Forgotten Boxes (16 page)

“No, Miss Evelyn,” he admitted in a gruff voice. “A little hot
coffee ain’t nothing. I think we’re both in a big old pot of boiling water.”

One Day Later

March 14, 1984

After a restless night, Harry arrived at the warehouse an hour
earlier than usual. He was not surprised to find the worker bees already there,
scurrying back and forth, as they loaded his truck with packages. Galano was there,
as well, but Brenda had yet to arrive. That gave Harry the opportunity to examine
the latest bit of paper he had stored in the picture frame.

Sure enough, the paper was blank, but there was no denying the
quality. Fine fibers were woven throughout the paper, making it feel very much like
the ten-dollar bill he held in his other hand.

Before slipping the papers back beneath Nell’s photo, he glanced
at the previous collection. There were notations of dates and the number of packages
shipped by the elusive M. Ash, H.T. Motors, and Rose and Company. Another list noted
the recipients of those packages.

Harry gathered the papers and tucked them back into their hiding
spot, then slipped the framed print back into his desk drawer. He was still mulling
over the significance of the paper when Brenda arrived for the morning.

She looked surprised to see him, but took his early arrival in
stride. She had his delivery manifest printed out and ready to go before he could
fill his thermos with coffee.

“Mr. Tillman? Could you sign these papers for me, sir?”

Harry stared at the woman in surprise. It was the first time
he could remember her ever asking for his signature on anything; that sort of thing
was normally reserved for Galano or Debarge. Blinking away his stupor, Harry tried
to act as if the request were nothing special. He was the company president, after
all.

She gave a brief description of the papers and instructed him
where to sign. “I need your full name on the first page, then initials here, here,
and here.”

Harry wrote his name out with a flourish, using a few extra loops
and important-looking swirls. It was when he was signing his initials, H.T., that
a sinking feeling worked its way into his gut. He tried to ignore it, tried to convince
himself he imagined it, but even swallowing a half dozen times did not clear the
bile that collected in his throat.

H.T.

The letters flitted through his mind, chased by random snippets
of previous conversations.

“He said he had the perfect setup.”

H.T.

“Everything points back to our man.”

H.T.

“The poor fool doesn’t suspect a thing.”

H.T.

“He’s the perfect patsy.”

H.T…

Motors.

H.T. Motors.

The blood drained from Harold’s face and his hand began to tremble.

“Mr. Tillman?” Brenda questioned. “Are you all right?”

“Uh… yeah. Didn’t sleep well,” he mumbled. He grabbed the manifest
and headed for the door, eager to get out of the building and clear his head.

One of the worker bees had pulled Harry’s loaded truck around
to the side entrance, to the same spot it awaited him each morning. Not for the
first time, Harry wondered if parking it there was an attempt to keep him from spending
too much time in the warehouse itself.

Harry started across the parking lot, bracing himself for the
cold wind that inevitably whipped around the side of the building. The same thought
crossed his mind this day as it did every morning. Why couldn’t they at least park
the truck closer to the door, so he didn’t have to brave the elements? Or just leave
the damn thing inside the nice warm warehouse?

Because, Harry grumbled to himself, none of this was about him.
It never had been. No one cared about his comfort or his opinion or even his reputation.
To them, he was simply their scapegoat. Their patsy.

A flash of sunlight glittered in the morning light, drawing Harry’s
eye toward the truck. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the folding
door on the opposite side of the truck had just moved. Who would be inside his truck,
and why? He had already seen the worker bee disappearing into the warehouse.

The answer slipped around the front of the truck. Pretty Miss
Evelyn scurried across the parking lot, her steps brisk and her cheeks bright with
cold.
Or was it with guilt?
Harry wondered. Her feet faltered ever so slightly
as she neared him.

“Morning, Mr. Tillman,” she called out, eyes darting over his
shoulder toward the warehouse. From the angle where they were, it would appear to
anyone inside that Evelyn was coming from her car, parked right beyond the waiting
delivery truck. But Harry knew different. He had seen the glint of sunlight.

“Everything all right this morning, Miss Evelyn?” he asked warily.

“Fine, just fine.”

Her words were too quick. Too gruff. Harry knew they were being
watched. That had to be the reason she kept walking, glancing at him only long enough
to shoot a warning with her sharp gray eyes.

