Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (6 page)

“I think I see exactly
where. Isn’t that crime tape up there on the right?” He sounded
excited.

We drove through remnants
of the small town. It appeared to be somewhat lively, with a large
gas station/convenience store, a pizza place and a canoe
livery.

The yellow plastic tape was
completely blocking the public access to the river. I was pretty
sure that wasn’t making the livery owners happy in August. We
pulled slowly past the access, and as we crept by I had a glimpse
of two divers wading from the water. I also caught sight of a solid
man with short grizzled hair and a scowl on his face, Detective
Milford. He wore a tie, but no suit coat, and his sleeves were
rolled part way up his arms. He looked hot and
frustrated.

“Pull over, I want to talk
with the Detective,” I said.

“Sure, but I thought it
wasn’t your murder,” Chad said with a grin.

Milford spotted me and
began walking toward us. “Well, well, well. Look who turns up at
the scene of the crime,” he said.

“Detective Milford, this is
my son Chad Raven. Actually, we were out looking at riverfront
properties, and sort of wandered into Jalmari.” I paused, but
Milford just looked from Chad to me. “Is this where Mr. Canfield
was killed?” I asked.

“Probably not, but we’re
checking the river for evidence since he was found here,” he said,
jerking a thumb toward the divers who were peeling off equipment
behind him. “Hello, Chad. Are you planning to live here with your
mother?”

“Oh, no. I’m just visiting.
I’m still in college. We were sort of checking out cottages for
fun.”

“Did you find something in
the water?” I asked. I was searching the concrete launch ramp for
anything the divers might have brought in that looked out of
place.

Milford responded. “Not
here. But it is very interesting that the murder weapon has been
identified as a hatchet, and so far the only extra hatchet to be
found is one you brought to me.”

I suddenly felt slightly
dizzy. “So, that was blood on it?”

The detective shuffled his
feet and sighed. “Yes it was.”

My stomach turned over. The
thought that I’d almost handled something which had been used to
kill someone, even someone I didn’t know, was not
pleasant.

Chad was watching Milford
closely, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “There’s something he’s
not telling you, Ma.”

“Your son is very
observant,” Milford said. “There was dried blood on the hatchet,
but it was chicken blood.”

“Chicken blood!” I said,
taking a step back. “What on earth?”

Milford ran a hand over his
short hair, and shook off drops of sweat. “That hatchet wasn’t used
on Jared Canfield unless that was earlier, and then it was cleaned
exceptionally well before it was used on a chicken. Nevertheless, I
don’t think you should take any overnight trips until we get this
cleared up.”

“Me? You think I had
something to do with this?”

“At this point, I’m not
thinking. I’m just collecting data.”

“What about Cora?” I said
in my defense. “It was sent to her.”

“She’s already had a call
from my office. You'll find a message in your own voicemail.” He
turned to Chad. “Nice to meet you, son. Will you be here
long?”

“Just a couple of
days.”

Detective Milford rolled
his eyes toward me and spoke to Chad in a man-to-man sort of tone
that infuriated me, “See if you can keep your mother out of
trouble.”

Chad stuck out his hand to
shake with the detective and said, “I doubt I’ll be very good at
that.”

Chapter 8

We headed back toward town
with Chad still at the wheel. I was lost in a brown study featuring
hatchets, local animosities, and derelict dwellings. Chad, however,
was hungry. After just a few miles he said, “Your refrigerator was
pretty empty. Is there somewhere we can get some food?”

I pulled myself back to the
present, embarrassed that the recent events of my newly adopted
county could so completely block out the limited time I had
available to spend with my only child. “Sure. Let’s go to Volger’s
Grocery. If Adele’s there, you can meet her. She’s one of my best
friends.”

It didn’t take long to
drive back to Cherry Hill, since we were no longer looking down
every driveway or two-track. However, when we passed the old school
Chad pulled to the curb and studied the building carefully. I found
this quite curious since he hadn’t shared my enthusiasm for the
architectural beauty of the brick building.

“Would you try to find out
who owns it?” he asked.

“Why?”

“It really would be a great
place to bring some friends for Halloween weekend. We could have a
party and creep each other out.”

“I don’t know if the
neighbors would appreciate that.”

“What neighbors? There
aren’t any houses nearby in any direction. That makes it spookier.
And the whole block across the street is empty. That must be where
they played ball and stuff.”

I was dubious. “I’ll ask
around, but don’t expect miracles.”

“You can come, too. Invite
your friends. Make it a town party.”

“That’s not the point. I
don’t know what to tell you, but I’ll try.”

“Good.” Chad nodded his
head and pulled back into the traffic lane. “Now let’s get some
groceries.”

I directed him to Main
Street and to the parking beside Adele’s store. Volger’s Grocery
looks like a holdover from another era. There is no wide,
sliding-glass double door for a front entry. Instead, one passes
under the shady branches of a large maple tree which has broken the
sidewalk with its roots, steps up onto a large stone slab recessed
between thrust display windows and then opens a squeaking wooden
door secured with a thumb latch. Once inside, the sense of entering
a time capsule is somewhat overcome. One can see the thriving
business has expanded to fill two adjacent buildings, and sturdy
metal beams support openings to those spaces. A side door with a
ramp allows better access to the parking lot for rolling filled
carts to vehicles.

Adele stocks more than
convenience foods. She offers a full line of groceries, produce and
meats. There’s even a limited deli case. Without the success of
Volger’s Grocery, Cherry Hill would likely shrivel and die.
Speculating with Chad about people in town who wield power made me
realize that Adele was certainly in the upper ranks of influence,
even if she didn’t power dress.

