Loonies (3 page)

He reviewed what he had written and formatted it on the page, along with the picture. He replaced a preview of the Women’s Garden Club tour. It would anger the old ladies in town, but it was the most expendable item on the page and in the best location. He was sure he’d hear about it from Mrs. Picklesmeir, the head of the Garden Club.

He looked at his headline:

Trunk of baby bones found in town

He had room to add a subhead:

Discovery of decades old skeletons in attic a mystery

He proofed it quickly, reading his headlines aloud to make sure there were no typos, and hit the send button. He called the printers to let them know they had the new front page, making sure to thank them for being understanding.

When he got off the phone he took a deep breath, wanting to relax for a moment before racing to the house and awaiting the authorities who would be showing up. And once the word got out, the big papers and TV stations would be on the story. But for now he had the jump on everybody. He broke it. He had the inside track. The whole event had been exhilarating. When he took this job, he never expected it to provide a moment like this. And it was only the beginning.

Shortly after Brian got back home, his house became a flurry of activity involving the county medical examiner, the county attorney, and two officers from the State Police—Capt. Steem, an older, stocky, bald man, and his cohort, Sgt. Wickwire, much younger, tall and athletic, his dark hair cropped close to his scalp. The attic became crowded and Wickwire had to keep his head down so he wouldn’t bump it on the slanting beams.

Brian stood in the background, near the trapdoor, so he wouldn’t be in the way. Darcie had gotten up and was making coffee, though it was a hot June night and the attic was sweltering, the air thick and humid. He didn’t think anyone would really want coffee. Lemonade might have been a better choice. Steem removed his hat and wiped his bald crown several times with a bandana.

Brian had his notebook and was scribbling observations, listening intently as the medical examiner looked over the skeletons. Chief Treece stood by the county attorney, who had unbuttoned his vest and loosened his tie but was still sweating profusely. Brian was jotting something down when Steem turned and noticed him.

“Excuse me,” the captain said. “Are you taking notes?” Irritation showed on his face.

Brian stopped, mid-scribble, but did not reply.

“I neglected to tell you,” Noah said, gesturing toward Brian. “Mr. Keays is the editor of our weekly newspaper.”

“Oh, great,” Steem said, glaring at Noah. “Would have been nice to know.” He looked at Brian. “I’m going to have to ask you to step downstairs and wait for us.”

Crap, Brian thought. “This is my house.”

“It’s a crime scene,” Steem said.

Brian looked to Noah for some help.

“And I’m in charge,” Steem said, voice rising. “Not Chief Treece.”

Noah grinned and shrugged.

Sgt. Wickwire walked toward Brian, ducking beneath another beam. “Clear the scene, sir,” he said with no expression, his hands folded across his chest.

Brian muttered a mild obscenity, slapped his notebook closed, and descended the drop-down ladder. He joined Darcie in the kitchen.

“How are you doing,” he said, rubbing her back.

She looked at him, pouting. “This feels like a nightmare. I woke up when I was napping and heard everybody’s footsteps above me. I thought it was the babies’ ghosts walking around.” She shivered. “It’s just so creepy knowing those poor babies have been up there all this time.”

“They’ve been dead a long time, honey. And who knows if they were even alive to begin with.”

She grimaced, touching her belly, and he realized it probably wasn’t a reassuring thing to say.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know what I mean.” He turned and walked toward the living room. “I don’t have any idea where they came from or what happened. It’s all just mysterious.”

He sat on the couch, and she joined him.

“You’re enjoying this, though, aren’t you?”

He looked at her, carefully formulating his response. “What do you want me to say? I’m a journalist. You have to admit, this has some excitement to it.”

She frowned. “But they were babies. Little babies.” Her eyes got moist.

“It’s tragic, I admit.” He patted her knee. “But it happened. We can’t change that. Now we’ve got to try and figure it all out and what it means.”