“Be careful out there today,” she said as they passed.

“You, too, Miss Evelyn. You, too.”

***

Harry knew he was taking a chance.

He still wasn’t certain why Miss Evelyn had been in his truck
that morning. He looked for a note, something she might have left for him to find,
but he saw nothing amiss. Maybe she had been looking through the boxes, he determined,
noting the delivery addresses or who sent the packages. Maybe that was how she always
gathered the information she reported to him; he would pay closer attention in the
future. Harry chided himself for not always being the sharpest knife in the block.

But if Miss Evelyn could be brave enough to take a chance, so
could he.

Just after noon, he pulled the Kingdom Parcel truck into the
back lot of Big G’s and sauntered inside. There was already a poker game in progress
at the back table. Harry headed straight for it.

This time, Big G saw him the moment he came through the door.
“Why, Harry Tillman, twice in one week. And in the middle of the day, no less. Business
must be bad this week.”

“Snow.” Harry twirled his hand in the air and hoped the one-word
explanation would suffice.

Harry recognized a couple of the faces from two days ago; he
pretended
not
to notice the quiet shuffle around the table as a new dealer
took over and, with a meaningful tap to his shoulder, one of the current players
relinquished his seat. Joey, a regular Harry often played against, slipped into
his place.

Harry won on the very first hand. But on the second round, he
folded. The move garnered him several sharp looks, though no one said anything.
By the third losing hand, Joey was compelled to speak out.

“You having a bad day, Harry? Not like you to lose.” He looked
around the table nervously, his eyes on the pile of bills now resting in front of
one of the newcomers.

Harry shrugged a bony shoulder. “Just one of those days, I reckon.”

“It don’t feel right, us taking your money, Tillman. Not with
you being one of the best.”

“Then give me a chance to win it back,” Harry grinned.

But again, Harry lost. And yet again.

“Now hold on here! I know for a fact you had a winning hand!”
the dealer sputtered.

“Oh? And how could you know a thing such as that, Tom?” Harry’s
voice was deadly quiet.

Tension built up thick around the table, cloaking the air with
challenge. Big G moved in to stand behind the dealer in a show of solidarity, arms
crossed over this thick chest. Tom sputtered again before coming up with a quick
reply.

“Because a player good as you just don’t lose like that, Tillman!
It’s against all odds, you losing five hands in a row. I know you better than that.”

Harry rose slowly to his feet. He tossed his cards—a royal flush,
no less—onto the table. He glanced first at Tom, then at Joey. “Maybe you don’t
know me as well as you figure. The name’s Harry.” He transferred his gaze to Big
G, looking the big man square in the eye. “Not Patsy.”

Harry walked straight out the door, returned to the truck, and
went about making his rounds.

His ‘buddies’ had been duping him, feeding him winning hands
and counterfeit bills, no doubt in cahoots with Debarge and Galano. The rotten smell
tickling his nose for the last few weeks now flat-out reeked. Harry had known all
along something was amiss, but now the pieces were falling into place, and they
itched like an ill-fitting wool suit on Sunday morning. Kingdom Parcel was nothing
more than a front for a counterfeit ring. And as the company’s token president and
only delivery truck driver, he had unwittingly helped commit the crime.

The real question was what he would do about it, now that he
was on to them.

***

Harry rounded a curve and saw the traffic snarl ahead, something
he was unaccustomed to on these remote rural roads. Despite spending most of the
day on the road, he actually wasn’t far from the warehouse. He had started his route
over in Belvidere Center and was now backtracking east. Between the boxes still
on the truck, his stop by Big G’s, and now an accident, he knew he wasn’t going
home anytime soon. He dared not think what would happen if he missed delivering
another package today.

If the number of police cars and emergency vehicles up ahead
were any indication, he would guess that some poor soul slid off the snowy roads
and had gone over the embankment.

Twenty minutes later, an ambulance rushed from the scene, lights
flashing and sirens blasting. Harry took it as a good sign, meaning the patient
inside had survived the crash. But when he watched the wrecker pull a twisted vehicle
up from the ravine and he saw what was left of the car, he had his doubts. Could
anyone survive that warped pile of metal? He thought he saw a flash of red on the
flattened roof; or was that the undercarriage? Apparently the vehicle had rolled
numerous times, making it hard to determine the make and model. Was that a red mini-van,
perhaps, like Miss Evelyn drove?

