who called yesterday."

"I figured as much."

Candice stood up.

"Be polite, Mother. Mr. Coelho is my guest."

Marjorie forced a smile and dropped her arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coelho."

"The pleasure is mine," Cameron said.

The visitor considered stepping forward and extending a hand, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He did not want to take the chance that Marjorie Bell, a short, stout, bumblebee of a woman, might take that hand and bite it off.

"Mr. Coelho is here to learn about Indiana and our customs," Candice said. She smiled. "He wants to know if we cook our captives before we eat them."

Cameron chuckled.

"That's not funny, Mr. Coelho," Marjorie said.

Cameron quickly contained himself.

"You're right. It's not. I apologize for waking you."

"That's all right. I had to get up anyway. I have a supper to fix."

"Well, don't let me keep you."

Marjorie stared at Cameron, as if trying to decide whether he was friend or foe, and rubbed her chin. When she finished staring and rubbing, she smiled warmly and spoke in a soft voice.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I had breakfast at ten," Cameron said.

"That was hours ago," Marjorie replied. "Let me put another plate on the table. You can dine with us tonight."

"Thank you. I'd like that."

Cameron looked back at Candice to see if she approved of her mother's invitation and his reply. He could see by her gentle smile and blushing cheeks that she did.

"Then let me get at it," Marjorie said. "Chickens don't cook themselves."

Cameron laughed. He pondered a witty reply but decided to remain silent. He could not think of anything that could possibly top Marjorie Bell's rejoinder.

Then, just that quickly, the weather replaced witty mothers, blushing daughters, and chicken dinners as the main attraction. Rain and hail struck the window with frightening force. The lights in the room flickered and failed. A howling wind bent two trees in the yard like blades of grass.