She was working this day,
and I introduced Chad to her.

He was cheerful and polite.
“Hello, Mrs. Volger. I’m glad to see my mom makes friends with
people who can supply food.”

“Call me Adele, Chad. It’s
nice to meet you. Let me guess, her refrigerator is empty
again.”

I squirmed and tried not to
look sheepish.

“It is,” Chad said. “But
I’m picturing something lean and red that could be cooked on a
grill.”

“Yes, indeed. A young
fellow like you needs more than a salad to keep you going. I have
some nice T-bones on sale.”

“Now we’re
talking.”

Before long we had a cart
filled with steaks and hamburger, fresh corn on the cob, potato
salad from the deli, more staples for the next day, assorted snack
items and a bag of charcoal. Adele followed us around, chatting
with Chad about Isle Royale, while keeping an eye on the cash
register.

Chad seemed quite willing
to talk to Adele. This was a side of him I hadn’t seen before. He
clearly thought of himself as an adult and soon barged right into
the topic on his mind.

“My mom’s been telling me
about the unsolved murder. In fact, we just came from that place
with the funny name...”

“Jalmari,” I put
in.

“Yeah, that’s it. They had
divers in the river and everything. But the detective said the guy
hadn’t been killed there. So that means he came from somewhere
upstream. Like maybe from a cottage, or here in town.”

“I heard on the scanner
about the divers being called out,” Adele offered tentatively.
Maybe she was feeling less inclined to gossip after the debacle
with the Jerry/Jared name mix-up.

Chad continued, “What I’m
wondering, I mean, it would take someone who’s lived here a long
time to know...”

“Hold on,” Adele said,
scooting for the checkout line. She quickly rang out another
customer, Harold Fanning, the city manager. He was picking up milk
and bread. I also spotted a package of heat wraps for muscle pain
in his pile. Maybe his wife was dragging him to exercise classes
again.

I turned to Chad and
whispered, “What are you trying to do? I thought you were teasing
me for getting involved in all these local crimes.”

He just grinned at me and
shrugged. Adele motioned us to the checkout lane and began scanning
items from our cart.

“Well, what is it you’re
wondering, son? I’ve lived here all my life. If you want answers,
estimates, or even wild guesses, I’m the best source of
information,” she boasted.

Chad glanced my way and
smirked. “I’m an outsider, for sure, but it looks to me like
someone is trying to send a big fat warning to your Jerry
Caulfield. So, who would want to see him out of the
way?”

“Now that’s an awfully
serious question.” Adele sat a full bag of our groceries back in
the cart with a solid thump. “I’ve been thinking about that
myself.”

“Well?”

“Could be a lot of people.
There’s Jack Panther, of course.”

“Jack Panther!” I
exclaimed. I had no idea the owner of the Pine Tree had bad blood
with Jerry.

“What’s his beef?” Chad
asked.

“Oh yes, Jack and Jerry go
back a long way. When the Cherry Blossom Restaurant closed Jack
tried to buy it. Jerry didn’t think Jack had enough class to run a
nice restaurant like that. He used his leverage with the officers
at the bank, and Jack couldn’t get a loan.”

“What’s this Jack do now?”
Chad asked.

“He owns the little diner
down the street,” I said.

“But that’s nothing
compared to what the Cherry Blossom could have brought in,
right?”

“Definitely,” Adele said.
“Jerry Caulfield is a good man, but he has a lot of influence over
what happens in this town.”

“I wonder if Jerry is
making a mental list of people who might have something against
him,” I mused aloud.

Chad guffawed. “Ma, by now
the police have sat him down and told him to make that list on
paper. For them.”

Chapter 9

Chad complained about my
tiny tabletop grill, but he managed to get a nice bed of coals
going, and while I worked on shucking and boiling the corn, he
watched the steaks.

Although it wasn’t yet
fall, sunset was coming noticeably earlier. We sat on the concrete
terrace and angled our chairs toward the swamp, to keep the low
orange sun out of our eyes. We watched the slanting light set the
tops of the trees aglow. I still didn’t have a picnic table, but
the card table served well enough for the two of us. Chad was
devouring his steak like a lumberjack. I was enjoying mine, but
this was way too much food for me; I was already planning two more
meals from this slab of meat. I’d add some vegetables and
rice...

“Ma, I want you to think
about something,” Chad intruded on my thoughts, as he lay down his
fork. His tone was serious.

“What?”

“I don’t think you are
taking very good care of yourself. You don’t have a television or
an internet connection...”

My initial reaction to this
statement wasn’t positive, and I interrupted. “I don’t miss having
electronic toys at all. When I do, I’ll get them.”

“It’s not just that. I
don’t like the way you live out here all alone at the end of a dirt
road. You don’t have furniture in all your rooms or any curtains at
all. You hardly keep enough food in the refrigerator for your next
meal.”

“Hold on, there! I’m not
very alone. I talk on the phone with Cora or Adele almost every
day.” Chad didn’t need to know that was a bit of a fib. And, since
when did college students worry about furniture and curtains? “I’ve
been able to fix up this house just the way I want to, and I’m
enjoying working on it a little bit at a time without your father
telling me what to do. And, do I look like I’m starving?” I patted
my hips which were neither skinny nor excessively padded for a
woman of forty-two.

“Do you even know your
closest neighbor?”

That made me stop and
think. I had to admit I didn’t know him very well. When I lived in
the suburbs, there had been hundreds of people living within a half
mile. Here, the closest house was two-plus miles away at Cherry Pit
Junction. An old widower, Eino Tangen, lived there alone. He had
been polite but hadn’t encouraged me to contact him again when I’d
knocked on his door in May to introduce myself.