Harry swallowed hard. A sick feeling crawled into his stomach.
As the wrecker passed beside him, he strained to get a better look. Even up close
and personal, it was impossible to identify the wrecked vehicle.

But somehow, Harry just
knew
.

Something had happened to Miss Evelyn. Something bad.

Afternoon of March 14, 1984

By the time Harry reached Route 14,
his nerves were shot. When he felt the familiar tug of a flattening tire, he wondered
what else could possibly go wrong with the day.

He whipped over at the first opportunity, thankful the snow was
not piled too deep along the shoulder of the road. Crawling through the interior
of the truck to avoid the bitter cold outside, Harry was hardly surprised to find
that the tire jack was missing. Could he expect anything less on a day such as this?

He returned to his driver seat, reached into the glove compartment,
and pulled out a small silver flask, the one he kept for emergencies.

This was an emergency, if ever he had encountered one. He and
Evelyn had been caught snooping around, and now something had happened to her. It
didn’t take a genius to know that he would be next. Harry’s hand was unsteady as
he lifted the flask to his mouth and took a long draw of liquid courage.

There was a two-way radio in the truck. He could have called
the warehouse for help, but Harry was in no particular hurry to talk with anyone
at Kingdom Parcel. Not now, knowing the truth as he did. Certainly not now that
something had happened to Miss Evelyn. He instinctively knew they had sent her out
on an errand, knowing she would never return.

He thought of Evelyn’s small boys at home, the ones she was so
proud of. And he thought of Nell. Dear, sweet, faithful Nell. She deserved so much
better in life than he had given her.

Harry sat on the side of the road for a long time, wondering
what his next move should be. Even if he went to the police and told them of his
suspicions, he had no proof. The random bits of information hidden in the photo
frame—even the blank piece of linen-weave paper—were not enough to prove his allegations.
Worst of all, once officials began investigating, all fingers would point back to
him. It may have taken him a while to get it, but it would likely take much less
time for police to make the connection between
Harold Tillman
and the non-existent
H.T. Motors
. Given Nell’s love for flowers and her middle name of Rose, even
Rose and Company
would raise an incriminating flag. Add to that his poker
‘winnings’, and Harry Tillman made the perfect patsy, indeed.

A handful of cars stopped to offer help, but Harry shooed them
away, claiming help was already on its way. He didn’t want to be rescued. He needed
time to think. Another nip of whiskey might be just the thing to clear his head.

To Harry’s surprise, a half hour after he pulled over, one of
the cars that stopped was his own.

“Nell?” he asked in confusion as the blue Ford pulled up alongside
his truck. “What are you doing out? How did you get the car?”

“I had Hilda bring me in to town to get the car. I decided to
take your suggestion and go into St. Johnsbury and buy myself something.” She looked
almost guilty as she admitted to the unexpected shopping spree. “I-I hope you don’t
mind,” she added, uncertainty lingering in her voice.

“Mind?”

“That I took the car.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” he murmured.

Nell leaned further across the seat to better see his face. “Are
you all right, Harry? You’re acting strange.”

I have reason to act strange,
Harry lamented silently.
As an idea penetrated his fogged brain, he instructed his wife, “Pull on up some.
Get off the road.”

While Nell maneuvered the Ford to a secure spot in front of the
truck, Harry slipped to the back of the van again. He gathered up the boxes that
were yet to be delivered, stuffing all four into a large black garbage bag. He crawled
out with the parcels and told his wife to open the trunk.

“What are you doing, Harry?”

Buying myself some time.
He didn’t want to explain to
Debarge why he was running so late with deliveries, even with the wreck and a flat
tire as an excuse. That side trip to Big G’s had cost him precious time.

He knew word of his mid-day game had probably gotten back to
Debarge by now. He thought of the conversation he overheard in the hallway yesterday.
Leaving undelivered boxes on the truck was out of the question. By stashing the
boxes in the trunk of his car, he could claim that he finished his rounds and blame
the worker bees for the error. Debarge might never know the difference. Not today,
anyway. He would deal with getting the boxes back onto the truck and out to the
customers tomorrow.

“I had a delivery over in Morrisville and saw a part I needed
for the lawn mower this spring,” he told his wife. “I’ll put it in the shed when
I get home.”

