Loonies (23 page)

Hale Cullumber tended bar as usual, pouring drinks for the waitresses to pick up and for the handful of men sitting at the bar. Brian recognized Isaac Monck, his sports editor, and Sherman Thurk, who was no doubt enjoying a beer or two before his nightly sleepwalking adventure. Hopefully he wouldn’t stumble upon any dead bodies tonight. Brian knew what that was like and could sympathize with the man. Maybe the beers would help Thurk sleep deeply enough to remain at the rooming house.

Not a bad crowd for a Thursday night. People in town probably couldn’t afford to eat out too often. The waitress came to their table and introduced her name as Gwen, asking if they had a chance to look over the menu. Her long hair, pulled into a ponytail, had streaks of gray. She looked to be in her forties. Brian was surprised, since most women that age colored their grays.

Darcie ordered fish and Brian stuck with his steak, the large cut.

“Aren’t you Mr. Keays, the newspaper editor?” the waitress asked.

“Yes,” he said smiling. “Brian Keays.”

“I recognized your picture in the paper today.”

Brian had included a headshot of himself with his first-person piece. He thought it important for the community to recognize their newspaper editor. It was a way to be in touch with the readers.

“Thank you,” he remarked, flattered by the recognition.

She dropped her smile. “Such terrible things happening in town these days.”

So much for forgetting about it for the night. He looked at Darcie, figuring she was reading his thoughts. She tried to keep an upbeat expression. “Yes,” he said to the waitress. “Really terrible.”

“Makes you wonder if anyone is going to the Dump Fest,” Gwen said. “I know I probably won’t feel up to it.”

“There’s no need to let bad news spoil things,” Brian said, wishing she would leave and put in their orders.

“You must understand, considering what you two have gone through these past couple weeks.”

Darcie looked down, grabbing her water glass and taking a sip. She looked up at the waitress. “We’re being strong,” she said.

The waitress frowned. “It’s hard to be strong sometimes. Believe me.” Her smile reappeared. “I’ll go put in your order.” She spun around and headed toward the kitchen.

Brian looked at his wife, who managed a half smile. “It’s hard being a celebrity in town.”

She laughed, the effect he was hoping for. It was nice to see her laugh. The two of them hadn’t been doing much of that lately. It was good to hear her voice when she was in a good mood. But then he thought about the tail end of the phone call he had walked in on earlier. She had sounded in a good mood then, too, and it was bugging him. Just ask, he told himself. You know you won’t rest until you find out.

He knew there was a chance it would ruin the mood of the evening, but if he kept it in, he’d need either another cigarette or more antacids. Just ask.

“So, the phone call today?”

Her lips flatlined. “Yes.”

“Anybody I know?” She was reading his mind, but it didn’t matter. It was out.

“It was him,” she said, locking her eyes on his. Her lower lip fluttered slightly.

He collected himself, careful with what he wanted to say next. “I guess I didn’t realize you’ve been keeping in touch.”

She frowned. He had done it now. “We’re still friends. I’ve explained that to you.”

He had to admit she had. “I know,” he said. “It’s just—”

“It’s just nothing. There’s no need for you to think anything more of it.”

She reached her hand across the table and their fingers interlocked.

“I’m here with you,” she said, again reading his mind. “I’m going to have a nice dinner with you, and then we are going to our home and we will lie in our bed next to each other.” She squeezed his hand. “And maybe if you’re not too disgusted by this bulge in my belly, we can make love before falling to sleep.”

He smiled, looking into her sweet, pleading eyes. He couldn’t help it. He should feel lucky she had chosen to be with him. Brian wasn’t sure he had that much to offer her. Maybe that was why he still felt bitter, because he was sure she had made the wrong choice and he felt guilty for it. Brian wanted to think she came back because she deserved him. Even though he really didn’t think he deserved her.

He squeezed her hand back. “I won’t think about it anymore.”

At home, Brian was admiring Darcie as she got ready for bed in the bathroom. It would be nice to make love tonight, and the thought got him a little excited. Then she made a weird noise and vomited into the toilet.

“Okay, no more fish while I’m pregnant,” she said, the skin on her face pale and clammy.