She looked at him, and he saw disappointment in her eyes. She would have been happy with him covering the garden tour and the upcoming Dump Festival and crap like that. That’s why she didn’t mind dragging him here, because she didn’t care about his career. She wanted a quiet family life, a nice place to raise their child, and a job where he could come home at a reasonable time and be with her. She didn’t want him out all hours of the night at police stations, crash sites, and late-night fires. This dull weekly newspaper seemed perfect for them—no, for her.

And he went along with it. But he had other reasons for taking her away from the city, reasons that had nothing to do with his job, but more to do with her job. He wanted her away from her job at the school as much as she wanted him away from his, maybe even more.

Brian was itching to know what was going on in the attic. A couple more men showed up at the house, who turned out to be from the state pathology lab. They headed upstairs and into the attic. Brian followed and stood in the hallway by the drop-down ladder, trying to eavesdrop on what was being said, but the words didn’t carry well. He had his notebook out and pen ready in case he picked up something. The voices were mostly Steem’s and the medical examiner’s.

At one point, Brian thought he heard a word and scribbled it into his notebook:
snuffing
?

After a few moments he heard feet shuffling toward the trap door, and he stepped away from the ladder. Capt. Steem came down first, glaring at Brian as he descended the steps, but not saying a word. The pathology men came next, carrying five black plastic bags. They proceeded downstairs and through the front door.

The medical examiner and county attorney came next and stood aside as Chief Treece and Sgt. Wickwire carried the steamer trunk down the steps. Noah smiled at Brian as they went by. Everyone else followed, like a funeral procession behind a casket, though Brian was sure this box was now empty and its contents in those black plastic bags.

In his living room, Brian looked out the window and watched Treece and Wickwire load the steamer trunk into the back of the State Police vehicle. The pathology men had already left with their cargos, and the medical examiner soon followed. As Brian stood there, he saw on the sidewalk across the street the same tall, thin man he had nearly bumped into outside the newspaper office.

The man walked slowly, arms hanging limply by his sides. He stopped at one point and looked at his feet. He reached down to the sidewalk, picked something up, put it in his pocket, and continued down the street. Brian made a mental note to ask Noah if he knew anything about the man.

Brian left the window and joined Darcie on the couch, patting her hand and giving her a reassuring smile. She didn’t smile back. She looked tired even though she had been resting earlier.

After refusing Darcie’s offer of coffee, Steem sat opposite them. He took out a notebook of his own and asked them about the discovery of the trunk. Brian and Darcie told him they had only moved into the house and the town a few months ago and had discovered the trunk today.

“You hadn’t been in the attic at all before today?” Steem asked.

Brian and Darcie exchanged glances.

“Just to kind of peek,” Brian said, “but not really to look around.”

“And you never noticed the trunk?”

“No,” Darcie answered. “It was tucked into a corner, and I dragged it out under the light.”

Brian started to tell Steem about the key Noah had gotten from Pfefferkorn, but the captain cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Chief Treece informed me all about the key.” He glanced up from his notepad at Brian. “Very strange coincidence.”

“Yes,” Brian agreed.

Steem was jotting something in his notebook. Brian took his own notebook out and pretended to write something. Steem looked at him, eyes narrowing.

Noah and Wickwire came into the house and stood off to the side in the living room.

“Now tell me, who did you buy this house from?”

“The previous owner’s name was Ruth Snethen.”

Steem wrote it down. “Do you know anything about her?” he asked without looking up.

“We never met her,” Darcie said. “It was all done through our real estate agent. Ms. Snethen didn’t even attend the closing.”

Steem looked at them, and turned toward Noah.

“She’s a retired nurse,” Noah said without waiting for a question. “Lived alone. Don’t believe she’d ever been married.”

“Hmm,” Steem said. “Where did she work as a nurse?”

“Up at the Mustard House.” Noah smiled.

Steem’s brow furrowed. “What the hell is the Mustard House?”

Noah’s smile left his face.

“It’s an insane asylum.”

It sat on the top of the ridge, overlooking the town like a sentinel.