“Do you need a ride? I can drop you off at the warehouse. If
you’re done for the day, I can take you on home.”

He told Nell the same lie he told the others. “Help is on the
way.”

“Why don’t you at least sit here in the car and keep warm while
you wait?” she offered.

Harry hesitated for only a moment. “Just for a bit,” he agreed.
Once Debarge got a hold of him… He shook the thought from his head as he went around
to the passenger side, while Nell cranked the heater up to full blast.

When Harry rubbed his hands together in front of the blowers,
Nell gave a small laugh. “Seems rather silly that I bought bulbs today. But I’m
so ready for spring, and Scott’s Nursery was having a sale.”

“Hope you didn’t spend all that money on more flowers. I wanted
you to buy something nice, just for you.”

“I happen to think my flowers are nice, Harold Tillman,” Nell
said, but there was a smile in her words. She dipped her head shyly as she admitted,
“But I actually bought myself a dress, as well. A nice dark emerald green, your
favorite color.”

Harry’s thin face broke with a bittersweet smile. “I sure hope
I get to see you in it, Nellie,” he murmured.

“Of course you’ll get to see me in it. Why in the world would
you say something like that? Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Harry? You look
a little flushed.”

“Cold air is all. I’m fine.” When she reached up to touch his
forehead, he caught her hand and pulled it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss
into her palm.

“Harry, something is wrong. I can tell!” Mild panic settled over
her. Harry seldom kissed her hand, if ever.

“I saw a wreck today, is all,” he covered. “I worry about you
out on the roads.”

She was immediately contrite. “I should have never taken the
car,” she apologized. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Stop looking guilty, Nellie. You didn’t do anything wrong. You
never do. You’re a good woman, Nell Tillman.” He squeezed her hand. “The finest
woman I’ve ever known.”

“You’re scaring me, Harry.”

“I don’t say it often, Nell, but I worship the ground you walk
on.” Harry’s voice was gruff with emotion.

Tears swam in Nell’s eyes. “Come on home with me, Harry,” she
whispered. “We’ll leave the truck here and stop by the warehouse to tell them what
happened.”

The thought of Nell going anywhere near the warehouse made his
stomach queasy. “Like I said, help is already on the way. You take the car on home.”

“But how will you get home? I’ll wait for you and we’ll drive
home together.”

“We have a meeting tonight after work,” he lied. “I’ll be late.
I’ll have Pascal drop me off by the house.”

“Are you sure?” she worried. “I can call Hilda and have her pick
me up at the warehouse.”

“No! You go home, Nell.”

“But…”

“I want to know you’re safe, Nellie.” When she gave him an odd
look, he elaborated. “I want you home before dark falls and the roads ice over.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

“What kind of meeting do you have? You didn’t mention it this
morning.”

“Just came up today.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected, with the business growing and
being so successful and all. I bet it’s about some big new contract!” Her eyes shone
with excitement.

“Could be.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so proud of you and all the work you’ve done
here.”

“I’ve done it for you, Nellie,” he reminded her. He clasped her
hand with both of his. “Remember that. No matter what, know that I only wanted what
was best for you, to give you at least a little bit of what you deserved.”

“I know that, Harry. And I have what is best for me. I have you.”

“You do have me, Nellie girl, that’s for sure.” He kissed her
gently on the lips. “I love you, Nell Tillman.”

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. She knew Harry loved her, but
he seldom said the words aloud. “And I love you, Harold Tillman.”

“Thank you for always believing in me,” he whispered into her
hair. He released her then, shifting toward the door. “You go on home now, and don’t
worry about me. I’ll be home later tonight.”

“I really don’t mind waiting on you…”

“I mind. Promise me you’ll go straight home. You won’t go by
the warehouse.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent, but all right,
I’ll go straight home,” Nell agreed. It wasn’t like Harry to be so considerate.
She suspected something was amiss, but she could not put her finger on it. The best
she could do was make him happy by agreeing to his odd but persistent request.

“Drive safe,” he cautioned before closing the door.

“You, too, Harry. I have a stew in the crock pot, so don’t worry
about dinner getting cold.”

“You’re too good to me, Nell.” A smile shortened the length of
his long, thin face. He stood back from the car and waved as she pulled away.

It was the last time Nell Tillman saw her husband alive.