“Are you all right?” he asked from the doorway.

“I’ll be fine,” she said through a grimace and shut the door in his face, though not in a rude way, just in a ‘give me some privacy’ gesture that he completely understood.

His phone rang, and he was grateful for the distraction.

It was Noah Treece. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?”

Brian looked at the closed bathroom door. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“I’m out at Hester Pigott’s place,” he said. “Got something I’m sure you’re going to want to see.”

Brian felt a wave of panic swamp him. Not the old guy. Did something happen to him? He could picture a pillowcase pulled down over the old man’s owl-like face. God, no, please. “Is Hester—”

“No, no. Hester’s fine. He’s right here with me”

Brian’s heart relaxed. Was this going to keep on, him worrying every night about who in town might fall victim to the strangler? “Then what is it?”

“You really have to see it for yourself. And I know you’re going to want to.”

That tweaked his curiosity. He glanced at the bathroom door. “Honey?” he said.

“Go,” came a muffled voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. Do your thing.”

Driving up the winding dirt driveway to Hester Pigott’s farm, Brian could see two town police cars parked near the barn. There was no sign of the State Police, which meant Steem and Wickwire either weren’t here yet or this case didn’t involve them. That kind of disillusioned Brian, and he felt some of his excitement deflate. If the State Police weren’t here, then whatever Noah wanted him to see wasn’t part of the strangling investigations.

He parked near the cruisers and got out. A spotlight over the doorway to Pigott’s barn illuminated the area in front. He could see the Knackerman standing between Chief Treece and Night Shift Alvin. Hester wore his tractor cap, jeans, and a white tank top. The tank top had splatters of red, and Brian thought maybe the old man had been attacked after all. Leave it to his gusto to have thwarted the culprit.

Noah held a flashlight, though it wasn’t turned on.

“So what’s going on?” Brian asked Noah, then looked at Hester. “Are you okay, Mr. Pigott?”

“Course I am damnabbit,” the old man spat. “Been out all night fetchin’ a cow carcass over in Vermont, only to come home to this damn thing.” The man’s face was flushed with rage.

Brian realized that the blood was probably from his knackering and not any scuffle he had been in, and he was glad about that.

“Alvin,” Noah said. “Why don’t you take Mr. Pigott inside and finish getting his statement. We’ll be right along.”

The patrolman led the old man into the brightly lit barn.

“So?” Brian said, once he was alone with Noah. “What gives?”

“You have to see this.” The chief turned on his flashlight, took a few steps toward the side of the barn, and pointed the beam of light at the ground.

Brian came up beside the chief and stared, not believing what he saw.

Seven sets of duck feet stuck out of the ground.

“What the hell?” was all Brian could think to say. He bent to get a better look.

“There were eight,” Noah said. “Hester dug one of the ducks up when he got home, then decided to call us before touching anything else.”

“Why would someone do something like this?”

“The worse thing is,” Noah started to say. “Judging from the one Hester dug up, he figured they were buried alive.”

Brian put his hands on his knees and bent his head. He closed his eyes for a second, picturing those ducks kicking their little webbed feet as they suffocated. He thought of Darcie vomiting and thought about doing it himself. The steak he had stuffed himself with tonight felt unsettled. He straightened and turned to Noah.

“Who would even think of this, Noah? And why?”

“Did you notice how the ducks are in a straight line?” He scanned the flashlight beam along the trail of feet.

“All in a row,” Brian muttered. “Do you think that means something?”

“Maybe someone came looking for Hester, and since he wasn’t here, left him that.”

“Like a message?”

“Or more like a warning. Telling Hester he better keep his ducks in a row.”

Brian looked at the chief. “You think our killer did this?”

Noah shrugged. “Entered my mind.”

“But what affairs would Hester need to keep in order? Does he have some connection to all this?”

The chief locked eyes with Brian. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that this happened the day your story about the Knackerman appeared in the paper?”

Brian thought about that for a moment. “It was just a harmless story about an old man’s unusual occupation. How could that—”

Brian didn’t get to finish his comment. Hester’s voice rang out from the barn and Brian and Noah ran inside, seeing the old man and Alvin standing near the counter on the side.