It was a sprawling nineteenth-century mansion with multiple narrow gables that punctured the sky. It had been originally built by a logging tycoon and had passed through many hands. Townsfolk had nicknamed the building the Mustard House because of its yellowish-brown paint. Its actual name was The Wymbs Institute. Dr. Milton Wymbs had opened the private sanitarium forty years ago.

Dr. Wymbs lived at the institute and rarely appeared in town. He had a small staff of nurses and a housekeeper who cooked and cleaned for him. No one knew exactly how many patients resided at the asylum, but the mansion had enough rooms to house at least a couple of dozen. Noah had told Brian he had never laid eyes on the reclusive doctor in the two years he had been police chief. The doctor kept to himself and his patients, and there were never any concerns.

At least not until the trunk was opened.

Brian sat in his office downtown looking at a copy of the weekly that had come out that morning, pleased he had been able to break the story. He had fielded several calls already that morning from the news syndicates and other media sources. The story had sparked plenty of interest, as he knew it would. Of course he also had to field a call from Mrs. Picklesmeir, the angry head of the Women’s Garden Club, and he failed in all attempts to appease her. He assured her that he would do a big photo spread on the tour for the next week’s issue, but that did little to satisfy her concern that townspeople wouldn’t know the details of the tour since they weren’t in the paper.

The Hollow News
came out every Thursday, and most people read it to find out about the upcoming weekend’s church suppers, club meetings, school fund-raisers, and auctions. From what Brian had gathered when he took the job as editor, news seemed secondary. There was a small staff—basically Brian. He had a secretary, Beverly Crump, who really kept the paper running. She inputted all the press releases from the various social organizations and clubs, and that filled more than half the paper’s pages. Brian had to cover the local board meetings and do a feature story or two. The only other staff member was Isaac Monck, in his early sixties, who covered the local sports and recreation as well as writing a fishing column.

Brian remembered how difficult it had been to leave his job and Boston to take over as the editor of
The Hollow News
. He knew what he’d be giving up with his police beat, but he had no idea what he was actually taking on in Smokey Hollow. But Darcie had pleaded with him.

“What kind of life do you want for us?” she had quizzed him six months before.

There wasn’t an easy answer. He had the life he wanted, the job he wanted, and he didn’t see the need for a change. But all that changed when Darcie got pregnant. His initial reaction to her pregnancy was not good and had almost led to a fight. She was supposed to be the one counting days. He had left that control up to her.

“I told you it might not be a good night,” she had said afterward, almost in tears.

It made him feel like a jerk, and he apologized. Then he said something even stupider. He wondered whether they should have the baby. The look of horror she gave him sent chills down his spine, and he tried to backpedal. What the hell was he thinking? She was a school teacher for Christ’s sake. She adored children, and for him to suggest something like that….

It was one of those moments he wished he could take back, because he knew it was something that would mark him for the rest of his life.

It took a while for him to smooth that one over. By then she was suggesting they move to the suburbs where maybe he could find work at a small-town newspaper. So he scoured around for job opportunities, and that’s when he stumbled upon the job at
The Hollow News
. The longtime editor was retiring.

They drove north to check out Smokey Hollow. Darcie fell in love with its small-town charm, of course. He knew she would. Brian felt nothing but a bad taste in his mouth, like he was choking on the mist the town derived its name from. What he saw were his dreams and hopes of a journalism career going up in flames.

“But just think,” Darcie said. “You’d be the editor of your own newspaper.”

True. He’d be the editor, reporter, photographer, and copy editor. It was basically a one-man band, and he’d be playing all the instruments, but nobody would be listening except people like Mrs. Picklesmeir and her Women’s Garden Club members. That was his audience.

He remembered looking at Darcie as she slept in the car on the drive back to Boston. He watched her sleep, usually something he did with great affection, but this time it was with contempt and…what?…speculation? It wasn’t the first time the thought crept into his mind. Did she get pregnant on purpose?