“It’s gone!” Hester yelled.

“What’s gone?” Noah asked as they approached the old man.

“The pot of human rib bones!”

Most of the town turned out for the annual Dump Festival on Saturday at the field on Blackberry Road. The attendance surprised Brian as he and Darcie strolled along the grass past booths offering a variety of crafts and food. Maybe this was what the town needed. People could come and enjoy themselves and their fellow town folk without worrying about what had been happening. It was a release everyone deserved, especially Darcie and himself.

Most of the people Brian knew were there, some running vendor booths. Mrs. Picklesmeir had a booth for her flower shop, selling floral arrangements and bouquets. Leo Wibbels had a stand displaying a selection of fruits and vegetables. Other vendors offered handmade crafts, knitted clothing, or homemade canned jams, jellies, and pies.

Brian and Darcie paused at the booth for St. John’s Church where Father Scrimsher and Sister Bernice ran a bingo game. There was a crowd of older folk gathered at that one. Brian saw Isaac Monck and Beverly Crump, bingo cards laid out before them and markers in their hands. Sister Bernice pulled a bingo ball from the cage she had spun, and Father Scrimsher announced the letter/number combo as participants frantically searched their cards. As he and Darcie walked away, he heard Bev cry, “Bingo!”

Another part of the festival grounds was set aside as a children’s section, with face painting, pony rides, and a petting zoo with sheep, alpacas, and goats from local farms. Nearby was a hot air balloon, tethered to the ground, where rides were available.

“Would you like to go up in that?” Brian asked Darcie.

“Goodness no,” she said, her hand dropping to her belly and caressing it. “I think that would make me too queasy.”

In the center of the field was a carousel, calliope music playing, kids and adults alike taking spins on the wooden horses. Brian figured that would be out of the question as well. If going up and down would bother Darcie, going round and round would be even worse.

At the far end of the field was a beer tent where Hale Cullumber dispensed what was most likely lukewarm beer. If he couldn’t keep his kegs cold at his pub, what chance did he have here where the hot sun poured down on a field devoid of shade? Still, the beer tent was where Brian and Darcie ended up.

“I need to quench my thirst,” he said, as they stepped to the counter. “A nice cold one,” he said to Hale, smirking. He turned to Darcie. “How about a glass of wine?”

“No,” she said, almost offended he had asked. “I can’t have that.” Once again her hand found her belly as if to remind her, or him, of what was in there.

“Just a little glass of wine. That can’t hurt, can it?”

“No,” she said. “I’m taking good care of this baby.”

He had no doubt about that. He thanked Hale as he accepted the plastic cup of beer, frothing at the top. He took a sip, surprised that it wasn’t as warm as he thought it would be. Maybe the hot weather made the beverage seem cooler than it really was. He noticed Hale was drinking a beer between waiting on customers.

“Hello, Brian,” called a voice, and he turned to see Eldon Winch and his wife approach.

The foursome exchanged cordial greetings.

“Quite a turnout, huh?” Eldon surveyed the crowd.

“Yes, certainly is,” Brian agreed.

“Hope you get lots of good pictures,” Eldon said. “Will be good to see something pleasant on the front page of your paper.”

“I haven’t taken any shots yet,” he replied. “But I certainly will.”

“The carousel always makes for nice photos. Lots of smiling faces there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Brian had actually looked at past issues of
The Hollow News
to see the previous coverage of the Dump Festival. Every edition had a shot of people on the carousel. He’d hate to disappoint anyone this year.

“The cow-pie roulette is about to begin,” Eldon said. “Hope you’ve bought a square.”

“That I can’t miss,” he said, and he was serious. It was one of those too-hard-to-believe events he needed to witness. He ushered Darcie over to a roped-off section of the field. People had gathered along the ropes. Brian bought a ticket for a numbered square and found a spot along one side.

The field inside the roped area had been chalked off in a grid, with numbers assigned to each square. Brian looked at his number, 42, and moved along the crowd until he could get a decent view of his square. He spotted Rolfe Krimmer standing along the rope with his Boston Post Cane in hand, and they stood in an empty space next to him, greeting the old man.